Jim The Story Of A Backwoods Police Dog (And Other Stories) — Stripes The Unconcerned

STRIPES THE UNCONCERNED

On the edge of evening, when the last of the light was gathered in the pale-green upper sky, and all the world of the quiet backwoods clearings was sunken in a soft violet dusk, a leisurely and self-possessed little animal came strolling among the ancient stumps and mossy hillocks of the open upland sheep-pasture.

He was about the size of an average cat, but shorter of leg, with a long, sharp-muzzled head, and he carried his broad feathery tail very high in a graceful arch, like a squirrel in good humour.

Unlike most other creatures of the wild, his colouring was such as to make him conspicuous rather than to conceal him.

He was black, with a white stripe down his face, a white patch on the back of his neck, and a white stripe all the way along each side of his body.

And, also, unlike the rest of the furtive folk, he seemed quite unconcerned to hide his movements from observation.

Neither was he for ever glancing this way and that, as if on the watch for enemies.

Rather he had the air of being content that his enemies should do the watching—and avoid him.

The skunk—for such was the undignified appellation of this very dignified personality of the wilderness—was pleasantly engrossed in his own business.

That business, at the moment, consisted in catching the big, fat, juicy, copper-brown “June-bugs” as they emerged from their holes in the sod, crawled up the bending grass-stems, and spread their wings for their heavy evening flight.

It was easy hunting, and he had no need of haste.

To snap up these great, slow and clumsy beetles as they clung upon the grass-stems was as easy as picking strawberries, and, indeed, not altogether dissimilar, as he would nip off the hard, glossy wing-cases of the big beetles as one nips off the hull of the berry before munching the succulent morsel.

Having slept the day through in his snug burrow, in the underbrush which fringed the forest edge of the clearing, he had come forth into the dewy twilight equipped with a fine appetite.

He had come with the definite purpose of hunting “June-bugs,” this being the season, all too brief, for that highly-flavoured delicacy.

At first he had thought of nothing else; but when he had taken the edge off his hunger, he began to consider the chances of varying his diet.

As he seized an unlucky beetle, close to the edge of a flat, spreading juniper bush, a brooding ground-sparrow flew up, with a startled _cheep_, from under his very nose.

He dropped the beetle and made a lightning pounce at the bird.

But her wing had flicked him across the eyes, confusingly, and he missed her.

He knew well enough, however, what her presence there among the warm grass-tussocks meant.

He went nosing eagerly under the juniper bush, and soon found a nest with four little brown-mottled eggs in it.

Tiny though they were, they made a tit-bit very much to his taste, all the more so that they were very near hatching.

Having licked his jaws and fastidiously polished the fur of his shrewd, keen face, he sauntered off to see what other delicacies the evening might have in store for him.

A little further on, toward the centre of the pasture, he came upon a flat slab of rock, its surface sloping toward the south, its southward edge slightly overhanging and fringed with soft grass.

He knew the rock well—knew how its bare surface drank in the summer sun all day long, and held the warmth throughout the dew-chill nights.

He knew, too, that other creatures besides himself might very well appreciate this genial warmth.

Stealthily, and without the smallest disturbance of the grassy fringe, he sniffed along the overhanging edge of the rock.

Suddenly he stiffened, and his sharp nose darted in under the rock.

Then he jerked back, with the writhing tail of a snake between his jaws.

The prize was a big black-and-yellow garter snake, not far from three feet long,—not venomous, but full of energy and fight.

It tried to cling to its hiding-place; but the shrewd skunk, instead of attempting to pull it out straight, like a cork from a bottle neck, ran forward a pace or two, and, as it were, “peeled” it forth.

It doubled out, struck him smartly in the face with its harmless fangs, and then coiled itself about his neck and forelegs.

There was a moment of confused rough-and-tumble, but the skunk knew just how to handle this kind of antagonist.

Having bitten the reptile’s tail clean through, he presently, with the help of his practised little jaws, succeeded in getting hold of it by the back, an inch or two behind the head.

This ended the affair, as a struggle, and the victor proceeded to round off his supper on snake.

