It sounded like a hen falling in a bad dream, then regaining her perch to go to sleep again.

But next morning the body of one of these highly esteemed branches of the egg-plant was found in the corner, partly devoured.

Quonab examined the headless hen, the dust around, and uttered the word, "Mink." Rolf said, "Why not skunk ?" "Skunk could not climb to the perch." "Weasel then." "Weasel would only suck the blood, and would kill three or four." "Coon would carry him away, so would fox or wildcat, and a marten would not come into the building by night." There was no question, first, that it was a mink, and, second, that he was hiding about the barn until the hunger pang should send him again to the hen house.

Quonab covered the hen's body with two or three large stones so that there was only one approach.

In the way of this approach he buried a "number one" trap.
That night they were aroused again; this time by a frightful screeching, and a sympathetic, inquiring cackle from the fowls.
Arising, quickly they entered with a lantem.