Down by the old logging road Mrs. Partridge was sitting on her nest. At the approach of danger she scuttled off the nest and hid in the underbrush. The intruders counted fourteen pretty eggs.
    “There's a raspberry ratch a little further down,” remarked the guide, “and I think there’s another nest near it. Want to take a look?”
    The tenderfoot followed him eagerly. There was the nest, sure enough, but all the eggs were gone—only a few shells left. The guide shook his head sadly. “It’s the oomph's work,” he explained. “He’s a hard-looking animal, the worst enemy the birds have in nesting season. There’s a big bounty on the oomph, but he's sly and hard to get.”
    “In case you see an animal about as big as a dog, but looking like a cross between a big lizard and a toad with long claws and with sharp spines all along his back and big spots all over him, get him quick. He’s an oomph. He goes around hunting birds’ nests, and when he finds one he makes a noise deep down in his throat that sounds like ‘oomph, oomph.’ That's how the old boy gets his name.”