slight rattling of the gravel. He turned and saw,
not the Cat, but a very different and somewhat larger animal. Low,
thick-set, jet black, with white marks and an immense bushy tail--Yan
recognized the Skunk at once, although he had never before met a wild
one in daylight. It came at a deliberate waddle, nosing this way and
that. It rounded the bend and was nearly opposite Yan, when three
little Skunks of this year's brood came toddling after the mother.

The old one examined the tracks much as the Cat had done, and Yan got
a singular sense of brotherhood in seeing the wild things at his own
study.

Then the old Skunk came to the fresh tracks of the Cat and paused so
long to smell them that the three young ones came up and joined in.
One of the young ones went to the bank where the Cat came down. As it
blew its little nose over the fresh scent, the old Skunk waddled to
the place, became quite interested, then climbed the bank. The little
ones followed in a disjointed procession, varied by one of them
tumbling backward from the steep trail.

The old Skunk reached the top of the bank, then mounted the log and
followed unerringly the Cat's back trail to the hole in the trunk.
Down this she peered a minute, then, sniffing, walked in, till nothing
could be seen but her tail. Now Yan heard loud, shrill mewing from the
log, "_Mew, mew, m-e-u-w, m-e-e-u-w,"_ and the old Skunk came
backing out, holding a small gray Kitten.

The little thing mewed and spit energetically, holding on to the
inside of the log. But the old Skunk was too strong--she dragged it
out. Then holding it down with both paws, she got a good firm grip
of its neck and turned to carry it down to the bed of the brook.
The Kitten struggled vigorously, and at last got its claws into the
Skunk's eye and gave such a wrench that the ill-smelling villain
loosened its hold a little and so gave the Kitten another chance to
squeal, which it did with a will, putting all its strength into a
succession of heartrending _mee-ow--mee-ows._ Yan's heart
was touched. He was about to dash to the rescue when there was a
scrambling in the far grass, a rush of gray, and the Cat--the old
mother Cat was on the scene, a picture of demon rage, eyes ablaze, fur
erect, ears back. With the spring of a Deer and the courage of a Lion
she made for the black murderer. Eye could not follow the flashings
of her paws. The Skunk recoiled and stared stupidly, but not long;
nothing was "long" ab