He managed to put away almost all but the head and tail, and then, after a meticulous toilet to fur and paws—for he was as fastidiously cleanly as a cat—he sauntered back toward his burrow in the underbrush, to refresh himself with a nap before seeking further adventures.

Directly in his path stood three or four young seedling firs, about two feet high, in a dense cluster.

Half a dozen paces beyond this tiny thicket a big red fox, belly to earth, was soundlessly stalking some quarry, perhaps a mouse, which could be heard ever so faintly rustling the grass-stems at the edge of the thicket.

To the skunk, with his well-filled belly, the sound had no interest.

He rounded the thicket and came face to face with the fox.

Neither in size, strength, nor agility was he any match for the savage red beast which stood in his path, and was quite capable, indeed, of dispatching him in two snaps of his long, lean jaws.

But he was not in the least put out.

Watchful, but cool, he kept straight on, neither delaying nor hastening his leisurely and nonchalant progress.

The fox, on the other hand, stopped short.

He was hungry.

His hunting was interfered with, for that rustling under the fir-branches had stopped.

His fine red brush twitched angrily.

Nevertheless, he had no stomach to tackle this easy-going little gentleman in the black-and-white stripes.

Showing his long white teeth in a vindictive but noiseless snarl, he stepped aside.

And the skunk, glancing back with bright eyes of vigilance and understanding, passed on as if the twilight world belonged to him.

He knew—and he knew his enemy knew as well—that he carried with him a concealed weapon of such potency that no fox, unless afflicted with madness, would ever willingly run up against it.

Reaching his burrow in the underbrush without further adventure, he found it empty.

His mate and her young ones—now three-quarters grown—were scattered away foraging for themselves over the wide, forest-scented clearings.

It was a spacious burrow, dug by a sturdy, surly old woodchuck, who, though usually as pugnacious as a badger and an obstinate stickler for his rights, had in this case yielded without a fight to the mild-mannered little usurper, and humped off in disgust to hollow a new abode much deeper in the forest, where such a mischance would not be likely to happen him again.

Under the tenancy of the skunk family the burrow was sweet and dry and daintily kept.

With a little grumble of content deep in his throat he curled himself up and went to sleep.

When he woke and set forth again to renew his foraging, although he had only slept an hour, his vigorous digestion had quite restored his appetite.

He had no more thought for June-bugs.

He wanted bigger game, more red-blooded and with some excitement in it.

He thought of the farmyard, half a mile away across the clearings, down over the round of the upland.

It was weeks now since he had visited it.

There might be something worth picking up.

There might be a mother hen with chickens, in a pen which he could find a way into.

There might be a hen sitting on her clutch of eggs in a stolen nest under the barn.

He had discovered in previous seasons that most sitting hens had their nests provided for them in secure places which he could in no way manage to come at.

But he had also found that sometimes a foolish and secretive—and very young—hen will _hide_ her nest in some such out-of-the-way place as under the barn floor, where the troublesome human creatures who preside over the destinies of hens cannot get at it.

Here she keeps her precious eggs all to herself till she has enough to cover comfortably, and then she proceeds to the pleasant task of brooding them, and has things all her own way till some night-prowler comes along and convicts her, finally and fatally, of her folly.

A full moon, large and ruddy like a ripe pumpkin, was just rising behind the jagged black tops of the spruce forest.

It threw long, fantastic, confusing shadows across the dewy hillocks of the pasture.

Hither and thither, in and out and across the barred streaks of light, darted the wild rabbits, gambolling as if half beside themselves, as if smitten with a midsummer madness by the capricious magic of the night.

But if mad, they retained enough sound sense to keep ever at a prudent distance from the leisurely striped wayfarer who appeared so little interested in their sport.

Though they were bigger than he, they knew that, if they should venture within reach of his pounce, his indifference would vanish and his inexorable fangs would be in their throats.

Knowing his utter inability to compete with the speed of the rabbits, now they were wide awake, the skunk hardly noticed their antics, but kept on his direct path toward the farmyard.

Presently, however, his attention was caught by the rabbits scattering off in every direction.

