"I don't think skunks like smoke any more than any other wild animals!" Max ventured.
"Smoke!" ejaculated Steve. "Hallelujah! Max has caught on to a bully good idea. Let's smoke the little beggar out. Everyone get busy now."
"Hold on," said Trapper Jim, catching Steve by the sleeve again; "go slow."
"Yes, go mighty slow," complained Bandy-legs. "You know well enough, Steve Dowdy, that I can't smoke at all. There's no use of my trying, because it makes me awful sick every time."
"Listen to that, would you!" laughed Steve. "The simple believes we're all going to get pipes and blow the smoke through some chinks in the cabin walls. Cheer up, old fellow, it ain't quite as bad as that."
"When we've got some stuff that will burn," continued Max, "I'll climb up on the roof, set fire to it, and drop it down the chimney. Then after it gets a good start I'll follow it with some weeds Uncle Jim will gather, and which he knows must send out a dense smoke after I've clapped a board over the top of the chimney flue."
"Bravo!" cried Owen, so loud that the chained dogs near by started barking.
"A very original scheme," said Trapper Jim, patting Max on the back. "And the sooner we start in to try how it works, the better."
"I've got only one objection," Steve spoke up.
"Well, let's hear it," demanded Owen, frowning.