48710	----	Internet Archive Transcriber Notes Text emphasis is displayed as _Italics_. HINTS ON BOBCAT TRAPPING ============= [Illustration: Bobcat] ============= [Illustration: LEAFLET NO. 78] BOBCAT is the name by which the wild cats of the genus Lynx are known in most of the United States, particularly the warmer parts--West and Southwest. Though related to the mountain lion, or cougar, both being members of the same family, the bobcat is a much smaller animal and of somewhat different habits, so far as the selection of prey is concerned. Its larger cousin, the Canada lynx, is found in the northern, more forested, parts of the United States and in Canada. The economic relations of the two are similar, except as forest-dwelling habits are modified by the bobcat's environment of plains and deserts in the Southwest. The bobcat has keen eyesight and a good sense of smell, though the latter is not so acute as in the wolf or the coyote. Most of its hunting for food is done at night, and the animal is aided by sight rather than by scent. The advance of settlement and the occupation of the bobcat's former ranges for stock raising have not so much crowded back this predator as they have given it a new and satisfying provender, particularly in the young of the flocks and herds of the stockman and the poultry of the farmer. Control of its depredations at times becomes necessary to man's economic welfare. Washington, D. C. Issued June, 1931 For sale by the Superintendent of Documents, Washington, D. C. Price 5 cents HINTS ON BOBCAT TRAPPING By Stanley P. Young, _Principal Biologist, in Charge Division of Predatory-Animal and Rodent Control, Bureau of Biological Survey_ CONTENTS Page Nature of depredations 1 Where to trap 2 "Blind" trap sets 2 Scented trap sets 3 Preparation of scent 4 Catnip oil as a lure 5 Care in details 5 Rust on traps 6 Frozen ground 6 Deodorizing traps 6 Paper trap pads 6 Resetting traps 6 TRAPPING has been found to be one of the most effective methods of bobcat control. On its wild ranges the bobcat feeds to a large extent upon rabbits and other injurious rodents, but it preys also upon such valuable forms of wild life as antelope, deer, and other game animals, especially the fawns, and on wild turkeys, quail, and other ground-nesting birds. With human occupation of its former haunts, it finds in the young of domestic livestock very satisfactory substitutes for its ordinary fare in the wild. When its food is less easily obtained in nature than among the flocks and herds of the range country, it may become exceedingly destructive to domestic livestock, especially to sheep during the lambing season, to pigs, goats, and calves, and to poultry. The depredations of bobcats in parts of Arkansas in recent years have made hog raising on an extensive scale impracticable in such localities. Losses caused by this predatory animal among sheep are particularly severe when lambing is conducted on the open range and the lambing grounds are in close proximity to the broken, rough, rocky canyons that favor the presence of the bobcat. Sheepmen often choose such rugged country for lambing grounds because of the protection it affords against storms. Nature of Depredations On gaining entry into a flock of sheep at lambing time, commonly under cover of darkness, the bobcat carries on its depredations in such manner as to cause little commotion there. The lamb is usually killed by a characteristic bite on the back of the neck or head, and then it is pulled down to be eaten. If its lust for killing is not satisfied, the bobcat may kill other lambs by the same method, continuing its work quietly until a large number have been destroyed. A single bobcat has been known to kill 38 lambs in this manner in one night. Bobcats are easily caught in traps of the common double-spring steel type, in sizes 2 and 3. Such traps have been used by many generations of trappers, and although deemed inhumane by some persons, no better or more practical device has yet been invented to take their place. The brief description here presented of trapping methods to be used in bobcat control is based on field experiences of Federal and cooperative trappers who have applied methods developed by the Bureau of Biological Survey. Where to Trap In selecting a site for trap sets, one should be guided to a large extent by the tracks of the animal (fig. 1) and by other traces of its presence, which are commonly found in the rugged recesses of the open range. Such places as leached limestone ridges, limestone cap rock, or eroded granitic canyons containing an abundance of small caverns and holes surrounded by rather extensive underbrush form the ideal habitat of the bobcat. This may be in low-lying country or in adjacent higher mountainous areas. Though it is advisable to use the greatest caution in setting bobcat traps, the care with which the art is practiced need not be so great as in the case of the wolf or the coyote. When the trail of a bobcat has been found, by track or sign, along, or leading from its rocky lair, traps may be placed in either double or single sets. If the trail is not frequently used by livestock also, or by such big-game animals as deer, the so-called "blind" trap set may be employed. This set is called a blind because no lure or scent need be used around it when completed. [Illustration: Figure 1.--"Blind" or trail set being placed for bobcats. Trails used by both bobcats and cattle make ideal situations tor placing the blind set for predators during periods when stock is removed from such parts of the range] "Blind" Trap Sets Whether single or double blind trap sets are employed, they should be placed in holes dug directly in the trail of the bobcat close to such an obstruction as an exposed root, a rock, or a clump of weeds, for the bobcat seldom fails to step over rather than on such an obstruction in its path. (Fig. 2.) If the double set is to be used, the trap holes should be only about 1 inch apart, separated just far enough to prevent interference of the jaws when the trap is sprung. Each hole should be dug only slightly larger than the size of the trap and just deep enough to hold the set trap and allow this to be slightly lower than the level of the surrounding ground. When two traps are used, they may be joined together with a lap link at the ends of their chains, which in turn may be attached to a stake pin driven slightly below the ground level; or a drag may be used either made of wrought iron or consisting of a fairly heavy stone. The drag should be bedded under the traps, in which case more excavating will be required. It is well to have a free-acting swivel at the top of the stake pin to prevent a captive animal from twisting and breaking the trap chains attached to it. [Illustration: Figure 2.--Details of setting trap for bobcat in trail; trap bedded just beyond a natural obstruction in the path; the working parts of trap are lightly packed with cotton to insure springing when the ground is frozen] After the trap has been firmly bedded it is advisable to cover it with fine pulverized earth similar to that found in the mound of a pocket gopher. This will do for the spring of the trap. Dry and finely pulverized horse or cow manure may be more advantageously used to cover the inside of the trap jaws. Care should be taken to keep all loose dirt from getting under the pan and to see that there is an open space beneath it of at least a quarter of an inch. A trap pad made of canvas or of old descented slicker cloth for finally covering the pan should now be placed on the inside of the jaws; then over all should be sprinkled dry dirt to the depth of a quarter to a half inch, of the same color as the ground surrounding the trap. The spot where the trap is buried should be left in as natural a condition as possible. Scented Trap A scent attractive to bobcats may be used to advantage to lure the animals to trap sets. When scenting is resorted to, however, the traps should not be placed in the runway proper, but on either side of it, or on one side only, and parallel to Sets the trail. They should be set in the same manner as described for the blind sets, between the trail and the spot selected for scattering the scent. (Fig. 3.) This spot should be no more than 6 to 8 inches from the trap. In placing the scent, advantage should be taken of any stubble, bunch of weeds, exposed root, or object known as a scent post. These are so termed from the fact that they are the places selected by the animal for voiding urine or feces. Bobcats usually have their scent posts slightly off the trail, on stubble of range grasses, on bushes, or even on old bleached-out carcasses. Where the ground conditions are right for good tracking, natural scent posts may be detected by the claw scratches and the small mound of dirt where the bobcat has covered its excrement. Such habits are similar to those of house cats. In passing along its trails, the bobcat will usually revisit these scent posts. When natural scent posts can not be readily found, one may be easily established along the determined trail of a bobcat by dropping scent (of a kind to be described) on a few clusters of weeds, spears of grass, or stubble of low brush. The trap should be set between the trail and the place scented, about 6 or 8 inches from each. (Fig. 4.) Any number of such scent stations may be placed along a determined trail. The farther from the trail a trap is set, however, the more scent will be needed. For dropping the scent, a 2 to 4 ounce bottle fitted with a shaker cork may be used. [Illustration: Figure 3.--Placing a scent set for bobcats: A, double trap set, placed as in blind sets, but a few inches off the trail instead of directly in it; B, traps bedded, and springs and jaws properly covered and pan unobstructed, ready for covering with a trap pad, on which the topsoil is to be spread. Scent sets are placed between the trail and a clump of weeds or other natural or artificial scent posts] Preparation of Scent The basis of the scent may be any kind of fish, but oily varieties, such as sturgeon, eels, suckers, and carp, are preferred. The flesh should be ground in a sausage mill, placed in strong tin or galvanized-iron cans, and left in a warm place to decompose thoroughly. Each can must be provided with a small vent to allow the escape of gas, otherwise there is danger of explosion. The aperture, however, should be screened with a fold of cloth to prevent flies from depositing eggs, as the mixture seems to lose much of its scent quality when maggots develop in it. This preparation may be used within three days after mixing, but it is more lasting and penetrating when it is about a month old. Fish scent alone gives excellent results, but several modifications have been found highly effective. To the decomposed fish as a basis may be added mice, beaver castors, musk glands from minks, weasels, and muskrats, and the bladders of coyotes and bobcats. Oil gives body to the scent and to a certain extent prevents freezing. If the mixture appears too thin, glycerin, brains, fish oil, butterfat, or other animal fat, such as that from woodchucks and ground squirrels, may be added. The hunter may commence with a quantity of ground fish placed in a large galvanized-iron container, similar to a milk can, and as the original lot is used on the trap line, he may replenish it by adding more fresh fish and others of the ingredients mentioned. The addition of new material from time to time seems to improve the desirable qualities of the scent mixture. [Illustration: Figure 4.