SAKWASEW THE MINK 243 



slowly takes up the trail of the mink. Mink arc not 

 prime till the late fall. Then the reddish fur assumes 

 the shades of the russet grasses where they run until 

 the white of winter covers the land. Then as if 

 nature were to exact avengement for all the red 

 slaughter the mink has wrought during the rest of the 

 y ear his coat becomes dark brown, almost black, the 

 very shade that renders him most conspicuous above 

 snow to all the enemies of the mink world. But while 

 the trapper has no intention of destroying what would 

 be worthless now but will be valuable in the winter, it 

 is not every day that even a trapper has a chance to 

 trail a mink back to its nest and see the young family. 

 But suddenly the trail stops. Here is a sandy 

 patch with some tumbled stones under a tangle of 

 grasses and a rivulet not a foot away. Ah there it 

 is a nes t or lair, a tiny hole almost hidden by the 

 rushes ! But the nest seems empty. Fast as the 

 trapper has come, the mink came faster and hid her 

 family. To one side, the hawk had been dropped 

 among the rushes. The man pokes a stick in the lair 

 but finds nothing. Putting in his hand, he is dragging 

 out bones, feathers, skeleton musk-rats, putrid frogs, 

 promiscuous remnants of other quarries brought to the 

 burrow by the mink, when a little cattish s-p-i-t! 

 almost touches his hand. His palm closes over some 

 thing warm, squirming, smaller than a kitten with 

 very downy fur, on a soft mouse-like skin, eyes that 

 are still blind and a tiny mouth that neither meows 

 nor squeaks, just spits! spits! spits! in impotent 

 viperish fury. All the other minklets, the mother had 

 succeeded in hiding under the grasses, but somehow 

 this one had been left. Will he take it home and try 



