Suddenly the wolf paused, his uplifted muzzle searching the breeze. Then, his eyes glowing with a fierce fire, he glided forward, a sinister shadow. Between the trees a short distance away he had glimpsed a small black and white animal trotting down the trail. It was Pal, returning from an excursion of his own into the woods.
For a short distance the wolf slipped along parallel to the dog, but to leeward so that no scent betrayed his presence. Several times he could have sprung upon his unsuspecting prey, but caution restrained him. He had seen Pal before but always protected by a man with a heavy club or gun. Now, though the man was not visible, the wolf was suspicious, and not inclined to rush into danger.
It was not long, however, before he decided that the Hermit was not about. Gradually he closed in, and Pal, for the first time scenting this deadly enemy, gave a frightened bark, then bravely turned at bay with his back against a tree. He was no match for the wolf and all would have been over in a moment had not the big skunk unwittingly stepped between them.
Ordinarily the skunk did not court trouble; on the other hand, he did not run away from it. Thus, when he beheld the wolf apparently bearing down upon him, he was startled, but not to the point of losing his head.
Immediately he assumed the defensive. He noticed Pal backed up to the tree, but of dogs he had no fear. It was the wolf upon whom his battery was turned. Pal, at sight of the newcomer, backed discreetly away and then fled for his life. The wolf, however, was not so fortunate, for, before he saw his mistake, he had leaped. In his effort to save himself he turned a complete backward somersault and wallowed upon the snow, his eyes smarting and blinded and his lungs gasping for breath. A moment later he was racing away in a vain endeavor to escape from himself, while the skunk returned to his den quite unshaken by the encounter.
A few nights after the skunk's little affair with the timber wolf he returned to the clearing from which he had purloined the fat duck. Much to his disappointment he found the building protected against four-footed marauders and, though the same enticing odour drifted to his nostrils, he was unable to gratify his appetite. In the course of his wanderings he discovered a small structure with latticed front, in which was a good-sized opening. The skunk walked up indifferently and looked within; then his eyes brightened and he stepped quickly inside to procure the chicken's head lying in a corner. As he did so, he heard a click behind him and jumped back, only to find his retreat cut off by a board which had fallen into place across the opening. The big skunk was a prisoner.
Vainly he sought a loophole. There was none. Having assured himself of this fact, he turned to the chicken head which had been his undoing, and calmly devoured it. Then he settled himself at the front of the box to wait, manifesting little of the anxiety usually shown by a trapped wild animal.
Early the next morning the farmer's boy, on his way to feed the poultry, discovered the captive. "My, he's a beauty!" the boy said aloud, gazing in admiration at the skunk's thick, glossy fur. "That pelt ought to bring a good price, but I believe I'll see if I can tame him."
Thus the life of the big skunk was saved, at least for the time being. Although the boy made many friendly advances, the animal told him in plain language, "Hands off!" With an air of condescension he would accept the choice morsels brought to him, but if a hand were thrust through the bars, at once would come his warning. And the farm boy, who understood skunks, never forced his attentions.
It was thus that matters stood when one day the skunk had a new visitor. The animal had just finished his dinner and was busy cleaning his fur when a small hand was thrust between the bars of his prison and a voice said, coaxingly, "Pretty kitty!"