IN THE WAKE OF THE THAW
On a day in early March, when the wilderness lay wrapped in its snowy mantle and the winter sleepers had not yet ventured abroad, a big skunk, curled snug and warm in his den, sighed and opened his eyes. The sunlight streaming in at the mouth of the little cave attracted him and he stepped forth. A warm south wind had risen during the night and the faint sound of running water was borne to the keen ears of the animal, a sound which reminded him pleasantly of spring.
Wide awake now, he began to feel the pangs of hunger, and accordingly he sallied forth to see what tempting morsel might be brought his way. Instinctively he turned south towards the nearest farm, stopping occasionally, his head cocked on one side, to listen for mice which had their runways beneath the snow. He paused a moment on a high ridge to look about him and decide upon his course.
Across a snowy pasture, broken by clumps of juniper and bay and steep upthrusts of rock, he saw the rude but substantial buildings of a backwoods farm. The smoke rising lazily from the chimney into the clear air was the only sign of life about the place. The prospect looked inviting and the skunk quickly made his way down the ridge and across the pasture to the nearest building. A delectable odour assailed his nostrils and he paused to sniff appreciatively. It was the warm, tempting odour of poultry.
The skunk walked around the building, the delicious odour meeting him at every turn. As he reached the front there arose a furious barking and a dog appeared around the farther corner. At sight of the skunk, the dog stopped so precipitately as to skid for almost a foot in the soft snow. The skunk stopped and regarded him in a haughty manner. Then with his forefeet he stamped upon the ground, a warning which the dog, versed in the ways of skunks, was quick to recognize. A moment longer they looked into each other's eyes; then the dog turned and strolled back in the direction of the house, his whole bearing indicating a lack of interest in his immediate surroundings. The skunk, too, turned his back indifferently.
At one side he found a place where the soil had been partly washed away from beneath the building. He soon succeeded in enlarging the hole enough to permit his entrance. A few minutes later he might have been seen making for the ridge, a plump duck accompanying him.
When about half-way across the pasture, the skunk stopped and deposited his limp burden upon the snow. Then he turned and looked back toward the building which he had just left and which was so easy of access. Possibly he reflected that if one duck were good, two ducks would be better. At any rate he hid his prize under a convenient ledge of rock and retraced his steps.
He had scarcely turned his back when a sleek, red-brown animal appeared on the ridge a short distance away and with bright eyes watched the skunk until he disappeared around the corner of the building. The fox was acquainted with that building and its contents and at once became interested. Deciding on a closer investigation, he crossed the pasture jauntily, until abreast of the ledge under which the skunk had concealed his trophy. Here he came to an abrupt halt, his nose twitching. There could be no doubt about it. The odour was that of freshly killed fowl.