Rolf then saw a sight that gave him a prickling in his hair.

The mink, a large male, was caught by one front paw.

He was writhing and foaming, tearing, sometimes at the trap, sometimes at the dead hen, and sometimes at his own imprisoned foot, pausing now and then to utter the most ear-piercing shrieks, then falling again in crazy animal fury on the trap, splintering his sharp white teeth, grinding the cruel metal with bruised and bloody jaws, frothing, snarling, raving mad.

As his foemen entered he turned on them a hideous visage of inexpressible fear and hate, rage and horror.
His eyes glanced back green fire in the lantern light; he strained in renewed efforts to escape; the air was rank with his musky smell.

The impotent fury of his struggle made a picture that continued in Rolf's mind.