116 saddlebag dispatches “Sure did. That trap worked just like I told you guys it would.” “Well, I’ll be damned,” Caleb said. “That calls for a celebration.” “Sure does,” Butch said. “Let’s open a can of peaches for breakfast instead of waiting till Sunday.” The men dressed, then sat at the roughhewn table to enjoy flapjacks and peaches. Carson was mad that Newell’s idea worked and at all the attention he was getting. Finally, the cook said, “Okay, smarty britches, how’re you going to get him out from under the shack now that he’s caught?” Newell smiled, unperturbed by the man’s attitude. “I’ve been thinking on that. I’ll shimmy in to the peach crate and tie the rope on it. If we drag it out slow, he’ll have to walk along inside the crate.” “And just how do you figure to get the rope tied without getting sprayed?” Newell dropped his fork to the table, starting to lose his patience. He looked at the naysayer. “I heard a long time ago that a skunk can’t spray unless he can get his tail up. That peach crate’s low enough to the ground. I think it’s worth a try unless you know something better.” Carson wiped the skillet with an oily rag before hanging it on the wall. He glanced back with a scowl. “Just be warned
that if you get sprayed, you’ll have to sleep at the barn till the smell wears off.” Caleb stood, looking at both men. Then glaring at Carson, he addressed the trapper. “Newell, I say you get on down there and pull the polecat out.” Newell donned his coat, then stepped out the door and down to the ground below. In no time he was on his belly, slowly and deliberately working his way toward the skunk. The varmint hunched down at the back of the crate, facing Newell, beady eyes watching the man approach. The cowboy slowly tied the rope onto the wire of the peach crate, then backed out. Once outside he carefully pulled on the rope. All four men watched the crate slowly make its way to the light of day with the skunk reluctantly moving along inside. Newell pulled until the trap and the skunk were ten feet from the shack, out in the open area at the front. Caleb turned and said over his shoulder to Carson, “Now you can shoot him.” Carson was standing close, but he didn’t have a gun. Instead he held a can of coal oil. “Shootin’s too fast. He made life miserable for us, he’s got to pay.” He stepped forward, poured the coal oil on the skunk, then struck a match and threw it into the peach crate. The oil on the skunk quickly caught. He was running around inside the peach crate in a panic.