--Details of placing scent set on cleared space between the trail and a clump of higher weeds or grass used as a scent post. Between the trap set and the scent post may be buried a jar having perforated top and containing cotton saturated with oil of catnip; or other scent material may be sprinkled on the clump of weeds to lure the bobcat to the trap] Catnip Oil as a Lure Oil of catnip, diluted in the proportion of 35 drops of the pure oil to 2 ounces of petrolatum, has proved an effective lure in bobcat trapping. As this is a fine oil, the petrolatum is used to give it body, and this tends also to prevent loss of the scent when exposed to rain. Pure catnip oil is manufactured at a few places in the United States, but if the pure oil is not obtainable, the leaves of the catnip plant may be boiled to a pulpy consistency in water, and this will produce a mild tincture of catnip which can be drawn off. Catnip in this form has been used as a lure by some trappers with a fair degree of success. A few drops of the mixture of petrolatum and pure catnip oil, or of the tincture, should be placed on the scent spot every third day. Some Biological Survey hunters employ this lure by burying at one side of a bobcat runway a small glass jar or bottle (fig. 4) into which has been dropped gauze or cotton batting, saturated with catnip oil. The mouth of the container is left open, but level with the ground, and is protected by a perforated top. If the top is bright, it should be made inconspicuous by moistening it, and while wet brushing it over with dust or sand. Trap sets placed, as described around such scent points have accounted for many bobcats. Care in Details Success in trapping, whether for bobcats or for other predators, is in many respects dependent upon the trapper's attention to what might seem to be minor details. While digging holes for the sets it is well for the trapper to stand or kneel on a "setting cloth," which is made of canvas or a piece of sheepskin or calf hide about 3 feet square. Human scent on the canvas may be avoided by previously burying the cloth in an old manure pile. The dirt removed from the place where the trap is bedded may be piled on the setting cloth. Surplus dirt not needed for covering the trap should be scattered evenly on the ground at some distance from the set. It is well also to wear gloves while setting traps, and to use them for no other purpose, though the precautions against arousing the suspicion of bobcats are less necessary than those in trapping wolves and coyotes. _Rust on traps._--Rust is often the cause of the failure of traps to spring properly, particularly when the trap pan rusts on its post. Most steel traps are so constructed that when the trap pan is moved back and forth it will spread the joint and thus permit the pan to work freely. Putting a few drops of fine oil on the post, as well as in the slots that hold the jaws at the base of the trap, will overcome such difficulties. _Frozen ground._--When the ground is frozen it is difficult to keep the traps in working order. Some hunters overcome this difficulty by lining the bottom of the hole in which the trap is to be bedded with clean coarse cotton or wool, and by packing more of this material around the pan, springs, and jaws after the trap is placed. When the ground is frozen, the dirt cover for the set can be made of such debris as is found on ant hills, or by using dead leaves or the fine earth obtained under spruce, fir, hemlock, or aspen trees. _Deodorizing traps._--When received from dealers or manufacturers, traps frequently smell of grease, perspiration from human hands, or other odors caused by contact with various kinds of merchandise in the course of shipment. As some of these odors are likely to arouse the suspicion of predators, it is advisable to clean all traps before using them. This may be done by boiling them in a tincture of sage leaves, or of leaves from other native trees. Common soil is a good deodorizer, but it acts slowly. Simply burying the traps for a few days in a manure pile (the odor from which does not arouse the predator's suspicion) will often remove all other odors. It is better, however, before using traps to clean them by boiling, as mentioned. Never attempt to burn off an odor over a fire, as this may destroy the temper of the springs and make the trap worthless. _Paper trap pads._--Paper pads are not dependable, as they are usually too smooth to hold the covering of soil. This is soon swept' off the paper when the trap is set in a windy place, and when this is gone the trap is exposed. Furthermore, rain will readily soak a paper pad, causing it to break or collapse and expose much of the set. Another objection to paper pads is that when an animal steps lightly into a trap jaw, resting its toes barely inside of it but not on the trap pan, it is likely to hear the rustle of the paper under its foot as well as to feel its smoothness. The result is that it will be shy of that particular spot, and thus a catch is lost. Trap pads made of fairly thick canvas or woven wire of fly-screen consistency are therefore preferable to paper pads. Such trap pads should be free from all odor, and when not in use should be kept in a clean container, such as the 1-pound cans used for ground coffee. Resetting Traps The trap may be reset after a bobcat has been caught, the same spot being used if the ground and the natural surroundings have not been too badly scratched up or otherwise defaced, and if evidences of disturbance can be cleared away. It may be highly desirable to reset the sprung trap in the same place, particularly if other good spots are lacking for scenting or for taking advantage of the natural obstructions needed for blind sets. * * * * * U. S. GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE: 1931 * * * * * Transcriber Notes As listed in the "CONTENTS", sidenotes in the original are used as section headers. Illustrations were moved so as not to split paragraphs. 
48711	----	Internet Archive Transcriber Notes Text emphasis displayed as _Italics_. HINTS ON MOUNTAIN-LION TRAPPING [Illustration: LEAFLET NO. 94] Issued April, 1933 HINTS ON MOUNTAIN-LION TRAPPING By Stanley P. Young, _Principal Biologist, in Charge, Division of Predatory Animal and Rodent Control, Bureau of Biological Survey_ THE AMERICAN MOUNTAIN-LION (_Felis concolor_) is one of the largest predatory animals of the United States, sometimes weighing more than 200 pounds. Game conservationists recognize it as the greatest natural enemy of deer. Stockmen learn to their sorrow that when game is scarce the mountain-lion attacks young domestic stock, particularly colts, lambs, and kids, and even full-grown horses and cattle. In some western areas it is practically impossible to raise young colts or sheep on open stock ranges in the rough, rocky, and broken country that forms an ideal habitat for the mountain-lion. The range of the mountain-lion, which is known also as cougar, panther, puma, and catamount, includes at present the large wilderness areas of the United States west of the one hundredth meridian. The heaviest infestation is in the Rocky Mountain States and southward through the desert mountain ranges of Arizona, Texas, and New Mexico. Farther westward mountain-lions are much less numerous, except in the coastal ranges of California, Oregon, and Washington, where they are somewhat abundant. For the protection of domestic livestock and of large game in certain areas it is necessary to keep mountain-lions well under control. In spite of control measures, however, these predators will probably long continue to exist in the United States. There are many areas where normal hunting and the vicissitudes of the wild can be depended upon to keep their numbers within reasonable limits. There are also great stretches of wilderness areas that probably will never be touched by any mountain-lion-control campaigns. This leaflet, intended to help stockmen and game protectors in local control of mountain-lions, is based on the experience of Biological Survey predatory-animal hunters. A similar publication (Leaflet No. 78) discusses control measures for such smaller members of the wild-cat family as the bobcat and the Canada lynx. Natural Food and Feeding Habits of the Mountain Lion Mountain lions find most of their prey near the rougher and more inaccessible canyons, and in such places they live and breed with least disturbance. One of the most striking things about these animals is the distance to which they will go for food. Many have been known to travel 25 miles or more in a night, apparently without resting for any appreciable length of time. Because of their remarkable endurance, hunting them takes stamina and strength. Biological Survey hunters on the fresh track of a mountain-lion have trailed the animal for 10 consecutive hours or longer before treeing it. Like the bobcat, the mountain-lion relies upon its senses of smell and sight in much of its foraging. Its smell is keener than that of the bobcat, though less so than in either wolf or coyote. It can see its prey for a long distance, but unquestionably it does much of its silent, cautious stalking by the sense of smell alone, taking advantage of every cover until within striking distance of its victim. Its sense of hearing also is acute. In making a kill, the mountain-lion brings its victim to the ground with a stunning impact of its entire weight. It generally attacks at the throat and breast. After making a kill and taking one meal, the mountain-lion will sometimes, though not always, bury the remainder of a carcass under leaves, litter, or other trash, to return for a later feast. Whether it will thus return depends to some extent upon weather conditions and on its ability to find prey elsewhere. Its killing and feeding habits vary in other ways also. In one instance, a lone lion attacked a herd of ewes and killed 192 in one night. Frequently more than one mountain-lion may feed on a single carcass. Near one cow carcass the writer once trapped six lions, of various sizes, evidently the parents and two litters of offspring. The presence of a mountain-lion on a range may be indicated by its kill of deer or other game, even though domestic stock may not have been disturbed. If a kill is made in fall or winter, the meat may remain fresh for many weeks. Control Methods Where the control of mountain-lions is essential, the principal means employed is the use of trained hounds. Kentucky fox hounds and a cross between the Walker hound and the bloodhound have been found most satisfactory for trailing mountain-lions, though any good dog may tree one. The hunter must keep up with the pack, however, for a mountain-lion that fights at bay instead of treeing, may kill all the dogs. When it chooses to fight, it uses teeth and claws, backed by powerful neck and shoulder muscles, in a telling way. The use of poisons in mountain-lion control is not recommended. Hunting or trapping is more satisfactory, and it is unsafe to expose poisons on ranges where hunting dogs are being used. Under certain conditions mountain-lions can easily be caught in traps of the sizes known as Nos. 14 and 4½. (Fig. 1.) Although some persons oppose the use of such traps as inhumane, no better or more practical device is yet available. Where to Set Traps Either of the traps recommended may be set on a known route of the mountain-lion, preferably at a point where the route narrows. Being a great wanderer, the animal generally has well-defined crossing points where it passes from one watershed to another in its search for food. Many of these are in the low saddles of divides, and at such crossings it is not uncommon to find "scratch hills," heaped up by the mountain-lion in covering its urine. The writer has seen as many as eight such hills in an area 4 feet square. They are sometimes 3 to 4 inches high and 4 to 6 inches in diameter. Frequently old or fresh feces may be noticed near them. These hills make ideal places for setting traps, but should be left in a natural condition. The mountain-lion is trapped as it comes through the saddle of the divide and stops to visit a scratch hill, being attracted either by the hill itself or by a catnip lure placed there as described at the top of page 5. [Illustration: B4339M Figure 1.--Trap most suitable for mountain-lions (No. 4½), showing drag chain and double-pronged drag attached] When the carcass of a domestic animal, deer, or other prey found in a control area shows unmistakably that a mountain-lion did the killing, at least three traps should be set around it, each 15 to 20 inches away. When the carcass is found lying on its side (Fig. 2.) one trap should be set, as later described, between the fore and hind legs, another near the rump, and a third near the back and parallel with the loin. These traps constitute a carcass set and require no lure other than the carcass. Frequently it is well to set a fourth trap 6 to 8 feet away if tracks show the exact route taken by the lion in approaching or leaving the carcass. _Caution._--Trappers, especially when using the No. 4½ trap, should take every needed precaution to safeguard livestock and valuable or harmless wild animals; and, where necessary, should post signs to warn human beings. Use of Lures Traps set along a trail and near an obstruction meant to divert the mountain-lion close to a scratch hill, are only partly successful. The trapper may, however, take advantage of the mountain-lion's keen sense of smell by dropping a few drops of oil of catnip in the center of the undisturbed scratch hill, as a lure. Why catnip is so attractive to members of the feline family is not yet fully known. Experiments have indicated that it produces sexual excitation and also that it has a soothing effect on the nervous system, similar to that of opiates on man. In some of the larger circuses catnip has been used for years in gentling animals of the cat family. The use of catnip oil in this country to lure members of this family within trapping distance has been remarkably effective. [Illustration: B3463M Figure 2.