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Updated: June 25, 2025
"They tell me," said another, "that he kills cats for their skins, and that he goes out o' nights with a long pole to kill skunks, and roasts them to get their grease, because skunk's grease is mighty powerful for men and beasts sometimes, and sells for a good deal, 'cause there ain't many folks willing to undertake the nasty varmints." "Do you know what Beckey Cross said about him?
I thought of the queer smell that clung to my stained old coat and the company I had kept at Skunk's Misery though if I had guessed what that wretched boy was going to mean to me I might have grudged my contact with him less and I would not have gone near my dream girl for a fortune. "I think I'll get clean first," I began, and found myself laughing for the first time in a week.
Besides, I had a feeling it might be useful to do a little still hunting round Skunk's Misery. If Collins had had that bottle of devil's brew at La Chance he had got it from Skunk's Misery: probably out of the very hut where I had once nursed a filthy boy. And I had a feeling that the first thing I needed to do was to prove it.
When I said why not, he bit his nails some more, and said he was afraid of a hold-up: what he wanted me to do was to ride over to the Halfway and scout around from there to clear the Caraquet road, before I started out from La Chance with an ounce of gold. The idea suited me well enough. It would cover my expedition to Skunk's Misery.
"Where's your leader?" he asked, and they pointed to the American, who lay with the blood pouring from a wound in his left thigh. "He's there, is he?" screamed the infuriated man. "The darned skunk's down, is he? Well, I'll cure him like a ham. Get torches, some of you and ice him in." He was swaying with passion; yet, even regarding it, I could not understand what his order meant, and I asked
He wouldn't dare. This country won't stand for that kind of a play with a girl. Arizona would hang him to the first telegraph pole that was handy." The cowpuncher looked at him and spoke dryly. "I reckon the skunk's been out of Arizona quite some time. He's in greaser land now, and I never heard tell that Pasquale was so darned particular what his men did.
But when Henry felt that rolling, tumbling, fighting pair bump against him he drew his head out of the hole in a hurry. And as soon as he saw what was happening he sunk his own sharp teeth deep into Freddie Weasel's back. Freddie let go of Frisky Squirrel at once. And he gave Henry Skunk's nose such a savage nip that Henry just had to squeal it hurt him so.
Thirsey's got the croup, an' Atherton's away, and there ain't anybody to go for the doctor. Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do!" She fairly wrung her hands. "Hev you tried the skunk's oil?" asked Grandma eagerly, preparing to get up. "Yes, I have, I have! It's a good hour since she woke up, an' I've tried everything. It hasn't done any good.
"Didn't ask! It looked like gin, and it smelt like a sulphide factory when it got on my clothes. They certainly had that bottle." "Well, Skunk's Misery hasn't got this bottle, anyhow!" I could see no reason for the look on her face. It was not gay any more; it was stern, if a girl's face can be stern, and it was white with angry suspicion. Suddenly she laughed, rather fiercely.
They are Shadow the Weasel, Billy Mink and Little Joe Otter. These are the only ones I can think of now." "How about Digger the Badger?" asked Old Mother Nature. A look of surprise swept over Jimmy Skunk's face. "Digger the Badger!" he exclaimed. "Digger the Badger is no cousin of mine!" "Tut, tut, tut!" chided Old Mother Nature. "Tut, tut, tut, Jimmy Skunk! It is high time you came to school.
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