On the instant he was all alert for the cause.

Mounting a hillock, he caught sight of a biggish shaggy-haired dog some distance down the pasture.

The dog was racing this way and that as crazily, it seemed, as the rabbits, with faint little yelps of excitement and whines of disappointment.

He was chasing the rabbits with all his energy; and it was evident that he was a stranger, a new-comer to the wilderness world, for he seemed to think he might hope to catch the fleet-foot creatures by merely running after them.

As a matter of fact, he had just arrived that same day at the backwoods farm from the city down the river.

His experience had been confined to streets and gardens and the chasing of cats, and he was daft with delight over the spacious freedom of the clearings.

The skunk eyed him scornfully, and continued his journey with the unconcern of an elephant.

A moment later the dog was aware of a little, insignificant black-and-white creature coming slowly towards him as if unconscious of his presence.

Another rabbit!

But as this one did not seem alarmed, he stopped and eyed it with surprise, his head cocked to one side in inquiry.

The skunk half turned and moved off slowly, deliberately, at right angles to the path he had been following.

With a yelp of delight the dog dashed at this easy victim, which seemed so stupid that it made no effort to escape.

He was almost upon it.

Another leap and he would have had it in his jaws.

But the amazing little animal turned its back on him, stuck its tail straight in the air, and jerked up its hindquarters with a derisive gesture.

In that instant something hot and soft struck the inexperienced hunter full in the face—something soft, indeed, but overwhelming, paralyzing.

It stopped him dead in his tracks.

Suffocating, intolerably pungent, it both blinded him and choked him.

His lungs refused to work, shutting up spasmodically.

Gasping and gagging, he grovelled on his belly and strove frantically to paw his mouth and nostrils clear of the dense, viscous fluid which was clogging them.

Failing in this, he fell to rooting violently in the short grass, biting and tearing at it and rolling in it, till some measure of breath and eyesight returned to him.

Thereupon, his matted head all stuck with grass and moss and dirt, he set off racing madly for the farm-house, where he expected to get relief from the strange torment which afflicted him.

But when he pawed and whined at the kitchen door for admittance, he was driven off with contumely and broomsticks.

There was nothing for him to do but slink away with his shame to a secluded corner between the wagon-shed and the pig-pen, where he could soothe his burning muzzle in the cool winds and fresh earth.

On the following day one of the farm hands, with rude hands and unsympathetic comment, scrubbed him violently with liquid soap and then clipped close his splendid shaggy coat.

But it was a week before he was readmitted to the comfortable fellowship of the farmhouse kitchen.

For a moment or two, with a glance of triumph in his bright eyes, the skunk had watched the paroxysms of his discomfited foe.

Then, dropping the tip of his tail into its customary disdainful arch, he had turned back towards his burrow.

This was a redoubtable foe whom he had just put to rout, and he had expended most of his armoury upon him.

He had no wish to risk another encounter until the potent secretion which he carried in a sac between the powerful muscles of his thighs should have had time to accumulate again.

He dropped, for that night, all notion of the distinctly adventurous expedition to the farmyard, contenting himself with snapping up a few beetles and crickets as he went.

He was lucky enough to pounce upon an indiscreet field-mouse just as she emerged from her burrow, and then a few minutes’ digging with his powerful and expert fore-paws had served to unearth the mouse’s nest with her half-dozen tiny blind sucklings.

So he went home well satisfied with himself.

Before re-entering he again made a careful toilet; and as the opening of the sac from which he had projected the potent fluid into his enemy’s face had immediately closed up tight and fast, he carried no trace of the virulent odour with him.

Indeed, that fluid was a thing which he never by any chance allowed to get on to his own fur.

Always, at the moment of ejecting it, the fur on his thighs parted and lay back flat to either side of the naked vent of the sac, and the long tail cocked itself up rigidly, well out of the way.

It was a stuff he kept strictly for his foes, and never allowed to offend either himself or his friends.

On entering his burrow he found there his mate and all the youngsters, curled up together in the sleep of good digestion and easy conscience.

