“There’s lots o’ hens that pervarted they’ll turn round an’ eat their own aigs!” suggested the woodsman, spitting thoughtfully through the open window. The cat, coiled in the sun on a log outside, sprang up angrily, glared with green eyes at the offending window, and scurried away to cleanse her defiled coat.
“Them’s not my poultry!” said Mrs. Gammit with decision. “I thought o’ that, too. An’ I watched ’em on the sly. But they hain’t a one of ’em got no sech onnateral tricks. When they’re through layin’, they jest hop off an’ run away acacklin’, as they should.” And she shook her head heavily, as one almost despairing of enlightenment. “No, ef ye ain’t got no more idees to suggest than that, I might as well be goin’.”
“Oh, I was jest kinder clearin’ out the underbrush, so’s to git a square good look at the situation,” explained Barron. “Now, I kin till ye somethin’ about it. Firstly, it’s a weasel, bein’ so sly, an’ quick, an’ audashus! Ten to one, it’s a weasel; an’ ye’ve got to trap it. Secondly, if ’tain’t a weasel, 225 it’s a fox, an’ a mighty cute fox, as ye’re goin’ to have some trouble in aketchin’. An’ thirdly––an’ lastly––if ’tain’t neither weasel nor fox, it’s jest bound to be an extra cunnin’ skunk, what’s takin’ the trouble to be keerful. Generally speakin’, skunks ain’t keerful, because they don’t have to be, nobody wantin’ much to fool with ’em. But onc’t in a while ye’ll come across’t one that’s as sly as a weasel.”
“Oh, ’tain’t none o’ them!” said Mrs. Gammit, in a tone which conveyed a poor opinion of her host’s sagacity and woodcraft. “I’ve suspicioned the weasels, an’ the foxes, an’ the woodchucks, but hain’t found a sign o’ any one of ’em round the place. An’ as fer skunks––well, I reckon, I’ve got a nose on my face.” And to emphasize the fact, she sniffed scornfully.
“To be sure! An’ a fine, handsome nose it is, Mrs. Gammit!” replied the woodsman, diplomatically. “But what you don’t appear to know about skunks is that when they’re up to mischief is jest the time when you don’t smell ’em. Ye got to bear that in mind!”
Mrs. Gammit looked at him with suspicion.
“Be that reelly so?” demanded she, sternly.
“True’s gospel!” answered Barron. “A skunk ain’t got no smell unless he’s a mind to.”
“Well,” said she, “I guess it ain’t no skunk, anyhow. 226 I kind o’ feel it in my bones ’tain’t no skunk, smell or no smell.”
The woodsman looked puzzled. He had not imagined her capable of such unreasoning obstinacy. He began to wonder if he had overrated her intelligence.