Part 11 (1/2)
Max and Steve exchanged puzzled looks.
”What in the d.i.c.kens is up now!” exclaimed the latter.
”Owen wants us to cross over to where he is,” Max went on to say; ”and I reckon the quickest way to find out is to join him.”
”Ginger, I can see Toby there, too; yes, and now I get a glimpse of Trapper Jim and Bandy-legs! They're all sitting in a row on that log, Max, and lookin' solemn-like at the cabin. What in the wide world is up?
She ain't a-fire that I can notice.”
”Come along; let's find out,” said Max, stooping to his end of the pole upon which the hind quarter of venison was slung.
”I'll just bust if I don't know soon, because I hate mysteries,” muttered Steve, as he copied the example of his chum.
When the two victorious hunters came upon the rest, Jim and Toby and Bandy-legs got up off the log. They even smiled a little, but Max thought there was something rather forced about this half grin.
”What's happened?” he asked.
”Yes,” added Steve impetuously, ”what are you all pulling such long faces for, just like it was a funeral or something; tell us that?”
”It _is_ something nigh as bad as a funeral,” said Trapper Jim, a twinkle appearing in his eye.
”We're certainly bereft--of our home,” added Owen, making a wry face.
”What!” gasped Steve, looking from the speaker across to the cabin.
”It's not exactly a funeral, but an eviction,” remarked Owen again.
”He means,” said Bandy-legs, ”we're kicked out of our cabin--that to-night we'll have to sleep on the cold, hard ground, with only the sky for a blanket. And what's worse, it was my turn to try that jolly old bunk. Hang the luck, why couldn't he stay where he belonged and leave us alone!”
”Say, if it's an animal that's got in, and is holding the fort, why, let's go up and cross-fire him from the windows,” suggested impetuous Steve.
”Not on your life!” exclaimed Trapper Jim, catching hold of Steve before he could break away. ”That's just what we _don't_ want to do--disturb him too violently or kill him while he chooses to hold the fort there.”
”But why are you so careful about his health, Uncle Jim?” asked the bewildered Steve.
”Because our guest happens to be a striped skunk!” was the appalling answer he received.
CHAPTER VIII.
SMOKING THE INTRUDER OUT.
”A polecat!” gasped Steve. ”Thunder! What a nice mess we're in.”
”That's just what,” echoed Bandy-legs. ”It's half an hour now since Uncle Jim sighted the striped beast through the window. He was a-settin' on the table then, and having a spread all by himself. Then, of course, after that he gets sleepy, and I just bet you right now he's curled up as nice as you please in the very bunk I expected to occupy to-night. Just my luck!”
”But we ought to get rid of him,” said Max, hardly knowing whether to laugh or feel provoked, for he was very tired and hungry and did not enjoy the prospect of sleeping out-of-doors without even a solitary blanket, while that saucy little beast retained possession of the whole cabin.
”We've been waiting and watching and hoping this half hour and more,”