A MIDDAY MURDER. 115 



evidence. It alights on the edge of my note- 

 book as I write, folds and unfolds its wings, 

 then crawls onto my trousers and uncoiling its 

 proboscis feels here and there over a space of 

 several square inches. I note that the proboscis 

 and terminal joint of antenna? are whitish-yel- 

 low in hue. It remains within four inches of 

 my writing hand for several minutes. 



That death for some form of life is ever lurk- 

 ing near was shown at noon to-day while J. M. 

 and I were digging worms. A half grown 

 chicken came up and was pecking at the clods 

 which I overturned. I "shoo-ed" at it and it 

 ran into some tall marsh grass a dozen feet 

 away. In less than twenty seconds we heard its 

 alarm peep, which was loudly repeated. Seeing 

 a struggle in the grass I rushed there just in 

 time to note a slender dark brown mammal 

 slink away among the grass roots, while at my 

 feet lay the dying chicken, the warm, blood 

 trickling from a gaping wound in its neck. The 

 clog was called but failed to find the murderer. 

 The chicken was left where it lay and two steel 

 traps set by its side. It was the first time I had 

 ever had a domestic fowl or animal killed that 

 close to me. It showed that everywhere and at 

 all times is going on the great struggle for su- 

 premacy, the great search for something to be 

 eaten. 



The water-willow is this vear more abundant 