--Quarry of mountain-lion. A carcass found on its side, as illustrated, furnishes an excellent opportunity for making a carcass set of three or more traps, 15 to 20 inches away] When pure catnip oil is obtainable it should be used, diluted with pure petrolatum, in the proportion of 40 drops of the catnip oil to 2 ounces of petrolatum. A catnip lure so placed that it will last a long time has been experimented with by members of the Provincial Game Conservation Board of British Columbia, and later by the writer in the United States. Prepared as follows, it promises to increase the effectiveness of trapping in mountain-lion control: The petrolatum-diluted catnip oil is smeared thinly over a piece of cotton batting about 8 inches square, and this is covered with another piece of the same size. The catnip-oil sandwich thus made is placed on an ordinary tin pie plate, brown in color, so that the bottom will be inconspicuous against the bark of a tree. Two or three feet from the ground a tree is blazed to make the sap flow, the cut being made in the shape of the plate. The plate is spiked over this blaze, with the batting next to the tree so that the cotton will be kept moist by the sap. To prevent its being torn out by a bear, the plate should fit snugly into the cut, the lower edge flush with the bark. The bottom of the plate should be perforated with small holes made with a shingle nail, so that the scent will escape slowly. The plate should be shaded from the sun as much as possible. Such scent stations should be placed on trees along creeks where mountain-lions are known to travel, particularly near deer trails that lead to water. They are probably best placed on trees in narrow canyons, where the chances of successful trapping are greater because of the narrowness of the path along which the mountain-lion must travel. The writer has known catnip pans to be visited by mountain-lions in such places as long as 6 months after placement, and in British Columbia the game authorities report a lion's visit to a station 10 months old. After the scent station is made, traps should be set, as described later, near the base of the tree. The mountain-lion, attracted by the catnip odor in the plate, steps into the trap when approaching the lure. [Illustration: Figure 3.--A 2-trap "blind" set for mountain-lions. In the saddle of a divide the traps are placed in the trail where it narrows. A small stick or other obstruction should be put between the traps and one at either approach, to make the lion step into one of the traps rather than between or over them] Setting the Traps The hole for the trap set should be dug about 15 to 20 inches from a carcass, a single undisturbed scratch hill, or a tree on which a scent station has been placed, or directly in a trail where it narrows naturally or is made to narrow by rocks, brush, or other obstructions placed at the sides. (Fig. 3.) The hole should be only slightly larger than the trap, and just deep enough to hold the set at a level slightly lower than the surrounding ground, with the drag and chain buried beneath it. The drag, which should preferably be of ½-inch wrought iron, should be attached to one end of the chain by a figure-8 swivel and it should end in two well-curved prongs. (Fig. 1.) Bedding the drag under the trap, of course, requires more excavation. The drag chain should be at least 8 feet long and attached to the base of the trap or to one of the springs. At scratch hills it is well to place a trap on either side, the springs at right angles to the known direction of approach. In a trail the traps should be in line, the springs at right angles to the direction of travel. Experiments have proved that most of the larger predators, and particularly the mountain-lion, tend to avoid stepping directly on any hard object in a path. Knowing this tendency, the trapper may place a stick or a stone between the two traps and another at each approach; these will cause the animal to break its gait and step into one of the traps rather than over or between them. In approaching a scratch hill, a scent station, or a carcass where sets have been made, or in passing over a blind set in the trail, the predator is usually caught by one of the forefeet, though it may step into a bedded trap with a hind foot. No scent is used at carcass or blind sets. (Pp. 4, 6.) Covering Traps After the trap has been firmly bedded near an undisturbed scratch hill, scent station, or carcass, or in a trail, it should be covered with earth and the surroundings left in a condition as nearly natural as possible. Dry horse or cow manure, finely pulverized, may be used to cover the inside of the trap jaws. Extreme care should be taken to keep all dirt from under the trap pan and to see that the open space there is at least one-fourth inch deep. The trap pan should be covered by a pad made of canvas or old descented slicker cloth, and cut to fit snugly inside the jaws, and all should then be covered with finely pulverized earth, leaving the immediate area looking, as nearly as possible, as it did before the trap was buried. Finishing such a task properly and thus leaving the ground over the trap in a perfectly natural condition so that it blends with the surrounding area is an art that requires much practice. Traps Accidentally Sprung When traps are set near carcasses additional care should be undertaken to underpin the trap pan so that it will not spring under the weight of a magpie, buzzard, or other carnivorous bird that may be attracted to the carcass. In forested areas a mountain-lion hunter may find his traps sprung by small animals, for squirrels and other rodents (and sometimes small birds) may dig or scratch around and between the jaws of the trap. Unless the trap pan is properly supported, these animals are unnecessarily endangered, and in addition the trap is frequently sprung. This may be prevented by setting the trap pan so that it will carry a weight of several pounds. One simple way of underpinning the trap is to place a small twig perpendicularly from the base snugly up to the middle point of the pan. Instead of the small twig, some hunters use a fine coiled-steel spring. Such contrivances will permit the trap pan to carry the weight of the smaller mammals or birds without endangering them or releasing the trap jaws and thus spoiling a set well placed for a mountain-lion. Devices adjusted to mountain-lion traps to prevent their being sprung by small mammals and birds are illustrated in Figure 4. The Biological Survey pan spring (fig. 4, D), recently developed in this bureau can be readily attached to the No. 14 steel trap used for mountain-lions. A slightly larger spring is required for the No. 4½ trap. A patent on this device has been applied for, to be dedicated to public use. Care in Details In trapping, attention to simple details is essential. Though the mountain-lion trapper need not be so cautious about human scent as the trapper of wolves or coyotes, it is well, when placing a trap, for him to stand or kneel on a setting cloth, if for no other reason than convenience. This cloth may be about 3 feet square and made of canvas, slicker-coat material, or the skin of a sheep or calf. It will also help to avoid disturbing the ground about the trap set. Excavated soil can be placed on it, and that not needed in completing the work can thus be easily removed. In addition, at the completion of a set, the trapping equipment can be rolled up in it and carried away. Minor trapping details include removing rust from traps, boiling them in water to eliminate the conspicuous fresh odors noticed when they come from the manufacturer, carefully repairing traps with faulty springs, taking care that the trap pan moves freely on its post, and seeing that the jaws are adjusted to close snugly and rapidly. Without attending carefully to minor details, no farmer or stockmen can expect success in trapping America's prince of predators--the mountain-lion. [Illustration: Figure 4.--Devices to prevent capturing small animals and birds in traps set for mountain-lions or other predators: A, Fan supported by twig (grass or a light coil spring may be used); B, splint support; C, forked-twig support; D, Biological Survey pan spring] * * * * * U. S. GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE: 1933 ------------------------------------------------------------------------- For sale by the Superintendent of Documents, Washington, D. C. Price 5 cents * * * * * Transcriber Notes Illustrations positioned so as to avoid splitting paragraphs. All occurrences of "mountain lion" were changed to "mountain-lion". 
34098	----	SCIENCE OF TRAPPING DESCRIBES THE FUR BEARING ANIMALS, THEIR NATURE, HABITS AND DISTRIBUTION, WITH PRACTICAL METHODS FOR THEIR CAPTURE. By E. KREPS. REVISED EDITION. Published by A. R. HARDING, Publisher 106 Walnut Street St. Louis, Mo. Copyright. 1909. By A. R. HARDING PUB. CO. CONTENTS. I. The Trapper's Art II. The Skunk III. The Mink IV. The Weasel V. The Marten VI. The Fisher VII. The Otter VIII. The Beaver IX. The Muskrat X. The Fox XI. The Wolf XII. The Bear XIII. The Raccoon XIV. The Badger XV. The Opossum XVI. The Lynx XVII. The Bay Lynx or Wild Cat XVIII. The Cougar XIX. The Wolverine XX. The Pocket Gopher XXI. The Rabbit XXII. Tracks and Signs XXIII. Handling Furs XXIV. Steel Traps LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. The Author with a Catch of Furs Trap Set in Correct Position at Den The Balance Pole The Skunk The Mink Mink Set under Log The White Weasel The Marten A Marten Set The Fisher The Otter Otter Trap Set under Ice The Beaver Trap, Set for Beaver Beaver Trap Set under Ice The Muskrat The Red Fox Water Set for Fox Dry Land Set for Fox The Coyote or Prairie Wolf Scent Set for Wolf Bank Set for Wolf and Coyote The Grizzly Bear The Raccoon The Badger The Opossum The Lynx The Wild Cat or Bay Lynx The Cougar The Wolverine The Pocket Gopher Burrow of Pocket Gopher The Rabbit Rabbit Snares Tracks of Furbearing Animals Tracks of Furbearing Animals Tracks of Furbearing Animals Tracks of Game Animals Canadian Pattern Stretching Boards Steel Traps [Illustration: The Author with a Catch of Furs.] INTRODUCTION. Among the many outdoor occupations, trapping the furbearing animals is perhaps the most pleasant and in many instances is also very profitable. Although trapping was one of the earliest industries of this country, the occupation has not passed away, along with the vanishing wilderness, for there is more trapping done today than at any time during the past. Scattered all over North America, in both the thickly settled portions and the more remote districts are thousands of trappers who are each season deriving both pleasure and profit from this unique calling. Trapping in itself is an art. Many of the wild creatures are exceedingly wary and the trapper must match his reason against the instinct, the natural wariness and the acquired knowledge of the animals. This wariness alone has saved some species of animals from extinction, and although man is superior to all brute life, such intelligent animals as the fox and the wolf frequently prove a match for the most expert of trappers. In order to be successful, one must know the wild animals as a mother knows her child. He must also know and use the most practical methods of trapping, and it is my object to give in this work, the most successful trapping methods known. These modes of trapping the furbearing animals have for the most part been learned from actual experience in various parts of the country, but I also give the methods of other successful trappers, knowing them to be as good as my own. I am personally acquainted with some of the most expert trappers in North America and have also followed the Indians over their trap lines and in this way have learned many things which to the white man are not generally known. E. KREPS. SCIENCE OF TRAPPING. CHAPTER I. THE TRAPPER'S ART. During past ages many of the wild creatures of the forest and stream were hunted and captured in various ways by the inhabitants of the wilderness,--the flesh of these animals being the principal food of many tribes of savages and the skins being used for clothing; but it was only after furs became a staple article of wearing apparel among civilized nations and the traders had learned of the profits to be made in the fur trade that wholesale and systematic trapping began. For many years after the commencement of the fur trade in this country, the occupation of trapping was monopolized by the native inhabitants, but later some of the bolder of the white race pushed into the wilderness and learned the trapper's art. To-day there are thousands of trappers scattered