  It was early morning. Under the cabin, Striped Coat was in his big bed curled up asleep but twitching occasionally as he dreamed of battles with old warrior rats. In the woodchuck’s burrow under the uprooted pine, Striped Coat’s mate was giving all the little “striped coats” their morning bath, using her wet tongue as the wash rag. And in the old den under the holly tree Striped Coat’s mother was doing much the same with four little ones which made up her new family; pretty youngsters, but all showing signs of having as much white as black in their markings, when they grew up. Over their heads the woods was now a mass of green. Birds were singing, bees were buzzing around numberless flowers, far and wide there was the hum of the insect army now come again to feed on the plant life. How this army would spread and grow and ravage the land, if birds by day were not constantly after it on the ground, in the trees and in the air, and if at night its ranks were not attacked by the active little shrews, the swift flying bat, and the wood pussies, not to mention other woodsfolk like the fox, the mole, old Possum and even Screech Owl, who all helped! In the water the fish did their part. Yes, everything must eat to live. And the farmers were cultivating their crops and raising chickens and other live stock, for man too must eat; and they were fighting everywhere the insects and the other vermin which would like to take all these things for themselves. One of these farmers was Ben Slown of Goose Creek. Upon him on this beautiful morning Mr. Henry made a call. It was not very formal; the Farmer sat on his cultivator in the field and Mr. Henry leaned against the fence nearby. “Well, how’s life at the cabin?” asked the Farmer. “Very interesting. The wild creatures are growing tame again. They are around or in my cabin most of the day and night; it’s on account of them that I came to see you; I wondered whether you and I, working together, couldn’t stop the trapping that’s going on around here. Woods animals that do a lot of good are being killed off; there are the skunks for example, only a few old ones are left. Can’t we save them? What do you say?” Mr. Henry spoke seriously and the Farmer listened equally so. Once he looked up rather sharply, as if wondering how much the other man suspected the part he had taken in trapping during the autumn and winter, but he did not interrupt. “I’ve been thinking about those skunks, Mr. Henry,” he replied. “I know you kept a watchful eye over the black one last autumn and I’m kind of glad of it now. All last year I saw their tracks over my field. I calculated they’d eat every vegetable and ear of corn I raised, and yet somehow I never had a better crop anywhere. I’ll admit it. No cutworms, no grubs, none of those big brown beetles, even no mice to speak of. Skunk tracks. “I didn’t know just what was doing the good work until I—that is, the trappers—caught off the skunks last autumn. I can tell you that after that the mice and rats nearly ate me up. Well, I still hadn’t studied it out when the other night I saw the queerest thing ever! Two skunks killing a sewer rat almost on my doorstep, and it an old fellow half as big as one of them. Such squealing you never heard, I guess! That big black skunk of yours was the one that did the trick; he wouldn’t let go, the other one just helped finish things. I tell you it was a real fight!” Farmer Slown chuckled at the recollection. “That big black skunk of yours was the one that did the trick” “That rat,” he continued, “had done a heap of damage already, gnawing and digging and carrying off little chickens; and neither I nor that dog of mine could ever get a hold of him. I have a feeling that the skunks take an egg whenever it’s left lying around, but they never come into my hen house like that rat. “I’m a farmer and haven’t time to fool with wild animals the way you can, but I like to have people like you around to buy things I raise and I have a change of feeling about those skunks. I’m all for them since that rat business. Yes sir! And what’s more you needn’t worry about traps any longer.” Having said which Farmer Slown stood up to resume work as if the matter were now ended. Mr. Henry, however, jumped the fence to give his hand a hearty shake. “I hope we’ll be neighbors a long time!” he cried. As he strode back through the woods, the Farmer looked after him for a moment or two. “It’s funny,” he said. “Who would have thought I would ever find that neighbors and skunks were any good!” That night Striped Coat took a long trip. He wandered far below the Farmer’s field and then to the sandy hill in the pines and lastly along the bank of Goose Creek. He met Mink and Coon and old Possum, Gray Fox, Brown Weasel, Bun and the deer from Cranberry Swamp. All looked at him and then gave him the path. Yes, there were many animals, but after all this was his range and he was master of them all. Standing once more in front of the stone pile he shook himself until his fur stood out all over him, that fur for which any dealer would give a big price. Some day his children, and perhaps later his children’s children, with black fur like his, would wander at night through the woods of Goose Creek chasing the elusive mice and beetles; but he was the first of the new order, he was Striped Coat, the Black Skunk! As he stood there, a pale light spread over the sky, the protecting black shadows grew fainter. He knew that he, a creature of the night, must now bid farewell for a while to all the outside world. Reluctantly, he bowed his head and entered the low arch of the stone pile. Slowly his body moved out of sight, then the long tail until not even the tip remained in view. THE END |
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