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Forest and Stream Letters 
A Pet Marten 
DEAR FOREST AND STREAM: 
N one of the warehouses of Stetson, 
| Cutter & Co., on the Kedgwick 
River, Prov. of N. B., lives a male 
marten called Bill. He has been there 
now about four years. This little animal 
was caught by one of a logging crew 
operating on the south branch of the 
Kedgwick, and I might say here that 
it was owing to the 
want of a steel trap 
that Bill is alive to- 
day and his hide not 
decorating some 
lady’s neck in the 
form of a choker. 
Having noticed the 
track of a marten 
around the lunch hole, 
and not having any 
trap, the logger 
placed a box with a 
sliding door so ar- 
ranged that the mar- 
ten upon entering the 
box and pulling at 
the piece of fresh 
meat attached to a 
string which was con- 
nected with the door, 
would be a prisoner. 
Several days after 
placing the box there, 
upon returning to the 
camp one evening, he 
saw that the door was shut and upon 
investigating, found he had either a 
marten or else some other fighting ani- 
mal inside. The box was quickly car- 
ried to the camp and the marten was 
transferred to a flour barrel and a cover 
—with a small hole for air—was secure- 
ly fastened on top. 
NE night in the barrel and the 
marten had almost eaten his way 
through, and after nailing a board over 
the hole, the logger decided that the 
only good marten was a dead one as he 
was nothing to him but a bunch of 
fur filled with snarls and bites. The 
writer, having chanced to come along 
and admiring the plucky little marten’s 
fight for liberty, and not wishing to see 
him killed, bought him, and flour bar- 
rel and marten were once more trans- 
ferred to the tote team and hauled out 
to the warehouse where he was placed 
at liberty. He is very fond of raisins, 
fresh fish, prunes, sugar (granulated 
or brown), he isn’t particular as to 
quality, and will also appreciate a 
chocolate now and then. He also likes 
eggs and when unable to carry one in 
his mouth, will drag it away between 

Bill, the pet marten, strikes a pose 
his forepaws. His hearing is acute and 
so is his sense of smell and he can 
quickly pick a stranger out by going 
overhead on the beams and scenting 
him. This marten’s coat is very dark 
during the summer and the throat is 
of an orange color, but when the winter 
comes it is a nice brown, and the head 
and lower part of neck are a greyish 
white. The tail remains very dark 
winter or summer but in the cold sea- 
son it gets very bushy and when lying 
down or sleeping, he curls it around 
his nose in the same way that a fox 
would do. 
You should see this marten and if 
there’s a laugh in you, it will surely 
come out. You should see him take a 
piece of meat—a small wee piece as big 
as a robin’s egg—out of my closed 
hand. He will not bite. He simply uses 
those two fore paws and believe me I 
open the hand very quickly. His claws 
are like needles. 
Vaca should see him jump a foot or 
more clear of the floor and grab 
a piece of meat that is swinging back 
and forth and hang on while he has a 
lunch. And hear the growls when he 
is hauling at a piece 
of meat that I am 
holding. 
I used to put a 
blanket or other stuff 
in the shed for him to 
lie on but he always 
Mad ey enis)) bedaaan 
amongst the hay. But 
last spring I put one 
of the blankets from 
my bed out in the shed 
and he took posses- 
sion of it although 
there were a dozen 
others. He has a 
nice little round spot 
in it where he sleeps. 
Since writing the 
enclosed letter I nea:- 
ly lost my marten: I 
went in the shed to 
feed him and left the 
sliding door open 
about a foot while I 
sat on a bale of hay 
close by the door. Our big cat came 
along and stepped into the shed. 
Y attention was taken up for a 
moment by the cat—a nice one 
and half wild, as he never comes in- 
side the camp. My back was towards 
the marten and I expected him to make 
his usual grunt when near me. But 
no sound this time. I saw him land 
about 18 inches from the cot. I jumped 
at the same instant and he was off 
again in a flash. It would surely have 
been some scrap as he would fight as 
long as there was a breath in him, but 
the cat would certainly have been a 
tough proposition. 
CLAUDE HYNES, 
Kedgwick, N. B., Canada. 
159 