over the United States, Canada, Alaska and Mexico and the catching of wild animals for profit is no longer considered to be an occupation fitting only for the savage, for there is scarcely a farmer, ranchman or other person whose calling brings him close to nature who is not more or less interested in the fur-bearing animals. Wild animals are not all hunted for the sake of their furs. There are some such as the wolf, coyote, mountain lion and wild-cat which have become positive nuisances because of their destruction of stock and for such the government and in many cases the stockmen pay a bounty. The capture of wolves and coyotes especially has become a profitable business. As to the profits to be derived from this occupation, there are professional trappers in the North, South and West whose catches amount to from five hundred to two thousand dollars or more each season, but the number who do as well as that is comparatively small. By far the greater number of trappers are those who follow other occupations and devote only their spare time to the capture of wild animals and they are for the most part farmers and country boys who in this way add considerable to their yearly income. It is not at all necessary to go into the wilds in order to do successful trapping, and almost any farming section will be found to be a paying trapping ground. Indeed, the country man or boy will in most cases do far better in his own home district than he would by going into some place with which he is not familiar even though the fur-bearing animals be more plentiful there than at home. In his own territory he will learn the haunts of each kind of fur-bearing animal, its route of travel, the dens, etc., and this knowledge will be of great value when the actual trapping commences. Of course all of the various species of animals will not be found in any one section but where one is missing there will be some other found in fair numbers. Muskrats are most numerous as a rule in the settled parts of the country and wherever the muskrat is found there the mink is also. Skunks are found almost everywhere and the ease with which they may be captured makes the trapping of them a lucrative business. Foxes are found in most of the hilly sections and while they are not so easily captured, one can make a success of it if he gives the matter careful study and uses sufficient care in setting and attending the traps. In many parts of the South the raccoon is found in abundance as is also the opossum and the otter, the wild cat and other animals are found more sparingly in many parts of the country. The trapper no matter where he is located is certain to meet with many hardships but it is a pleasant calling for all of that and there is a certain amount of pleasure in even the roughest experiences. Once one has followed trapping for a few seasons it is almost impossible to give up the wild, free life. The study of the habits of the wild creatures which is necessary if one wishes to become a successful trapper brings one into close touch with nature and the work is extremely fascinating. In the early days before the steel trap came into general use, the deadfall and the snare were used almost exclusively for the capture of the fur-bearers, but at present when steel traps have reached a high state of perfection, are sold at prices which place them within the reach of all, they are preferred by most trappers and many of the most expert have discarded the wooden traps entirely. However, both the deadfall and the snare are good traps for certain animals and it is well to know how to make and use them for one may sometimes see a good place in which to place a trap but may not have a steel trap along. In such cases the knowledge of how to construct a practical deadfall will be of value. It is true that many of the fur-bearing animals are too cunning to be captured by such a contrivance but some of the most wary fall easy victims to the snare. Some of the most expert fox trappers use the snare in preference to the steel trap but the number is comparatively small. Many styles of traps have been invented and some of the most promising styles were placed on the market but it is doubtful if any trap will ever be designed which will equal in popularity and general usefulness the old time jaw trap, commonly known as the "steel trap". These traps have been improved in many ways until at present they are almost perfect and are made in sizes and styles to meet all requirements and all conditions of trapping. The jaw traps possess decided advantages over all other styles of steel or wooden traps. They are light and compact and may be moved from place to place without inconvenience to the trapper, will capture the most wary animals as well as the most stupid and will work perfectly under all conditions whether set in the water or on dry land, on the snow or on a log or stump or the side of a tree. They may be used with or without bait and if the proper size of trap is used and it is set in the right way it will capture almost any animal that comes that way. What other style of trap possesses all of these advantages? As most of those who have never done any trapping know practically nothing regarding the use of traps I will outline briefly the methods usually employed for the capture of fur-bearing animals before proceeding farther. Most of the animals which are caught in traps are decoyed by means of a bait,--something in the line of food which appeals to its appetite,--so placed that in attempting to reach it the animal places its foot in the trap. The most common way is by setting the trap in the entrance to some natural enclosure, such as a hollow log or stump, a hollow between trees, or a hole in the rocks, or under a stump the bait being placed in the enclosure beyond the trap. Failing to find a natural enclosure, the trapper constructs one, using such material as may be found on the spot. It is advisable as a rule to make as little disturbance as possible and to give the enclosure a natural appearance. It sometimes happens that an animal can not be induced to approach a bait and in such cases the "blind set" is resorted to,--in other words the trap is set without bait in a trail where the animal travels or at the entrance of its den. Failing to find such a place the trapper carefully studies the route of the animal and selects a place where some natural or artificial obstruction will crowd it into a certain spot where he carefully sets his trap in such a way as to catch the animal the next time it comes along. These blind sets are as a rule very successful and many trappers use such methods exclusively. In setting steel traps, great care is advised for the one who learns to do this most neatly, leaving everything natural is, as a rule, the most successful. One should always be certain to get the trap in the right position for to miss catching an animal not only means its loss for the time being but many of them will become wiser from such experiences and their capture will be more difficult afterwards. The trapper is wise also who gives sufficient attention to the fastening of the trap, thus reducing the animal's chances of escape after it is once caught. To properly set a steel trap on dry land one should dig a "nest" for the trap, deep enough to allow the covering to be flush with the surroundings and just a little larger than, and of the same shape as the trap when set. This hollow should be lined with dry leaves or moss and the trap placed therein. To make the trap rest solidly so that there is no danger of it being tipped over also to make the jaws set level, the spring should be twisted around towards the jaw which is held down by the trigger or "dog". The trap should then be covered with some light, dry material in keeping with the surroundings, a few dead leaves or a sheet of paper being used first to prevent the covering from rolling under the pan and in that way prevent the trap from springing. Instead of doing this some trappers place a bunch of cotton or dry moss under the pan but I do not think this advisable. [Illustration: Trap Set in Correct Position at Entrance of Den.] In all cases when setting traps at dens, on trails or at the entrances of enclosures, the trap should be so placed that the jaws will be lengthwise of the animal's approach so that it will step between the jaws and not over one of them. If the setting is reversed the rising jaw will sometimes throw the animal's foot out of the trap. There are various good methods of fastening and the proper one to use depends on the nature of the surrounding and the species of animal that one is setting for. Water animals should be drowned as quickly as possible after they are caught and in order to secure this result the "sliding pole" is used. This is simply an inclined pole leading into deep water and of a size that will enable the ring of the trap chain to travel easily its entire length. The most common way of using the sliding pole is to thrust the small end into the bed of the stream and fasten the other end securely to the bank. The pole should have a few branches near the small end to prevent the ring from sliding off. All water animals when caught in traps plunge into deep water immediately and the ring of the trap chain sliding down the pole makes it impossible for the captured animal to again regain the shore. In order to make this outfit more certain when setting for large animals such as otters and beavers, a stone of six or eight pounds should be tied firmly to the chain but not near enough to the trap to interfere with the action of the swivel. In trapping for muskrats and mink the usual practice is to simply stake the trap the length of the chain into the deepest water available, the weight of the trap being sufficient to hold the animal under water. For land animals the trap may be fastened to a "clog". This is simply a chunk of wood, a pole, brush or stone, the object being to hamper the animal in its movements and prevent it from getting a dead pull on the trap and chain. In fastening to the clog the staple may be used or the chain may be dropped through the ring so as to form a loop which is slipped over the clog, a few snags being left stand to prevent the chain from being drawn over the end. When setting for bears the ring is slipped over the clog,--a pole,--and fastened with a spike or wedge. Some trappers prefer to use a pronged iron drag and this is especially desirable when trapping for the more cunning animals such as the fox, coyote and wolf as the drag may be covered without leaving much sign. A stone may be used in the same manner by securing with wire to the end of the chain. For the animals mentioned the traps are sometimes staked down solidly, the stake being driven out of sight but this gives the animal a dead pull and they will sometimes escape. Such of the fur-bearers as are likely to escape by gnawing or twisting off a foot may sometimes be held securely by the use of the "spring pole" or better still, the "balance pole". The spring pole is a small springy sapling, trimmed of its branches and planted firmly in the ground. The trap is fastened to the small end which is drawn down and held in that position by being hooked lightly under a crotched stake or a link of the chain may be hooked to a headless nail driven in the side of the stake. In theory this device works nicely but in practice it is not found to be perfect as the wood will lose its "spring" if kept bent for some time, especially in freezing weather. [Illustration: The Balance Pole.] The balance pole is more faithful in its action. It is simply a long slender pole fastened in a crotch or tied to the side of a sapling, the trap being secured to the small end. It is so balanced that the weight of the butt will not only lift the trap but the captured animal as well. It is fastened down in the same way as the spring pole and is released by the struggles of the animal. In order to keep steel traps in perfect working order they should have a certain amount of attention. Repairs will be necessary at times and before the trapping season commences one should look them all over and see that they are in good condition. The triggers should be so adjusted that the pan will set level. All parts should work freely and the trap should neither spring too easily nor too hard. Rust on traps is not desirable and may be prevented to a great extent by boiling the traps occasionally in a solution of evergreen boughs, maple, willow or oak bark or walnut hulls. This will give the traps a blue-black color and they will not rust for a considerable length of time. New traps will not take the color very well but they should be boiled just the same to remove the oil also the varnish with which some manufacturers coat