78 FRUIT RANCHING. 



"There's sometliing at my chickens! It's skunks! 

 It's skunks!" 



Before I was able to join her with a Hglitcd candle 

 she was waging warfare upon the dreaded enemy, 

 beating at thern with her apron. I expected every 

 instant to see her covered with the nauseous fluid that 

 the skunk ejects when angered. There were two of 

 the creatures, and although I saw one slipping away 

 into the darkness as I stepped out of doors, the other 

 clung to one of the coops, and despite Maggie's 

 excited cries and her frantic attempts to scare it away, 

 refused to budge. It had contrived somehow to insert 

 a foot underneath the bottom edge of the coop, and 

 with its sharp claws had dragged one poor hapless 

 chick away from the shelter of its mother's wing. As 

 I approached, the beast at last relinquished its prey 

 and slunk off after its mate. I suppose it fled before 

 my lighted candle. 



Skunks were not the only enemy that Maggie 

 feared for her chicks. Daily she went in trepidation 

 for their lives, for hawks abounded in the vicinity, 

 and almost every day, and often several times in the 

 day, we heard their harsh challenges. It was not 

 until Calaby had scourged them severely, and cut 

 down a half-charred, decapitated tree which they were 

 fond of using as an outlook tower, that we were free 

 from their persistent menacings. 



Later, after we had removed to the second ranch, 

 we had experience of the boldness of these hawks. 

 One evening, when we were all sitting on the 

 verandah laughing and talking, something on wings 

 flew past us, not more than ten feet distant, and on 

 a level with our eyes. It was a hawk with a big 