He curled himself up with them, that the supply of his high-explosive might accumulate during another forty winks.

About an hour before the dawn he awoke again, feeling hungry.

The rest of the family were still sleeping, having gorged themselves, as he might have done had it not been for that encounter with the misguided dog.

He left them whimpering contentedly in their cosy slumber, and crept forth into the dewy chill alone, his heart set on mice and such-like warm-blooded game.

The moon was now high overhead, sailing honey-coloured through a faintly violet sky.

The rough pasture, with its stumps and hillocks, was touched into a land of dream.

Now, it chanced that an old bear, who was accustomed to foraging in the valley beyond the cedar swamp, had on this night decided to bring her cub on an expedition toward the more dangerous neighbourhood of the clearings.

She wanted to begin his education in all the wariness which is so necessary for the creatures of the wild in approaching the works and haunts of man.

On reaching the leafy fringe of bushes which fringed the rude rail-fence dividing the forest from the pasture, she cautiously poked her head through the leafage, and for perhaps a minute, motionless as a stone, she interrogated the bright open spaces with eyes and ears and nostrils.

The cub, taking the cue from his mother, stiffened to the like movelessness at her side, his bright little eyes full of interest and curiosity.

There was no sign of danger in the pasture.

In fact, there were the merry rabbits hopping about in the moonlight undisturbed.

This was a sign of security quite good enough for the wise old bear.

With crafty and experienced paws she forced a hole in the fence—leaving the top rail, above the binder, in its place—and led the eager cub forth into the moonlight.

The special notion of the bear in coming to the pasture was to teach her cub the art of finding, unearthing, and catching the toothsome wild mice.

Keeping along near the fence, she sniffed the tussocky, uneven grass with practised nose.

But the first thing she came upon was a bumble-bees’ nest.

This was far more to her taste than any mice.

She gave a low call to the cub; but the cub was preoccupied now, sniffing at the rabbit tracks, and lifting himself on his hindquarters to stare longingly at the rabbits, who were hopping off to discreeter distance.

The mother did not insist on his coming to watch her tackle the bees’ nest.

After all, he was perhaps a bit young to face the stings of the angry bees, and she might as well have the little hoard of honey and larvæ and bee-bread for herself.

The cub wandered off a little way, with some vague notion of chasing the elusive rabbits.

Just then through the edge of the underbrush appeared the skunk, stretching himself luxuriously before he started off across the pasture.

He saw the bear, but he knew that sagacious beast would pay him no attention whatever.

He trotted out into the moonlight and pounced upon a fat black cricket as an appetizer.

The cub caught sight of the pretty little striped creature, and came darting clumsily and gaily to the attack.

He would show his mother that he could do some hunting on his own account.

The striped creature turned its back on him and moved off slowly.

The cub was delighted.

He was just going to reach out a rude little paw and grab the easy prize.

Then the inevitable happened.

The pretty striped creature gave its stern a contemptuous jerk, and the deluded cub fell in a heap, squealing, gasping, choking, and pawing convulsively at the horrible sticky stuff which filled his mouth and eyes.

Just before the catastrophe occurred, the old bear had looked up from her business with the bees, and had uttered a loud _woof_ of warning.

But too late.

The last thing in the world she wanted to do was to try any fooling with a skunk.

But now her rage at the suffering and discomfiture of her little one swept away all prudence.

With a grunt of fury she charged at the offender.

One glance at the approaching vengeance convinced the skunk that this time he had made a mistake.

He turned and raced for the underbrush as fast as his little legs would carry him.

But that was not fast enough.

Just as he was about to dart under the fence, a huge black paw, shod with claws like steel, crashed down upon him, and his leisurely career came to an end.

The bear, in deep disgust, scraped her reeking paw long and earnestly in the fresh earth beneath the grass, then turned her attention to the unhappy cub.

She relieved her feelings by giving him a sharp cuff which sent him sprawling a dozen feet.

Then, relenting, she showed him how to clean himself by rooting in the earth.

At length, when he could see and breathe once more with some degree of comfort, she indignantly led him away back into the depths of the consoling forest.

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