Beautiful Joe [77]
said Miss Laura. "Why
didn't you have a deadfall for the foxes as you had for the bears?"
"They were too cunning to go into deadfalls. There was a better way to catch
them, though. Foxes hate water, and never go into it unless they are obliged to,
so we used to find a place where a tree had fallen across a river, and made a
bridge for them to go back and forth on. Here we set snares, with spring poles
that would throw them into the river when they made struggles to get free, and
drown them. Did you ever hear of the fox, Laura, that wanted to cross a river,
and lay down on the bank pretending that he was dead, and a countryman came
along, and, thinking he had a prize, threw him in his boat and rowed across,
when the fox got up and ran away?"
"Now, uncle," said Miss Laura, "you're laughing at me. That couldn't be true."
"No, no," said Mr. Wood, chuckling; "but they're mighty cute at pretending
they're dead. I once shot one in the morning, carried him a long way on my
shoulders, and started to skin him in the afternoon, when he turned around and
bit me enough to draw blood. At another time I dug one out of a hole in the
ground. He feigned death. I took him up and threw him down at some distance, and
he jumped up and ran into the woods."
"What other animals did you catch when you were a boy?" asked Mr. Maxwell.
"Oh, a number. Otters and beavers we caught them in deadfalls and in steel
traps. The mink we usually took in deadfalls, smaller, of course, than the ones
we used for the bears. The musk-rat we caught in box traps like a mouse trap.
The wild-cat we ran down like the loup cervier "
"What kind of an animal is that?" asked Mr. Maxwell.
"It is a lynx, belonging to the cat species. They used to prowl about the
country killing hens, geese, and sometimes sheep. They'd fix their tusks in the
sheep's neck and suck the blood. They did not think much of the sheep's flesh.
We ran them down with dogs. They'd often run up trees, and we'd shoot them. Then
there were rabbits that we caught, mostly in snares. For musk-rats, we'd put a
parsnip or an apple on the spindle of a box trap. When we snared a rabbit, I
always wanted to find it caught around the neck and strangled to death. If they
got half through the snare and were caught around the body, or by the hind legs,
they'd live for some time, and they'd cry just like a child. I like shooting
them better, just because I hated to hear their pitiful cries. It's a bad
business this of killing dumb creatures, and the older I get, the more chicken-
hearted I am about it."
"Chicken-hearted I should think you are," said Mrs. Wood. "Do you know, Laura,
he won't even kill a fowl for dinner. He gives it to one of the men to do."
"'Blessed are the merciful,'" said Miss Laura, throwing her arm over her uncle's
shoulder. "I love you, dear Uncle John, because you are so kind to every living
thing."
"I'm going to be kind to you now," said her uncle, "and send you to bed. You
look tired."
"Very well," she said, with a smile. Then bidding them all good-night, she went
upstairs. Mr. Wood turned to Mr. Maxwell. "You're going to stay all night with
us, aren't you?"
"So Mrs. Wood says," replied the young man, with a smile.
"Of course," she said. "I couldn't think of letting you go back to the village
such a night as this. It's raining cats and dogs but I mustn't say that, or
there'll be no getting you to stay. I'll go and prepare your old room next to
Harry's." And she bustled away.
The two young men went to the pantry for doughnuts and milk, and Mr. Wood stood
gazing down at me. "Good dog," he said; "you look as if you sensed that talk to-
night. Come, get a bone, and then away to bed."
He gave me a very large mutton bone, and I held it in my mouth, and watched him
opening the woodshed door. I love human beings; and the saddest time of day for
me is when I have to be separated from them while they sleep.
"Now, go to bed and rest well, Beautiful Joe," said Mr. Wood, "and if you
didn't you have a deadfall for the foxes as you had for the bears?"
"They were too cunning to go into deadfalls. There was a better way to catch
them, though. Foxes hate water, and never go into it unless they are obliged to,
so we used to find a place where a tree had fallen across a river, and made a
bridge for them to go back and forth on. Here we set snares, with spring poles
that would throw them into the river when they made struggles to get free, and
drown them. Did you ever hear of the fox, Laura, that wanted to cross a river,
and lay down on the bank pretending that he was dead, and a countryman came
along, and, thinking he had a prize, threw him in his boat and rowed across,
when the fox got up and ran away?"
"Now, uncle," said Miss Laura, "you're laughing at me. That couldn't be true."
"No, no," said Mr. Wood, chuckling; "but they're mighty cute at pretending
they're dead. I once shot one in the morning, carried him a long way on my
shoulders, and started to skin him in the afternoon, when he turned around and
bit me enough to draw blood. At another time I dug one out of a hole in the
ground. He feigned death. I took him up and threw him down at some distance, and
he jumped up and ran into the woods."
"What other animals did you catch when you were a boy?" asked Mr. Maxwell.
"Oh, a number. Otters and beavers we caught them in deadfalls and in steel
traps. The mink we usually took in deadfalls, smaller, of course, than the ones
we used for the bears. The musk-rat we caught in box traps like a mouse trap.
The wild-cat we ran down like the loup cervier "
"What kind of an animal is that?" asked Mr. Maxwell.
"It is a lynx, belonging to the cat species. They used to prowl about the
country killing hens, geese, and sometimes sheep. They'd fix their tusks in the
sheep's neck and suck the blood. They did not think much of the sheep's flesh.
We ran them down with dogs. They'd often run up trees, and we'd shoot them. Then
there were rabbits that we caught, mostly in snares. For musk-rats, we'd put a
parsnip or an apple on the spindle of a box trap. When we snared a rabbit, I
always wanted to find it caught around the neck and strangled to death. If they
got half through the snare and were caught around the body, or by the hind legs,
they'd live for some time, and they'd cry just like a child. I like shooting
them better, just because I hated to hear their pitiful cries. It's a bad
business this of killing dumb creatures, and the older I get, the more chicken-
hearted I am about it."
"Chicken-hearted I should think you are," said Mrs. Wood. "Do you know, Laura,
he won't even kill a fowl for dinner. He gives it to one of the men to do."
"'Blessed are the merciful,'" said Miss Laura, throwing her arm over her uncle's
shoulder. "I love you, dear Uncle John, because you are so kind to every living
thing."
"I'm going to be kind to you now," said her uncle, "and send you to bed. You
look tired."
"Very well," she said, with a smile. Then bidding them all good-night, she went
upstairs. Mr. Wood turned to Mr. Maxwell. "You're going to stay all night with
us, aren't you?"
"So Mrs. Wood says," replied the young man, with a smile.
"Of course," she said. "I couldn't think of letting you go back to the village
such a night as this. It's raining cats and dogs but I mustn't say that, or
there'll be no getting you to stay. I'll go and prepare your old room next to
Harry's." And she bustled away.
The two young men went to the pantry for doughnuts and milk, and Mr. Wood stood
gazing down at me. "Good dog," he said; "you look as if you sensed that talk to-
night. Come, get a bone, and then away to bed."
He gave me a very large mutton bone, and I held it in my mouth, and watched him
opening the woodshed door. I love human beings; and the saddest time of day for
me is when I have to be separated from them while they sleep.
"Now, go to bed and rest well, Beautiful Joe," said Mr. Wood, "and if you