AN UNEXPECTED CAPTURE. 



W. A. FINCH. 



When I was 14 years old I became the 

 happy possessor of a 32 caliber Winchester 

 repeater. That summer I was stopping at 

 a boarding house that accommodated about 

 50, in the heart of the Catskills, and I spent 

 the greater portion of my time shooting 

 woodchucks, or I might say, shooting at 

 them. They were quite numerous in that 

 section. When I succeeded in killing one 

 and took it to the house most of the 

 boarders would come down, look it over, 

 and ask any number of questions about it. 



There was a professor staying at the 

 house, whose name, I think, was McGuire, 

 and who pretended to know a great deal 

 about woodchucks. He would deliver a 

 lecture on the habits of these animals 

 whenever one was brought to the house, 

 for the edification of the boarders. 



One pleasant afternoon I was out, as 

 usual, after woodchucks. When within 

 half a mile of the house I saw a large one 

 sitting just outside his hole, on the top 

 of a grassy knoll in the center of a large 

 field. I, much excited, pulled up my rifle, 

 fired, and missed him. He was gone like 

 a flash; but he was such a large one that 

 I decided to set a trap and try to catch 

 him. So back I went to the house, got 

 the trap and set it. 



The next morning I started, accompa- 

 nied by a neighboring farmer's boy, named 

 George, to inspect the trap. When we ar- 

 rived at the top of the knoll the trap was 

 in the burrow. Catching hold of the chain 

 I gave a pull and felt the animal struggle 

 at the other end. 



"We've got him, George," I said ; "but 

 how are we going to get him out?" 



"You stand by with the rifle," said he, 

 "and when I yank him out you shoot him." 



So I got ready, and George took hold of 

 the chain and started to pull. He had 

 drawn out about a foot of it when he gave 

 a yell, let go the chain and rolled or fell 

 down the hill. I was as much frightened 

 as he, and asked what it was. 



"Gee, Billy." he said, "it's a great big 

 skunk, all black and white." 



We stood at the bottom of the hill 

 some time, not daring to go back and yet 

 wanting to get the skunk. At last George 

 said, 



"I know what we'll do. We'll go back 

 to the house and get the Professor. He'll 

 get him out." 



We went back and reached the house 

 pretty well winded, having run most of the 

 way. When we told what we had caught, 

 Professor McGuire was only too willing to 

 get the skunk. Off we all started, the Pro- 

 fessor in the lead, armed with a long pole, 

 and the rest of the boarders following 

 close behind. When we reached a stone 

 wall within about 200 yards of the knoll, 

 the Professor requested all the ladies to 

 stay there, as it would be safer. The male 

 portion of the crowd went on a little far- 

 ther, and sat down on a grassy slope to 

 await developments. 



The Professor's plan was to pull out the 

 trap with the aid Gf the long pole, and 

 when the skunk appeared at the edge of the 

 hole I was to shoot. It sounded like a 

 good scheme, but I had had one scare and 

 was not over confident. We went to the 

 top of the knoll, and after giving me fur- 

 ther instructions, the Professor got the pole 

 under the chain and began to draw the vic- 

 tim out. All went well for a time, al- 

 though I found the air a little hard to 

 breathe, and retreated a short way down 

 the hill. At last, after much tugging, the 

 skunk appeared at the surface. One glance 

 was enough for the Professor, and he 

 started to run down the hill, but in his 

 hurry he became tangled up with the pole 

 and fell. He managed to scramble to his 

 feet and start again ; but too late to avoid 

 the damage that resulted from his unfortu- 

 nate stumble. A farmer in a neighbor- 

 ing field, on learning the cause of the 

 disturbance, quickly put an end to the 

 skunk. 



As for the Professor, he was a sadder 

 and a wiser man, and, for some time, a 

 lonely one. 



She — What docs it require besides pa- 

 tience to make a good fisherman? 



He — An niter disregard for the truth. — 

 Yonkers Statesman. 



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