THE DARING OF STRIPES TERROR-TAIL
"What would you do if a bear came at you, Uncle Andy?" inquired the
Babe.
"Run," said Uncle Andy promptly, "unless I had a gun!"
The Babe thought deeply for a moment.
"And what would you do if a little, teeny, black-and-white striped
skunk came at you?" he asked.
"Run like sixty!" responded Uncle Andy, still more promptly.
"But a skunk's so little!" persisted the Babe. "Will he bite?"
"Bite!" retorted Uncle Andy scornfully. "He doesn't have to. It
appears to me you don't know skunks very well!"
"Huh!" said the Babe. "I've smelt 'em. But _smells_ can't hurt
anybody."
"With your notions of skunks," answered Uncle Andy, "you're going to
get yourself into a heap of trouble one of these days. I'd better tell
you about what happened once when a small young skunk, out walking all
by himself in the dewy twilight, happened to meet a large young bear."
Now, the Babe had a great respect for bears.
"Huh!" said he scornfully. "What could _he_ do to a bear?"
"The little skunk's name," said Uncle Andy, paying no heed to the
interruption, "was Stripes Terror-Tail. He was a pretty fellow, black
and glossy, with two clear white stripes down his back on each side of
his backbone. His tail was long and bushy, and carried high in a
graceful curve; and he was about the size of a half-grown kitten.
"Generally he went hunting with the rest of his family, for the
Terror-Tails are affectionate and fond of each other's companionship.
But each one does just as he likes, in his easy way; so on this
particular evening little Stripes had strolled off by himself over the
dewy hillocks, catching fat crickets in the dim twilight, and hoping
every minute that he might find a ground sparrow's nest under some
bush."
"Did he rob birds' nests?" asked the Babe, remembering that this, for
boys, was one of the deadly sins.
"He certainly did!" said Uncle Andy, who didn't like to be interrupted.
"That is, when he had a chance. Well, as luck would have it, a young
bear was out nosing around the hillocks that evening, amusing himself
with the fat crickets. He wasn't very hungry, being chock full of the
first blueberries.
"He would sit back on his haunches, like a tremendous, overgrown black
puppy, with his head tilted to one side, his ears cocked shrewdly, and
a twinkle in his little dark eyes; and with one furry forepaw he would
pat a thick bunch of grass till the frightened crickets came scurrying
out to see what was the matter. Then he would almost fall over himself
trying to scoop them all up at once--and while he was chewing those
he'd caught he'd look as disappointed as anything over those that got
away.
"Well, when he got tired of crickets he thought he'd look for a bird's
nest. He came to a wide, flat, spreading juniper bush, just the kind
that might have a bird's nest under it; and as he nosed around it he
came face to face with little Stripes. You see, they were both after
the same thing, and both had the same idea about the best place to look
for it.
"Now, that young bear's education had been terribly neglected. He
didn't know any more about skunks than you do. So he thought, maybe
the soft little black-and-white thing with the fluffy tail carried so
airily might be just as good to eat as birds' eggs--besides being more
filling, of course.
"He would have grabbed little Stripes right off, had the latter tried
to run away. But as Stripes showed no sign of any such intention, the
bear hesitated. After all, there didn't seem to be any great hurry!
He put out a big paw to slap the stranger, but changed his mind and
drew it back again, the stranger seemed so unconcerned. It was
decidedly queer, he thought to himself, that a little scrap of a
creature like that should be taking things so easy when he was around.
He began to feel insulted.
"As for Stripes, nothing was farther from his mind than running away
from the big black creature that had suddenly appeared in front of him.
It was not for a plump, leisurely little skunk to be taking violent
exercise on a hot night. Yet he didn't want to walk right over the
bear--not at all. And he had no intention of making things
disagreeable for the clumsy-looking stranger."
"Huh, what could _he_ do to _him_?" interrupted the Babe again. He had
the greatest faith in bears.
"_Will_ you wait!" groaned Uncle Andy. "But first let me explain to
you the peculiar weapon with which Stripes, and all the Terror-Tail
family, do their fighting when they have to fight--which they are quite
too polite to do unnecessarily. Some distance below his bushy,
graceful tail, sunken between the strong muscles of his thighs, Stripes
had a shallow pit, or sac, of extraordinarily tough skin containing a
curious gland which secreted an oil of terrible power.
"The strong muscles surrounding this sac kept the mouth of it always so
tightly closed that not an atom could get out to soil the little
owner's clean, dainty fur, or cause the slightest smell. In fact,
Stripes was altogether one of the cleanest and daintiest and most
gentlemanly of all the wild creatures. But when he _had_ to, he could
contract those muscles around the oil sac with such violence that the
deadly oil--blinding and suffocating--would be shot forth to a distance
of several feet, right into the face of the enemy. And _that_, let me
tell you, was never good for the enemy!"
"Why?" demanded the Babe.
But Uncle Andy only eyed him scornfully. "When Stripes, quite civilly,
looked at the bear, and then proceeded to smell around under the
juniper bush for that bird's nest, which didn't seem to be there, the
bear was much puzzled. He put out his paw again--and again drew it
back.
"Then he said 'Wah!' quite loud and sharp, to see if that would
frighten the imperturbable stranger. But Stripes didn't seem to mind
noises like that. His bright, intelligent eyes were on the bear all
the time, you know, though he seemed to be so busy hunting for that
bird's nest.
"'Pooh!' said the bear to himself, 'he's just plain idiot, that's
what's the matter with him. I'll eat him, anyway!' and he bounced
forward, with paw uplifted, intending to gather Stripes as he would a
fat cricket."
Here Uncle Andy was so inconsiderate as to pause and relight his pipe.
The Babe clutched his arm.
"Well," he went on presently, "just at this moment Stripes made as if
he was going to run away, after all. He whisked round and jumped about
two feet, and his fine tail flew up over his back, and in that very
instant the bear thought the whole side of the hill had struck him in
the face.
"He stopped with a bump, his nose went straight up in the air, and he
squalled: 'Wah-ah! Wah--' But in the middle of these remarks he
choked and strangled and started pawing wildly at his nose, trying to
get his breath.
"His eyes were shut tight, and that deadly oil clung like glue. His
paws couldn't begin to get it off, and so he fell to rooting his nose
in the turf like a pig, and plowing the grass with his whole face,
fairly standing on his head in his efforts, all the time coughing and
gurgling as if he was having a fit.
"His behavior, in fact, was perfectly ridiculous; but there was no one
there to laugh at it but Stripes, and he was too polite. He just
strolled on quietly to another bush, and kept looking for that bird's
nest.
"At last the bear, what with pawing and rooting, managed to get his
breath and open his eyes. He wallowed a bit more, and then sat up, his
nose full of dirt, and moss and grass hanging all over his face. He
was a sight, I tell you! And how he did dislike himself!
"As he sat there, thinking how he'd ever get away from himself, he
caught sight of Stripes, strolling off quietly over the brown hillocks.
Sitting back on his haunches, he blinked at the little, leisurely
black-and-white figure.
"'And to think I was going to eat _that_!' he said to himself sadly."