etiattertiorJ5 JWistafte 127 



chip-p-p- that ended in an agonized 

 squeak and all was still. 



After about five minutes the weasel 

 appeared, bringing the limp form of the 

 Chatterbox with him. He dropped the 

 squirrel to the ground and then came cau- 

 tiously down, moving his snakelike head 

 from side to side whenever he stopped. 

 His chops were red with blood, and his 

 cruel glittering eyes were bloodshot. 



At the foot of the tree he first noticed 

 me, and after viewing me intently, he 

 glided away into the ferns in search of 

 other victims. 



I picked up the Chatterbox and saw 

 his throat had been slit, and his life blood 

 drained. There was no other mark upon 

 him. 



But he was no longer the gay Chatter- 

 box, frisking and scolding, only a limp 

 little bunch of muscles and sinews. His 



