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 
