“I can’t see why not,” was Lawrence’s father’s quiet reply. “Of course, you’ll have to wear tough, moose-hide mittens and keep your noses out of reach, but—”
“We’ll do it,” Lawrence exclaimed. “But then,” his face sobered, “how’ll we ever catch up with a fox?”
“When I was a boy,” said his father, “we used to catch muskrats on skates.”
“Muskrats on skates?” Lawrence laughed.
“We were on the skates,” his father corrected with a smile. “The rats were on the ice, you see,” he leaned forward. “We worked it this way. We’d watch until the muskrat came out of his hole to get a drink. He’d go to an open pool of water at the edge of the ice. We’d wait until he’d started back across the ice. Then we’d come swooping down on him. He’d get frightened and sprawl all over the ice—no wild creature can handle himself well on the ice. So we had him.
“Once,” he chuckled, “Bob Barnett saw something moving on the ice. It was just getting dark. He thought it was a rat. He come swooping down upon it and—” he paused to chuckle. “Well, it turned out to be a skunk. The skunk objected to his intrusion. So Bob went home to bury his clothes—just for a scent.”
The boys joined in the laugh that followed but they were not slow in following this suggestion. They found, however, that great skill and caution were needed in this type of hunting.
They made progress slowly. After catching two muskrats, a snow-shoe rabbit and two ground-squirrels, they decided to start a small zoo all their own.
“Who knows?” Lawrence enthused. “We may catch some truly rare creature. The keepers of zoos are always on the lookout for live specimens. We may sell enough to get that bright new tractor down at Palmer after all.”
“A tractor!” Johnny doubted. “Oh! No! Surely not that much!”