their traps. Some trappers smoke their traps before setting believing that the odor of the smoke will smother that of the metal. This however is not in my opinion a good idea as clean iron has no odor and the smell of smoke enables the animal to locate the trap, thus having just the opposite of the effect desired. Others again, grease or oil the traps which is also bad for the same reason and another thing worth considering is the fact that a greased trap does not have as good a grip as one which has not been so treated. For my own part I would rather have my traps red with rust than to have them oiled, and if it is necessary to oil the joints of a stiff working trap, use some oil having practically no odor, never strong smelling substances such as kerosene. As to the number of traps that one can handle, this depends on conditions. The kind of animals that one intends to trap for, the nature of the country, the method of setting and tending traps, the amount of fur to be found, etc., must all be considered. The muskrat trapper who is in a good location where traps may be set from a boat or in the marshes where muskrat houses are plentiful as on some parts of the Atlantic Coast, can easily handle from seventy-five to a hundred or more traps, looking at them once a day. The marten trappers of the Northwest sometimes use five or six hundred traps, but the traps are not set far apart and the trapper spends a number of days in going over the line. In the thickly settled districts there are comparatively few who use more than five or six dozen traps for they must be seen each day, and for beginners from two to three dozen traps will be sufficient. As before mentioned, steel traps are made in various sizes so that they may be used for all animals, from the smallest to the largest. The No. 0 is the smallest size and is intended for such small animals as the pocket gopher, the rat and the weasel. If the spring is of fair strength as it is in the higher grades they may also be used for muskrat and marten. They are used extensively by the marten trappers of the Rocky Mountain region. The No. 1 is known as the muskrat trap and is the best size for this animal. It is also used for mink, skunk, opossum and marten. The No. 1 1/2 is a very popular trap as its size and strength adapt it for general use. It is known as the mink trap, but the tendency among trappers is to use the 1 1/2 for larger game and the No. 1 for mink. It is the best size for skunk, and if the spring is of fair strength, it will hold the fox, coon, fisher and lynx as well as all smaller animals. The No. 2, which is the smallest size of the double spring style is known as the fox trap. It is also the best size for coon and is sometimes used for otter especially in the North but in my opinion it is too small for regular use on otter. Next in order is the No. 3 which has been named the otter trap, and it is the proper size to use for this animal. It is also used for catching the coyote, beaver, wild cat and lynx and is a very popular trap in the more remote sections of the country. The No. 4 trap was originally intended for the capture of the beaver and is the proper size for that animal. The higher grades of this are also used to a great extent for trapping the timber wolf, also for otter and coyote. The best trap for wolves, however, is the 4 1/2 which was designed especially for trapping these animals. It is considerably heavier than the No. 4 and is fitted with a longer chain and a pronged drag. This size is also used for taking the cougar or mountain lion. The bear traps are known as the No. 50, the No. 5 and the No. 6. The No. 50 is the smallest but is sufficiently strong for the black bear. For those who prefer a larger trap for this animal, the No. 5 will prove satisfactory, and it will also hold the grizzly, but is rather small for that animal. The size best adapted to the capture of the larger varieties of bears is the No. 6, which will hold almost any living animal. In addition to the traps mentioned, there are a number of special styles designed to meet the demand from those trappers who desire special traps for some certain animals. Among these may be mentioned the clutch traps, the single spring otter traps and the traps with offset jaws. It should be understood that in writing the foregoing description of traps, I had in mind the higher grades only. In the following chapters devoted to the capture of the various animals, the proper sizes and brands of traps to use will be given. [Illustration: The Skunk.] CHAPTER II. THE SKUNK. The skunk is an animal of the weasel family, and is found throughout the United States and the southern parts of Canada. A full grown specimen will usually measure sixteen or eighteen inches, from the nose to the root of the tail, which is about twelve or fourteen inches long and quite bushy. The color is a glossy black, with usually, a white V-shaped stripe extending from the top of the head to about half the length of the back. Often, this stripe is quite broad and extends the length of the body, while in others the stripe is missing, there being only a white spot on the head, and a white tip to the tail; this latter marking being found on all specimens. In some of the Pacific coast States, a variety is found having only a single white stripe running the entire length of the back. There is also a small species found in parts of the Mississippi valley, which has white spots, instead of stripes. This animal is known to the fur trade as well as the trappers, as the "civet cat", although the true civet cat is quite a different animal. The skunk has become quite famous, among country folks, because of its powerful scent, which is found in two glands near the root of the tail, which the animal can eject at will. This scent is perhaps the most powerful and offensive of all odors, and the use of it is the skunk's only means of defending itself against enemies. The skunk makes its den in the ground, usually along a gravelly hill-side, and it sometimes makes use of the den of the woodchuck. In thickly settled countries where the dens have been destroyed by hunters, they often make their homes under barns and out-buildings, and even under dwelling houses, much to the discomfort of the inmates. The skunk is a nocturnal animal, searching for food only at night and remaining in its den during the day. During the cold part of the winter, they remain in their dens, coming out only on warm nights, until after the middle of February, when their mating season commences, and the males travel, at this time in almost all kinds of weather. The young are born in April and May, and there are usually from four to ten in a litter, though occasionally there will be a larger number. Their food consists mostly of insects, grubs, young birds and eggs, and when they have an opportunity to do so, they will kill and eat poultry, etc. They are also fond of carrion, and even the flesh of their own kind. In the northern states the skunk becomes prime about the last week in October, while in the extreme south they are probably not prime until the last week in November. In the north they commence to shed their fur about the tenth or fifteenth of March, while in the south they shed still earlier. During very cold weather, when the skunks have been confined to their dens for a considerable length of time, the warmth of the dens has a tendency to injure the fur. The males also fight among themselves and their fur is often injured in this way. At other times the fur is spoiled somewhat, because of too small an entrance to the den, the fur having a rubbed or woolly appearance. It is the fine black skins taken when in the best condition, that are the most valuable. Skunks are, perhaps, found in the greatest numbers in the eastern states, and the trappers from that section, make more money from skunks than from any other animal. In winter, one may track them to their dens, and if the den is a good one, may find any number of skunks, up to a dozen, in the same den. It is a common practice to dig the den open and kill all the inmates, but as this method means the destruction of a good den, it is not advisable to do so. The best way is to trap them, as in this way the den will not be injured, and it is almost certain that you will find skunks in the same den each season. Such a den is worth money to the trapper. The oil of the skunk, if rendered carefully, without burning, is useful, and is often used by country people as a remedy for croup. The most common method of trapping the skunk is to set the trap in the entrance of the den, without bait, but where there are many dens, or where the dens are hard to find, it is best to use bait. In setting the trap in a den, it should be set just inside the entrance, unless the mouth of the den is small, when it should be set just outside. The trap should be set with the jaws lengthwise of the hole, so that the skunk steps between the jaws, and not over them, as by stepping over the jaw the foot is likely to be thrown out of the trap, by the jaw, as the trap springs. This rule also applies to all traps set in dens or enclosures of any kind. The common way of fastening is to stake the trap or fasten to a clog, but the balance pole is better. No great care is necessary in covering the trap, as the skunk is not suspicious, but it is always best to use care, especially in setting baited traps, as one never knows what animal may come along. On one occasion I caught a fox in a trap set for skunk. It is a good idea also, when trapping at dens, to put a small scrap of bait inside of the den, as many skunks that are traveling about, only look in and turn away, and if the trap is set inside, will not be caught. If, however, there is a small bait inside the den, the skunk will attempt to get it, and will be caught in the trap. The traps most used for skunks are the No. 1 and No. 1 1/2. There are also some special traps manufactured for these animals, having double jaws or webbed jaws, to prevent the animal gnawing off its foot. Traps set for skunk should be visited every day, as otherwise the captured animals are likely to escape. They seem to struggle more on dark stormy nights, and during such weather, one should get around to his traps as early as possible in the morning. Sometimes one can find a well-defined trail leading away from the mouth of the den. In such a case, several traps may be set in the trail, thus doubling or trebling the chance for a catch. When good dens cannot be found, dig a hole under an old stump, and place a bait inside, setting the trap directly in front of the hole and cover with dry dirt. Sprinkle some scent about, on the stump and ground; use care in setting as you are likely to catch a fox, providing the trap is carefully set and covered, and the stake driven out of sight. For bait use tainted meat of almost any kind. Another good way is to find a spot of sandy ground, and set the trap in a small hole, covering with sand. Cut the bait into small pieces and scatter it all around the trap, also, if you have it, sprinkle some scent around. The trap may be fastened to a brush drag, and the brush set up to look as though it were growing there. If you can find a tree or stump with two spreading roots, set the trap between these roots and fasten the bait on the side of the tree, about ten inches above the trap. Still another way is to make a small pen of old, rotten wood, stones or stakes, setting the trap in the entrance, and placing the bait in the pen beyond the trap. Any natural enclosure, such as a hollow log, a hole in the bank, or in a wall or pile of stones, makes a good place in which to set a trap. Skunks may also be taken in box traps, deadfalls and snares, and they seldom become scented when caught in such traps. For bait, the following are all good: muskrat, skunk, chicken, birds of any kind, rabbit, squirrel, mice, rotten eggs or fish--tainted bait is always to be preferred for skunks, fresh bait being second choice. To make a good decoy, take one-half dozen rotten eggs, and the scent of one skunk, and mix thoroughly. A mixture of the male and female scent is probably best. Many of the decoys recommended for the fox are also good for skunk. The scent of the skunk itself, is one of the very best to use. Most trappers object to having the scent of skunks on their clothing and for this reason I give the following methods for killing the captured animals, so that they will not throw their scent. If the trap is staked, or fastened to a clog, cut a club about four or five feet long, and approach the animal very slowly, using care not to make any quick movements. If the skunk raises its tail, as though it intended to throw its scent, stop, and stand perfectly still until it drops its tail again, when you can