74 
July 19, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
the other, for as he explained, “there may be 
two or three around, and they sometimes travel 
pretty close together, and you don’t know when 
you may strike a couple of them.” Presently 
the track Pete was following led from the pas¬ 
ture, where we had found it, through a stump 
fence into an old clearing, grown up in little 
oak, beech scrub and sweet fern, and there, in 
the middle of the field, under a small boulder 
it ended. 
The brothers held a council of war with 
me as the audience. They promptly decided on 
a course of action. Bert and I were to turn the 
stone over and Pete was to stand ready to put 
it to Mr. Skunk the minute we exposed him. 
Pete put himself into position. Bert loosened 
the rock with his pick, and then the two of us 
hoisted from the offside toward ourselves, so 
that the stone would serve as a shield for us. 
The stone came up with no movement on 
Pete’s part. When it was turned over and we 
looked where it had lain, we saw what had been 
the burrow leading to a hole under another rock 
that was covered with dirt. Pete said it was 
probably an old rabbit hole; that frequently a 
skunk will take possession of a rabbit’s home. 
Bert was loosening the dirt over the second 
stone, so I took the hoe, scraped the dirt away, 
and then, when the stone had been loosened and 
holds made for our hands, we took up our old 
position with Pete as executioner. Slowly the 
stone came up until Pete said, “Now!” when 
we flung it back and jumped away as his club 
came down with a thud on the head of our 
first “skin.” 
There wasn’t much smell, not nearly so 
much as I had expected. Pete said we had sur¬ 
prised him and usually that was the way, but 
sometimes “you bump into an old fellow, some¬ 
thing happens, and then you can cut the air 
with a knife.” 
Bert was skinning. The little beast was 
pretty with its shiny black fur with the two 
white stripes down its back. Pete said it was 
a good one, and meant three dollars, which 
opened my eyes, for I had no idea skunk fur 
was worth so much. 
The skinning completed, we went on as we 
had planned, down into the gully, across the 
fields, up the next hill on to the flat, and then 
over to the edge of the old Horse Thief Run 
Swamp. Here we ran into what Peter described 
as “a flock of ’em.” There were four tracks 
apparently, close together, winding in and out, 
but keeping not far apart and going in the same 
general direction. We decided immediately 
which to follow, for three were larger than the 
fourth, and a large skin is worth twice as much 
as a small one. Bert and Pete each took up a 
trail, and I took the remaining large one and 
started. The tracks led me back and forth and 
around on the border of the old swamp. Some¬ 
times I would cross a track like the one I was 
following and sometimes cross one where a man 
had been, showing that Pete or Bert was at 
work. We were all within calling distance, and 
twice when a bird rose I heard Pete lamenting 
the absence of a gun, and I had a guilty start 
myself, when a big cock grouse rose near me 
and went whirring off, for my arm jerked and 
partly rose, holding a phantom gun. 
Presently the track I followed ended in a 
hole, and so I called to the others, but was told 
to mark it down and come on over where they 
were, for their two tracks had both ended in 
the same burrow, and they were expecting fun. 
When I reached them they had dug quite a 
bit, and the pick was handed over to me with 
the caution not to lose the hole. It’s a queer 
feeling, this digging after a young infernal 
machine in the form of a bad odor. I knew 
if I hit one of those sweet, black, little creat¬ 
ures, society would shun me. Men would sniff 
and children giggle. But I had suggested the 
hunt, and it was up to me. It is surprising how 
much a fellow can perspire in the cold, when 
he is working with a pick in frozen rocky ground 
and has a well agitated mind. I was soon warm 
and tired, but I kept at it until Bert took the 
pick. Pete suggested that he take the hoe and 
I kill the skunks, but I promptly declined the 
honor and grabbed the hoe. Bert worked stead¬ 
ily for a few minutes while I kept the hole open 
between strokes, when suddenly, after a strike 
of the pick, he left it fastened in the ground, 
jumped up to a new position, grabbed it and 
gave a wrench. Pete stepped in, his club de¬ 
scended, then rose and descended again, and 
just then there passed across the region of my 
stomach a certain weird moving. Pete was 
backing off like a horse with blind staggers and 
Bert was sitting down with a sort of an awed 
expression on his face. As Pete had said earlier, 
“The air could be cut.” I watched Bert sit and 
swallow, and presently found myself doing the 
same, and in a queer way I wondered where 
Pete was, but was too busy swallowing to find 
out. 
Presently I saw him walk up to the hole 
we had so quickly vacated and make one more 
pass with his club. And between swallows I 
wondered how he could walk that way. 
Gradually I found myself better, a little 
less leary, or else a little more used to it, so 
I came up to the hole and looked in and saw 
not two, but three of the little beauties. But 
oh, ye gods, the smell! Bert was feeling better, 
so he began skinning again. We seemed to be 
getting accustomed to it, though Pete’s eyes did 
persist in watering, and so between dabs with 
his bandanna, he explained that he had gotten 
the first two nicely, but just as he hit the second 
one, the third emerged and “gummed the game.” 
When the three were skinned we went over 
to where I had located the other burrow, but 
on discovering that the hole led down between 
two big boulders, we decided there wasn’t much 
chance with the ground all frozen up. 
We debated the question and decided that 
under the circumstances four skins were a- 
plenty. So we started home. 
The sun was getting low. It was cold, but 
the air was motionless, and it was very quiet. 
I could hear the grass rustle under my feet 
when I struck a wind-swept spot. I could hear 
the juncos twitter and I was tired, but yet I 
was happy despite it all—cold, tired and smell, 
for I had had my half day, and I had stored 
away something worth remembering. 
Bert anointed me with essence of pepper¬ 
mint when we reached his barn. And at home 
I shed my garments on the back porch, and, 
clothed in my bath robe, went for the bath. 
Bathed and once more anointed with pepper¬ 
mint, with my old clothes in a hole in the back 
yard, it all became funnier and funnier; that 
sudden triple illness, Bert’s face as he sat on 
the ground, and Pete, poor Pete and his tears. 
Would Bar Spring Shooting. 
In a final executive session the joint com¬ 
mittee from the Minnesota and Wisconsin Legis¬ 
lature, appointed to agree upon uniform fish and 
game laws for the two States, decided to recom¬ 
mend a closed season for all net fishing from 
April 15 to June 15 on the Mississippi River 
and Lakes Pepin and St. Croix. A closed sea¬ 
son for all game fish between March 1 and May 
29 was also agreed upon. Heretofore the game 
fishing season has opened June 1 in Wisconsin. 
The change will permit sportsmen to enjoy fish¬ 
ing on Memorial Day. 
The committee men agreed that seines 
should be licensed at the rate of $5 for the first 
300 feet, $10 for the first 500 feet and $5 for 
each additional 100 feet. Hoop nets or pound 
nets will be licensed at the rate of $5 for each 
700-foot leader and pound, and $5 for each 
additional pound. No set net will be permitted 
to stretch over one-third of the way across any 
passageway for fish. 
The joint committee also decided to recom¬ 
mend the abolishment of all spring shooting in 
both States. 
THE PERFUME KING. 
