76 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CEUISEE 



whilst he was sleeping. A-course he woke up right 

 away, an' so did the rest of us. We wa'nt right sure 

 th' skunk was a phoby-cat, seem' he got away, but 

 to be on the safe side Bill an' me helt Tom an' Sam 

 Morgan run a piece of red-hot bailin' wire thro' the 

 holes in his lip so's to clean 'em out good. He ain't 

 never had no trouble sence, only havin* t'wear a 

 moustache which don't hardly compare for hard 

 luck with bein' dead." 



This tale provoked argument, but Bert stoutly 

 maintained its truth. Indeed, I have since had oc- 

 casion to verify it. 



While we talked, the penetrating, unpleasant odour 

 that was before barely noticeable had become 

 stronger. And this or something else woke me sev- 

 eral times during the early part of the night. I was 

 just dozing off after one of these wakeful spells 

 when a most extraordinary rumpus outside brought 

 me bolt upright and wide awake. Slipping on a pair 

 of moccasins I ran over to Brown's tent, from which 

 issued agonised cries, and was just in time to meet 

 the packer hastily emerging. 



I thought for a moment he had lost his mind. He 

 seemed as far as I could make out to be trying with 

 his right arm to pull the left from its socket, pro- 

 claiming meanwhile in ear splitting tones that he 

 was "skunk-bit." 



Frazer, Conway, Wallace and Wetherby appeared, 

 Horace in a high state of excitement, waving his two 

 Colts menacingly. But no skunk was to be seen. 