go nearer. In this way if you are careful, you can easily get within striking distance, when you should deliver a good smashing blow across the back. If the back is broken, the muscles which operate the scent glands will be paralyzed, and there will be absolutely no danger of getting a charge of perfumery. Some trappers fasten their traps to the end of a ten or twelve foot pole, and by approaching carefully, can pick up the pole, when by going slowly, the skunk may be led to the nearest water where it may be drowned. Lead the skunk into shallow water, gradually working it into deeper, holding its head under until nearly drowned, then let it have a little air,--just a breath, and push it under again, keeping it there until its struggles cease. If the animal is caught by a front foot, it may be carried to the water, as a skunk can seldom throw its scent if lifted off the ground, and not allowed to touch anything with the hind feet or tail. Another method is to cut the animal's throat with a small, very sharp, pointed knife blade, attached to the end of a ten foot jointed pole. Approach the animal carefully and place the point of the knife against the side of the animal's neck, just over the jugular vein. Push steadily against the knife; as soon as the blood flows freely, move away and allow the animal to die. Perhaps the quickest method is to shoot the skunk in the center of the back, with a 22 caliber rifle or pistol. This breaks the back killing the animal almost instantly, and there will be no scent whatever. If the trap is fastened to a balance pole you can kill the animal by a blow across the back. Never shoot them in the head, or stride the head with a club, as they are certain to throw their scent if killed in this way. If the fur of the skunk has become scented, I use the following method for removing the scent: Build a fire and throw an armful of evergreen boughs on it so as to make a dense smoke. Hold the scented animal in the smoke for about five minutes, using care to keep it away from the fire or the heat will curl the hair. After the skunk is skinned hang the skin in an airy place for a few days, when there will be practically no smell left. Before skinning or handling the skunk, rub your hands with some kind of grease. After the animal is skinned, wash your hands well, using soap and hot water; there will be no scent remaining on the hands. Benzine or gasoline will also remove the scent from the hands or clothing. Cider vinegar is also said to be good. If the clothing is buried over night in damp ground, the scent will usually draw out. The track of the skunk is peculiar and is not likely to be mistaken for that of some other animal. Although a member of the weasel family, it does not travel by a series of jumps as does the weasel, mink, marten, etc., but maintains a steady walk, and the foot-prints will be an even distance apart and spread considerably so as to make a wide trail. The length of step is about five inches and the footprints will measure from one to one and a half inches in length, according to the size of the animal. [Illustration: The Mink.] CHAPTER III. THE MINK. The mink is a small carnivorous animal, belonging to the weasel family. It is found throughout the United States and the greater part of Canada and Alaska. A distinct species is also found in Europe and Asia. In North America there appears to be several varieties, varying considerably in size and color. A large, light-colored variety is found in the country drained by the Mississippi River and its branches, and also in the prairie country of Canada. This variety sometimes reaches the weight of four pounds, or even more, and the skin, when properly stretched, will sometimes measure thirty-six or thirty-eight inches from tip to tip. A smaller and darker variety is found in the Eastern States and the Eastern parts of Canada and Lake Superior regions, and a still smaller and very dark colored mink is found in Northern Maine and parts of New Brunswick. A small, light colored variety is found on the Pacific coast. The mink has a long, slender body, a small head, and rather short legs. The tail is usually about eight inches long and is quite bushy. The fur is thick, fine and glossy, and the color varies from a very light brown to very dark. The usual color is dark brown, the fur on the tail being darker than that on the body. The mating season commences about the last week in February and ends about the middle of March. The young are born in April, there being from four to six in a litter. The mink is not an amphibious animal, but it is found only along the streams and watercourses, from which it obtains a large part of its food. It is a great rambler, traveling long distances along the streams and lakes, and always following the same route. When on these trips it explores the drifts and log-jams, holes in the bank, hollow logs, etc., which habit is taken advantage of by the trapper. The fur of the mink is at its best during the months of November, December and January, in the north; while in the extreme south, they are only number one, during December and January. In February, the fur commences to fade, and they are not worth so much. The dark colored skins command the best prices. The food of the mink consists of fish, frogs, birds, squirrels, mice, rabbits, muskrats, etc., all of which are good for bait. They are also very fond of poultry. The traps most used for mink are the Nos. 1 and 1 1/2. The webbed jaw and the double jaw traps are especially desirable for mink, as when caught in these traps, they cannot escape by gnawing off the foot. There are probably more methods used in trapping the mink than in trapping any other animal. In localities where they take bait well, the usual plan is to set the trap in the entrance to a natural or artificial enclosure, on the bank of the stream, placing a bait on the inside of the enclosure. The trap should be nested down, and covered with some light material in keeping with the surroundings. The trap may be fastened to a light clog or a balance pole, or if very close to the water, to a sliding pole. The bait should be strictly fresh. Some good scent may be used if desired. Hollow logs and holes in drifts and under stumps make good places for sets. Some trappers do not set in an enclosure, but hang the bait about eighteen inches above the trap. I do not, however, consider this a satisfactory method. When an artificial enclosure is used, it should be roofed over with bark, or evergreen boughs to protect that trap from the snow. For fall trapping, many prefer to set traps in the water. The following method is one of the best for a water set: find a steep bank where the water is shallow, and runs smoothly and rapidly, make a hole in the bank, on a level with the water, making the hole about ten inches deep and about four inches in diameter. Put a piece of fresh bait back in the hole, fastening with a small stick, and set the trap in the water at the mouth of the hole. Stake the trap the full length of the chain into the water and cover with mud or water-soaked leaves. Along the streams where little sand-bars lead out into the water select a place on one of these bars, where the water is only an inch or two in depth, set the trap under the water, close to the edge of the stream. Fix a small fish on the point of the stick, out in the stream a foot from the trap, pushing the stick down until the bait rests partly under water. Stake the trap so that the catch will drown. This is a very successful set and requires but little time and trouble to make. In some localities the mink do not take bait well, in which case, blind sets--traps without bait must be depended upon. In the fall while the water is still open, find a high bank where the water leads off fairly deep, leaving only a very narrow strip of shallow water, at the foot of the bank. Set the trap in the edge of the water and stake full length of the chain into the stream. Place a couple of water-soaked leaves on the trap, and drop a few pinches of mud on them to hold them in place. The steep bank on one side and the deep water on the other, will guide the mink into the trap. If, however, the shallow water extends out some distance from the bank, take a chunk of water-soaked wood, and stand it in the water, just beyond the trap, leaving the top rest against the bank. This will leave only a narrow passage over the trap, and you may be pretty sure of catching your mink. A similar set should be made on the opposite side of the stream, if conditions are favorable. This is a very good method for use in the south. After streams are frozen, a different plan must be adopted. In such cases if you can find a jam or drift extending across the stream, find an opening, leading through this drift, close to the bank, and set the trap in this opening, covering with fine, drift dirt. In case you cannot find a suitable passage, make one and stop up all other holes. A little scent of the right kind may be used here to good advantage. [Illustration: Mink Set Under Log. XX Shows Positions of Traps.] The illustration shows two traps set under an old log, spanning the stream. The log protects the traps from rain or snow, and a glance at the cut will show that it would be practically impossible for a mink to pass along the stream without being caught. The same set is good for the raccoon. If the stream is frozen fill the opening, under the log, with old, dead brush, so that there is no chance for the mink to pass, except over the traps. Another good method for the wary mink is as follows: find a high, steep bank along the stream; if it overhangs, so much the better, and about two feet above the water, make a hole about four inches in diameter, and a foot or more deep. Leave the dirt that you dig out, rest directly in front of the hole, and set the trap in this dirt, covering with same. Pack dry moss around the jaws and cover the trap first with a sheet of paper, finishing with a thin layer of dirt. Put some good mink scent in the hole; the musk of the mink itself is best for this set. If the traps can be visited every day, it is a good plan to stake the trap, so that the mink will roll around over the ground, and the next one will be more easily caught. Where mink travel around a lake, go to the outlet and lay a hollow log across the stream, just where the water leaves the lake. Set a trap in this log, covering with fine, rotten wood, and every mink that travels around the lake, will attempt to run through the log, and will be caught. If you cannot find a hollow log near at hand, build a covered passage-way of poles and chunks, and set your trap in this passage. Mink may also be taken in box traps and deadfalls. Scents are much used and there are some few which have proved attractive. Fish oil is one of the most common scents for mink and other animals. It is made by taking fish of almost any kind, cutting them into small pieces, and putting in a wide mouthed bottle. Let stand in a warm place, loosely covered, until the fish are thoroughly rotted, and in a liquid state; this scent may be used alone or combined with others. If a female mink can be caught, during the mating season, remove the generative organs, and place them in a bottle, adding about two ounces of fish oil and all of the mink musk you can get. This is undoubtedly the best scent ever devised. It should be used without bait. In traveling, the mink goes "the jump" and its foot-prints are always in pairs, the space between each set being from eighteen to twenty-four inches. The footprints will measure from one to one and one-fourth inches in length, with one always somewhat in advance of the other. [Illustration: The Weasel.] CHAPTER IV. THE WEASEL. The weasel is the smallest of all carnivorous animals and the various species and varieties are distributed over the greater portion of northern Asia, Europe and North America. In this country alone naturalists recognize some twenty species and sub-species, most of which are found in Canada and Alaska, also the northern and western states. Of these it is only the northern varieties, those which become white in winter that are of importance to the trapper. The ermine of Europe is a species of weasel, and the American white weasel is sometimes called the ermine, its fur being used to imitate the fur of that animal. The change of color in the fur of this animal is not understood by naturalists. It occurs only in the most northern portions of its range and it is not known whether the animal really sheds its brown summer coat when the cold weather approaches or whether the fur bleaches, but it is certain that the change occurs in some way, the fur becoming white in the fall and changing to brown again in spring. The smallest variety of the weasel is found in