Jan. i6, 1909.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
95 
In Pursuit of the Skunk. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
When fur is prime, my neighbor, the hunter, 
goes in pursuit of the skunk. While the season 
lasts, he forsakes all other employment. He has 
been counting the days like a schoolboy before 
vacation. To him it is vacation and harvest in 
one. The ginseng beds dwindle, the wild bees 
decrease in a drouth, but the skunk crop has 
not failed him since the first harvest. Night 
after night he roams the fields with lantern and 
staff, accompanied by his dog, a mongrel terrier 
of rabbit size. When cold nights come he goes 
by day with handax in his belt and hoe and 
pickax on his shoulder exploring wild ravines, 
digging assiduously on the sunniest slopes; re¬ 
turning betimes, odorous, elate, burdened with 
skunks, flushed with fresh conquests and hard 
cider. 
November was far spent, but the night was 
warm and the clouds threatened rain. My 
neighbor proposed a three or four mile trip 
over the hills to the eastward, so with lighted 
lanterns and stout staffs we set forth with Nig. 
the mongrel terrier, at our heels. 
My neighbor’s disposition is hopeful and no 
wise colored by his solitary outings; his similes 
are pungent and savor of his calling. Our topic 
was the long drouth, the shrunken streams and 
failing springs. He declared that his well was 
“dryer than a woodpecker’s hole.” We skirted 
a stony, mullein-studded hill-pasture, honey¬ 
combed with woodchuck burrows and scarred 
in many places by his pickax and hoe. 
“I have turned this field over so often in 
looking for skunks that the soil is quite mellow 
up here,” he said. “It is strong land, too,” he 
added, “to bear so- many stones.” 
As we crossed the fields Nig beat a strip 150 
or 200 yards in width, we being the center or 
base of his operations. His bark proved that 
he preferred rabbits to skunks. He had an 
eager and enthusiastic yelp for the rabbit that 
whisked along the fence row, and an angry and 
determined bark for the skunk which he faced 
a few minutes later. Before we arrived on the 
scene the skunk had poured the vials of his 
wrath on Nig’s head and retreated under a 
rock. The light of our lanterns enabled the 
hunter to dispatch him with our only firearm, 
a small revolver. Nig doubled his forepaws 
under his body, and propelled by his hind legs 
plowed the stubble with his nose. This cere¬ 
mony refreshed and fitted him for future en¬ 
counters. 
Contrary to my expectation the dog was off 
on another track immediately. Within ten 
minutes he unraveled the clue and brought the 
animal to a standstill. We raced in that direc¬ 
tion at the first alarm. I arrived in time to 
see the hunter swing his staff over his shoulder 
like a golf stick and finish the skunk at one 
blow. 
We walked another mile, climbing stone walls 
and crawling through wire fences at intervals, 
when Nig gave warning far away to the left. 
It was a long chase and we arrived too late, for 
the skunk had crept under a stone wall. We 
removed a few stones and the hunter held his 
lantern while I drew the skunk forth by the 
tail and flung him far afield. Before the skunk 
recovered from his surprise the hunter’s staff 
descended swiftly on his defenseless head. 
Only by facing the constant east wind that 
had buffeted us and hummed all the evening in 
the distant woods had I been able to keep the 
points of the compass in mind. The landmarks, 
lantern lit, looked strange to me; the lighted 
windows of the nearest farmhouse seemed un¬ 
familiar. We were three miles from home, but 
the hunter knew the farm and the field, too, 
better perhaps than the owner would at that 
hour. 
There was no chirp of disturbed field spar¬ 
rows, no throb of crickets as • in early autumn. 
We were somewhat subdued by the loneliness 
of the dark fields. Turning to the right we went 
down a long hill toward the Bozenkill, planning 
to follow the valley home. A sentinel owl chal- 
“my neighbor, the hunter.” 
From a photograph by Frank Gaige. 
lenged us at the very gate of the forest, as 
though we were unlawfully abroad; in the 
thicket’s edge a frightened grouse beat its way 
blindly through the saplings. Still further on 
among the hemlocks we heard a murmur of 
alarm passed along by innumerable drowsy cows, 
and all at once there was a deafening uproar 
as the flock rose and winged its way through 
the night. 
The hunter frequently takes five or six skunks 
of an evening, but we were not destined to equal 
the record. The skunk had already selected his 
winter residence. His subterranean bedroom 
was newly furnished and he was loth to leave 
it. We had two miles of woodland before us 
and were hopeful that Nig would tree a raccoon, 
but from thenceforth the dog was a failure. All 
smells were alike to him. 
Our bag was heavy and we carried it by turns. 
The skunks must be taken home, the oil as well 
as fur being marketable. A rose garden or a 
tan yard could not deflect our course. “All the 
perfumes of Arabia” could not sweeten us, but 
our noses were not indignant. The steady wind 
hummed on and wafted a portion of the odor 
far before us, warning the wakeful household 
of our approach. Will W. Christman. 
Game Conditions in a Corner of Maine. 
Cornish, Me., Jan. 2. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: So far as we know, but one deer has 
been killed within the limits of our town the 
past season; a small spikehorn falling to the 
gun of a young man named Owen Sargent. 
Two other Cornish hunters, Charles Badgley 
and Freeman Day, were equally successful, each 
getting a fine doe, but in their case the kills 
were made a short distance over the Hiram 
line. Mr. Badgley, who had the luck to secure 
his deer in less than an hour of his first time 
out, is a type of our best class of hunters—men 
who feel the need of an occasional relaxation of 
the strain of work or business, and improve the 
opportunity afforded by a dull hour to shoulder 
rifle and tramp away over the hills, considering 
themselves well repaid in the invigorating 
effects upon body and mind, even though they 
secure no game. 
In the surrounding towns of Baldwin, Lim¬ 
erick, Newfield, Parsonfield, Porter, Hiram, 
Denmark and Brownfield, hunters have been 
unusually well rewarded, and perhaps more deer 
have been killed in this group of towns the 
past season than ever before. Reports place 
the number killed in the vicinity of Ten Mile 
Brook, at over thirty, while fifteen bucks, it is 
said, have been killed in or near Newfield. The 
last-named town lies in territory in which does 
enjoy protection. So also does our own town, 
and the boys all say that the thing is well under¬ 
stood by the usually wary females, and that 
they have been tantalizingly free in exposing 
themselves. 
The small-game hunter is practically “out of 
the running” in this section. With the gray 
squirrel protected for a term of years, the 
woodcock only an uncertain visitor, and the 
ruffed grouse to be found only in shockingly 
diminished numbers, it would seem that the day 
of the shotgun is at an end with us for a time 
at least. A decade ago fair bags of grouse 
could be made and they were regarded as our 
best sport. Now a man may possibly bag a 
solitary bird—more often not—in an all-day 
hunt. Hasten the day, we say, when these 
birds may be protected like the squirrel, until 
they reach something of their former numbers. 
Until then chief recourse it would seem must 
be had on the deer, and in realization of the fact 
there has been a general exchange of shotguns 
for the rifle. 
W. H. Hatch, of this place, registered guide 
and taxidermist, made his annual trip to the 
northern woods, returning shortly before 
Thanksgiving. He reports the usual plentiful¬ 
ness of game in the vicinity of his camp, situ¬ 
ated a considerable distance north of Moose- 
head. John L. Woodbury. 
All the game laws of the United States and 
Canada, revised to date and now in force, are 
given in the Game Laws in Brief. See adv. 
