SNOW STORIES 39 



which marked where the skunk had broken into the 

 clumsy gallop which is its fastest gait. Most of the 

 time this particular skunk had walked in a slow and 

 dignified manner. By the edge of the woods he had 

 stopped and dug deeply into a rotten log, evidently 

 looking for winter-bound crickets and grubs. 



At this point another character was added to the 

 plot of this snow story. Approaching at right angles 

 to the trail of the skunk were the tracks of a red fox. 

 I knew he was red, because that is the only kind of 

 fox found in that part of New England. I knew them 

 to be the tracks of a fox, because they ran straight 

 instead of spraddling like a dog, and never showed 

 any mark of a dragging foot. The trail told what 

 had happened. The first tracks were the far-apart 

 ones of a hunting fox. When he reached the skunk's 

 trail, the foot-prints became close together and ran 

 parallel to the trail and some distance away from 

 it. The fox was evidently following the tracks in a 

 thoughtful mood. He was a young fox, or he would 

 not have followed them at all. At the edge of the 

 clearing he had sighted the skunk and stopped, for 

 the prints were melted deep into the snow. Some- 

 times an old and hungry fox will kill a skunk. In 

 order to do this safely, the spine of the skunk must 

 be broken instantly by a single pounce, thus paralyz- 

 ing the muscles on which the skunk depends for his 

 defense; for the skunk invented the gas-attack a 

 million years before the Boche. No living animal 

 can stay within range of the choking fumes of the 

 liquid musk which the skunk can throw for a distance 