northwestern Canada and Alaska and with it the black tip of the tail so characteristic of the weasel is missing. Very large weasels are secured in the northern part of Maine, but it is said that the finest skins are obtained in Nova Scotia and Newfoundland. The weasel from many sections have a peculiar, sulphury yellow cast to the fur, especially on the hind-quarters, and of many of these stained skins only the black tip of the tail is of value. What causes the stain is not known, neither is there any known method for removing it. One fur buyer states that about seven out of every ten skins received, show this yellow stain and are of little value. The weasel is one of the most blood-thirsty of animals and is very courageous. It is a terror to rats, mice, rabbits, partridges and poultry. It will kill for the love of slaughter, even when not hungry, and I have known a single animal to kill more than thirty chickens in a night, sucking only a little of the blood from each. On one occasion I knew a farmer who had turned a drove of fair-sized pigs into a pasture, and one day, hearing a wild squealing over along the pasture fence, went to investigate. He found the entire drove of porkers running along the fence and squealing from terror and following them was a little brown weasel. Curiosity is highly developed in the weasel. Many times I have seen them in my camp at night and if I remained perfectly quiet they would approach to within a few feet and stand upright on their hind legs to get a good view. At the least movement, however, they would disappear only to return a minute later. As before mentioned the weasel is a blood-thirsty creature, and when it finds some food that is to its liking it can scarcely be driven away. On various occasions I have found them attempting to remove the bait from my traps and such times I would adjust the trap so as to be very easily sprung, and then step aside and wait for the animal to be caught. The weasel has a sharp eye and a keen nose. While trapping in the North I would always keep on hand a supply of snared rabbits for use as bait, and often weasels would come into the camp at night, attracted by the bait, and it is interesting to note how quickly they could scent out the freshest rabbit in the pile and by biting into its ears would attempt to drag it away. Quite often they were able to move a fair sized rabbit. I usually kept a trap setting in my camp and in this way in one season caught fifteen weasels in one camp. I have never learned anything regarding the breeding habits of the weasel, but judging from the large numbers of these animals found in favorable localities I would say that they are very prolific. For trapping this animal I recommend the No. 1 1/2 trap and prefer a trap that is loosely hinged and springs easily, such as the Victor. Any trap will hold a weasel but when caught in the smaller sizes they quite often double up about the jaws and when they die and freeze in that position it is difficult to remove them from the trap. With the 1 1/2 they are always caught over the body and there is little trouble from that source. As the animal is so very light in weight it is necessary that the trap springs very easily. There are various styles of rat traps on the market which make excellent weasel traps, but as one never knows what animal may happen along, I prefer to use the steel trap. My method of setting is to place the trap inside of a small enclosure of chunks of wood, bark, sticks or whatever is most convenient. No covering is needed but when setting on the snow I make a bed of evergreen boughs for the trap to rest on. Rotten wood will answer just as well. I fasten the bait with a stick just back of the trap so that the weasel will be obliged to stand on the trap when attempting to remove the bait, for it should be remembered that they will never eat any food where they find it if able to move it away. Fasten the trap securely for some larger animal is likely to be caught. I do not place the traps far apart, where tracks are seen in fair numbers, and I drag a fresh killed rabbit from set to set, splitting it open with a knife so as to leave a bloody trail. Any weasel that strikes the trail is sure to follow it. For bait I prefer rabbit to anything else as it contains more blood than other baits and fresh blood is the only scent that I know of which will attract the weasel. In order to obtain good prices it is necessary that the fur be kept clean and I use a small cloth bag in which to carry my catch. The tracks of the weasel resemble those of the mink but are considerably smaller. The average length of jump is perhaps about eighteen inches. [Illustration: The Marten.] CHAPTER V. THE MARTEN. The marten is a carnivorous animal belonging to the same family as the weasel. The principal species are the pine marten of North America, the beech or stone marten of northern Europe, the sable of Russia and Siberia and the Japanese sable. Naturalists usually class the fisher with the martens, also. The Russian sable is the finest of the martens, the pine marten of Labrador being next in value. The pine marten is found throughout the timbered regions of Canada and Alaska, also in the mountainous districts of the western states. A few are still found in northern Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, New York, Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine. In size the marten is about the same as the mink of the North and East, being somewhat lighter in the body, but the longer fur causes it to appear fully as large. It has longer legs than the mink, and the feet are larger and heavily furred. The tail is thick and bushy, the ears and eyes, large and the muzzle is more pointed than that of the mink. The fur is very fine and soft, the color varying from a rich yellow to almost black. The fur of the tail is darker than that of the body, and the face, lighter. The ears, on the edges, are greyish white and there Is always a yellow or orange spot on the throat. In the more southern portions of their range, the martens are quite pale. The finest and darkest skins come from Labrador and the country east and south of Hudson Bay, also from northern British Columbia and the interior of Alaska and the Yukon province. The marten is strictly an animal of the woods, being found only in the heavily timbered country. Their favorite haunts are in the rough, broken country, where the timber is of various kinds. They feed on rabbits, squirrels, mice, birds and eggs and probably have no trouble in obtaining a sufficient amount of food, but unlike the mink and the weasel, they never kill more than is needed to supply their wants. The young are usually born in April, and there are from three to five at a birth. Just where they make their dens I cannot say. Some writers say they live in hollow trees, while others assert that they live in holes in the rocks or ground. I should say that the latter idea is most likely to be correct, at least as regards the marten of the far north, as in that part of the country, hollow trees are few and far between. One peculiarity regarding the martens is the fact that they occasionally disappear from a locality in which they were formerly numerous. The common supposition is that they migrate to new feeding grounds when food becomes scarce. The marten travels mostly in the gullies and depressions on the mountains and hills. As they usually follow the same route, when one sees their tracks in such a place, he can be reasonably sure, if he sets his trap there, that he will make a catch. They are not shy or suspicious and are easily caught. In many ways, marten trapping is the most pleasant as well as the most profitable kind of trapping. As they are found only in the timbered country, the trapper does not feel the storms like he would in an open country. They are easily caught, light to carry and easily skinned. Moreover, they are a very valuable fur and if one is in a good locality, he will make a large catch in a season. They usually become prime about the 15th of October and remain in good condition until the last of March. In countries where the snow does not fall too deep, the traps are set in small enclosures, the same as for the mink. If there is snow on the ground, I set my traps as follows. With my snowshoes, I tramp the snow down solid, at the foot of a tree, and build a small pen of stakes, or chunks split from an old stump. The stakes or chunks, are arranged so as to form the sides of the pen and the sides are placed about six or seven inches apart, the tree forming the back of the pen. I roof the pen with evergreen boughs, to protect the trap from the falling snow. It is a good idea to leave a couple of boughs hang down over the mouth of the pen so as to hide the bait from the birds, and also to prevent the rabbits from entering the pen. I set the trap on a bed of boughs, just inside of the pen, and cover lightly with tips of evergreen. The bait is placed on a stick behind the trap. I fasten the trap to a toggle, but if only marten is expected, the trap may be fastened in almost any way, as they seldom escape. It is also a good idea to bend a small twig and place it under the pan of the trap, to prevent it from being sprung by birds, squirrels and weasels. For bait, rabbit, partridge, squirrel, fish, small birds or meat of almost any kind is good. The Indians sometimes smoke-cure salmon, pickerel, or white fish, for marten bait, and other trappers use putrefied salmon roe, but the majority prefer to use fresh bait. Some trappers advise dragging a piece of fresh, bloody meat along the line, to lead the marten to the trap. [Illustration: A Marten Set.] Another very good method is the following: Find a small spruce, about three inches in diameter and cut the tree about two feet above the snow, leaving the top of the stump V shape. Draw the tree forward and lay it over the stump, so that the butt of the tree will be three or three and a half feet above the snow. Now, about a foot back from the end, flatten off a place for the trap and set the trap on the pole. Tie the trap fast with a light string and loop the chain around the tree. Split the butt of the tree, and fasten the bait in the split. This is a very good set, possessing advantages over most methods. The birds can not eat the bait, the trap is not bothered by weasels or rabbits, the marten must stand on the trap when trying to get the bait, and when caught, falls off the pole and can not get back. In the mountains, where the snow falls deep, the traps are set on the trees, five or six feet above the snow. The most common way, is to make two cuts in the tree with an axe, and drive in two wooden pegs, about five inches apart. Set the trap and place it on the pegs, one peg passing through the bow of the spring, the other between the jaws and the bottom of the trap. Draw the chain around the tree and staple solidly. The bait is pinned to the tree, about a foot above the trap. A bunch of boughs may be placed over the bait to hide it from the birds. If desired, a notch may be cut in the tree and a trap set in the notch. The notch should be about four inches deep and about twelve inches from top to bottom. Cut the bottom smooth, so the trap will set solid and fasten the bait in the top of the notch. Staple the trap to the tree. If desired, you can lean a pole against the tree for the marten to run up on, but this is not necessary. The trapper should always be on the lookout for places in which the trap may be set without much labor. Sometimes a tree can be found, with a hollow in one side and this makes a good place for a set. Lean a pole against the tree, with one end resting in the hollow, set a trap on the pole and place a bait in the cavity above the trap. At other times a cavity may be made in the side of a rotten stub and a trap set in the same way. The traps recommended for marten are the No. 1 of any make, but the No. 0 Newhouse is much used. If there are fishers, lynx and other large animals about, it is best to use a No. 1 1/2 trap. Deadfalls are also used and they may be built on the ground or snow, or on the top of a stump, or the side of a tree. The track of the marten resembles that of the mink, except that it is a trifle larger and the footprint wider in proportion to the length. The toes do not make as clear a print as do those of the mink, the feet being more heavily furred. [Illustration: The Fisher.] CHAPTER VI. THE FISHER. The fisher belongs to the weasel family and is classed by naturalists among the martens, under the name of Pennant's Marten. To the trappers, however, it is best known as the fisher, and in the Eastern States and Eastern Canada, as the "black cat". It is strictly a North American animal, being found scattered over a large part of Canada and