  Farmer Slown was sitting on his doorstep reading another special edition of the village paper. Opposite him stood a stranger watching with amusement the changing expression on the Farmer’s red face. “That’s the line I referred to,” he interrupted the other man. “See, right here!” He pointed to a paragraph. The Farmer began to read it aloud. “And so,” he read, “the great monster of the woods, the prehistoric mammal, turned out to be nothing more than a little skunk. The boy who made the discovery described it as jet black all over except for white stripes on its head and neck. Could a more ridiculous ending possibly be—” “That’s enough,” said the man, “did you notice it said jet black except for white on its head and neck? Well I’ve come to buy that skunk. What do you want for him alive?” “But he got away, vanished before we came back from the house after scrubbing the boy.” “That’s all the better; might have got hurt otherwise, eh? He will stay around here somewhere. Now what I want you to do is to set some traps until you catch him. I’ve brought the traps. They’re made like boxes, plenty of room inside. What do you say?” “Catch a live skunk!” the Farmer exclaimed suspiciously. “Not I, do it yourself.” Then the thought came to him that perhaps the man really would be fool enough to pay money for a skunk. “How much will you give for him,” he asked. “Twenty-five dollars,” was the prompt reply. The Farmer could scarcely conceal a gasp of surprise. Why, his goat wasn’t worth that much! His eyes narrowed; “Not enough,” he answered craftily. “Thirty-five, then.” “Not enough,” croaked the Farmer again experimentally. The man regarded him doubtfully. “Well,” he said at length, “fifty is my limit. But he’s got to be unhurt and well, do you understand?” The Farmer stood up. “All right,” he agreed, “I’ll catch him for you. Let’s see your traps. I’ve had two of mine set for several nights but haven’t caught anything.” “What do you use for bait?” “Socks,” grunted the Farmer shamefacedly. “He seemed to like them.” The man held back a smile, gave some instructions and then turned to his boat for the trip back to the village. He owned a farm on which he raised skunks in pens much as a poultryman raised chickens except that it was the fur of the skunks which was marketable. The more black fur there was on a skin, the more valuable it was, therefore an almost entirely black skunk like Striped Coat was worth a good sum to the farm. While Striped Coat was thus being sold alive, he was safely sleeping with his family in the holly tree burrow to which he had run after discovery by the boy. A less sensible skunk might have remained and been killed but Striped Coat was not one of that kind. It was on the third night after this, that he and the others came across the first of Farmer Slown’s new traps. The family had just come from Goose Creek, for now that it was time for them to take care of themselves in the world, the mother’s milk had failed them and they needed water as well as food. Wandering along a path made by old Muskrat in his search for grass roots, they caught the scent of a freshly killed chicken and found that it came from a long box which had an opening at one end. The mother, nervous as usual, looked at this with such suspicion that the others held back too, although much interested in the smell of this kind of food. They kept wandering around the box sniffing, until all at once the runt of the family, a pretty black and white little fellow, could resist it no longer and slipped in. They crowded about the entrance when—bang—down came a board with a clatter, nearly smashing a nose or two and completely shutting the entrance. Those on the outside sprang back, but the runt was caught and could only add to their alarm by frantic scratching on the hard wood inside. That was lesson enough for Striped Coat; he knew now that a box with a hole was something dangerous even if it contained good food. In that way the family lost the runt. Soon afterwards quarreling divided the remainder, the mother and Striped Coat staying together and still living in the holly tree burrow. Sometimes they all met at night in their hunting, but these meetings grew less frequent until Striped Coat and the mother seemed to have the woods around Farmer Slown’s entirely to themselves. It was to be sure the time of plenty. Every rain brought out many kinds of edible toadstools in the woods, blackberries hung heavily from their stems, grasshoppers and crickets had grown big and fat, white grubs swarmed under the grass roots around the Farmer’s field. Also there were great green tomato worms, turtles, frogs, toads and little snakes, nests of yellow jackets, bees and other insects. Mice too were plentiful and unwary. So Striped Coat grew amazingly just as did all the other young woods folk. At first he grew long and lanky, with short patchy fur and spindly tail, in much the same way as a young hawk before it acquires its full plumage; later he filled out, his fur becoming thick and glossy. By the end of August he was as large as his mother and still growing. He was wise enough not to be lured into the Farmer’s traps and, like his mother he now had the right of way over the other woods animals, being indeed treated with all the dignity of a full grown skunk. In much the same way as a young hawk before it acquires its full plumage More men than the Farmer were after him however, for the news had spread that he was worth fifty dollars, and that sum, walking around as it were, loose and unclaimed in the woods, was a decided lure to everyone. Ever since the great mystery of Farmer Slown’s lost clothes had been cleared up by the boy’s description of Striped Coat, he had become a marked individual, spoken of, oddly enough, as Striped Coat, the black skunk. Whenever the word skunk was mentioned, people soon switched the conversation to him. The question to be solved was, where did he have his den. With that discovered, the matter of trapping or digging him out would be a simple one. The old trappers of the neighborhood said little but waited patiently for the coming of late autumn, when the leaves would no longer be on the bushes. And every day brought this danger time just that much nearer. |
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