Alaska, and also in California and other parts of the Pacific Coast, Northern Michigan, the Adirondack mountains of New York, the White mountains of New Hampshire and in Northern Maine. In general appearance, the fisher resembles both the marten and the wolverine, but is larger than the former and smaller than the latter. Compared with the marten, the ears are smaller and more rounded, the tail longer and the animal is far more stoutly built. An average, full size fisher, will measure two feet from the nose to the root of the tail and will weigh from ten to fifteen pounds. The tail is peculiar, and is the most valuable part of the skin; It measures, usually, about sixteen inches in length, is heavily furred, thick at the base, and tapers to a point. The color of the fur varies, some specimens being very pale and others almost black. The general color is a yellowish grey on the face, head and neck, light brown on the back, dark brown on the hind-quarters and the tail and legs, a brownish black. The under parts are darker than the back. The fur is fairly fine and soft, though not nearly as fine as that of the marten. For its size, the fisher is an exceedingly powerful animal, and is rather hard to hold in a trap, as it will struggle as long as life lasts. The animal possesses a musk, having a peculiar, rank odor, which it ejects when alarmed. The food of the fisher consists principally of rabbits, partridges and other small animals and birds, but it will scarcely refuse anything in the line of flesh, occasionally eating mink, weasel, etc., out of traps. It also preys on raccoons in the parts of its range where those animals are found and sometimes kills and eats the porcupine. Neither is it a strictly carnivorous animal, as it feeds largely on the berries of the mountain ash and in seasons when these berries are plentiful, the fisher does not take bait well. At such times the Indian trappers will often use a bunch of mountain ash berries for bait. They are found most plentiful on the higher ground, where the land is fairly well timbered, and the surface of the country is very ragged. They are great travelers and follow the wooded ravines whenever possible. Like all other animals of a rambling nature, each individual has its regular route of travel, and when you see a track, especially in a ravine, you may be sure that the animal will come that way again. The fur becomes prime about the first of November, and remains in good condition until the first of April, or sometimes longer. They are not very prolific, there being only from two to four in a litter. The young are usually born in April. Usually, the fisher is easily trapped and will enter the trap as readily as the marten, but there are "off seasons" when food is plenty and the animals are rather shy. On such occasions I have seen them refuse to cross my trail in the snow. In most cases, however, they will jump into the trail and follow it to the trap. When trapped, the animal struggles violently and if the leg is broken, is likely to twist off the foot and escape. It will also chew up everything within reach and the traps must be well fastened. The use of a balance pole is advised, but where, for any reason, it cannot be used, the traps should be fastened to a heavy log. The most common method for trapping the fisher is by setting a trap in a pen of stakes or a natural enclosure, the same as recommended for marten, but the pen should be larger. It should be two feet high, wide at the top and just wide enough for the trap at the bottom. The bait should be placed on a stick in the back of the pen and the trap should be covered with some light material. The pen should be roofed with evergreen boughs, to protect the trap from the snow. It is the custom among the Indian trappers to make the trap pen of green wood, splitting it and placing the stakes so that the split side will be inward. The object in this is to enable the animal to more easily locate the bait, for sometimes when the fisher scents the bait but cannot find it at once, he moves on. If however, the pen presents a bright interior it attracts the animal's attention and leads to an investigation. This method is used generally, but should not be employed when setting for the more wary animals. The Indians also at times hang the bait by a piece of light wire, in preference to placing on a stick. This is so that the little wood-mice can not reach and destroy the bait, and I have found it to be a very good plan. A small twig should be placed under the pan of the trap to prevent squirrels and birds from springing it. For trapping the fisher, I recommend the No. 1 1/2 traps of all makes, also the No. 2 Victor and Oneida Jump traps. Mr. Charles Carner, a noted trapper of California, uses the following method. Find somewhere on the fisher's route of travel, a small bushy evergreen tree with limbs coming down to the ground, cut away a few of the limbs, on one side, so as to make a sort of enclosure. The limbs that are cut away should be stuck in at the sides and back to make the pen tighter. The bait should be tied to the stem of the tree and the trap set a short distance in front of the bait, so as to catch the animal by the fore foot. The trap is fastened securely to the butt of the tree. Mr. Carner recommends the use of the following scent. Fish oil, oil of anise, assafoetida and muskrat musk, thoroughly mixed. He saturates a rabbit with the scent and draws it from trap to trap, and on the last trap uses the rabbit for bait. This scent is also used by some other noted trappers. I have also caught fishers by building a pen on an old log, lying with one end above the ground. I would make some splits in the log with my axe, drive in a few stakes and weave evergreen boughs among the stakes, roofing the pen with boughs. The trap should be set the same as in the first method and should be stapled to the top of the log, so that when the animal jumps off on either side, he can not get his front feet or the trap down to the ground. The above methods are all very good, but if a particularly shy animal refuses to enter the pen, try setting in a natural enclosure, and if this fails, try the following method: Under some thick evergreen tree, scrape up a cone shaped pile of snow, making it two feet high and pack the snow solid. Have the trap fastened to a clog and bury the clog in the snow. In the very top of the mound, hollow out a place for the trap and line this place with evergreen tips. Set the trap in this nest, cover it with a piece of paper, and brush a half inch of snow lightly over the paper. For bait, use a whole partridge or rabbit and hang it by a string from a limb of the tree, so that it hangs about two and a half feet above the trap. Brush your tracks shut with a bunch of boughs and when looking at the trap do not go too close. This method is very good for the shy ones but is too much trouble to use as a regular set, when putting out a long line of traps. The best places in which to set for fishers is in the timbered ravines, especially where two ravines join. Other good places are at the ends of lakes, the points of swamps, and in narrow strips of timber connecting larger bodies. The track of the fisher is very similar to that of the marten but is larger. The length of jump is about three feet and the footprints from one and a half to two inches in length. [Illustration: The Otter.] CHAPTER VII. THE OTTER. The otter is a carnivorous animal, somewhat resembling the mink in appearance. They are found in various parts of the world and will be met with in most of the wilder parts of North America. The northern or Canadian otter is the most common, but there are other varieties known as the Carolina otter, the Florida otter and the Newfoundland otter. In habits and general appearance they are all similar. A distinct species is found in the North Pacific, and is known as the sea otter. This animal is considerably larger than the fresh water species, and has a shorter tail. The fur is of great value. The otter is an aquatic animal, living in and near the streams and lakes, and getting its living from them. It has a long body, short, stout legs, and webbed feet; the tail is long, thick at the base, and tapering to a point. The neck is thick, the head comparatively small, with small ears, set well down on the sides of the head. The fur is of two kinds, the under fur being fine, soft and wavy, and of a light silvery color; while the outer fur or guard hairs, are longer, coarser, and usually straight, the color varying from brown to almost black. The fur of the tail and under parts is shorter and stiffer than that on the back, sides and neck; that on the under parts having a silvery tint. Otters frequently measure three and one-half feet in length and weigh from fifteen to twenty-five pounds. The skin, when stretched, will often measure five feet from tip to tip, and sometimes even more. The food of the otter consists principally of fish, trout being their favorite food; but they also feed on muskrats, clams, frogs, and the smaller animal life, found in the beds of streams and lakes. They capture muskrats by entering their houses and their holes in the banks. Otters usually make burrows in the banks of streams, lining the nest with leaves and grass. The entrances to these burrows are under the water and it is my belief that they inhabit them only during the breeding season. The young are born in April and May and there are from two to four in a litter. The otter is a great traveler, following the lakes and water courses, sometimes going a distance of one hundred miles on a single trip. Apparently he is always in a great hurry to reach a certain place, some lake or pond, at which, having reached, he may remain for several months, and again he may leave immediately after his arrival. Otters sometimes have slides on the banks of streams, down which they slide into the water, apparently for pastime. They also have landing places on the banks of streams and on logs projecting into the water, where they go to roll in the grass and leaves, or to lie in the sun. These places are seldom visited in the fall, but in the spring, they will land at almost every place as they come along. In traveling, they usually follow the center of the stream, as they are more at home in the water than on land. In winter they travel under the ice, wherever the water is deep enough to allow of their passage. The otter's legs being very short, he has a peculiar method of traveling on the ice or snow. He throws himself forward, sliding on his belly, and by repeating the move in rapid succession, is enabled to get along at a surprising rate of speed. Wherever there is a sharp bend in the stream, the otter will make a short cut across the point, and if the stream is traveled much, you will find a well-defined trail in such a place. Where two streams lie close together, they sometimes have a trail from one stream to another. Also wherever a long point of land projects into a lake, they are likely to have a trail across the point. The otter appears to be on very friendly terms with the beaver, and if there are any beavers in the country, the otter is sure to find them and will spend considerable time in the same pond. When there are a number of families of beavers in the same locality, the otter will spend nearly all of its time with the beavers, visiting from one family to another. Wherever he finds beaver cutting along the stream, he examines it, and will most likely follow up the stream to find the beaver. This habit is taken advantage of by the Indian trappers of the north, as will be explained later. In the north, the otter becomes prime about the first week in November, and remains in good condition until about the first of June. In the south they are seldom prime until the first of December, and commence to shed from the first to the fifteenth of April. The fur of the otter is valuable, the dark, straight haired ones being worth the most. Occasionally an otter is found having a decided curl to the ends of the hair, the ends being turned forward. These are called "curly" otters and are not near so valuable as the others. Otters are found in good numbers in the swamps of the southern states; in Florida, Arkansas, Mississippi, Louisiana and the lowlands of Texas. They are also quite plentiful in some parts of Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont and Maine; also in the wilds of Labrador, Ungava, Quebec, Ontario, Yukon, Mackenzie and Alaska. The most valuable otters come from the far north, but they are probably more plentiful in the south, and the southern trapper has the advantage of having open water all winter. The best traps for otter are the numbers 2 1/2, 3 and 3 1/2 Newhouse; the Nos. 3 and 4 Hawley & Norton; and the No. 14 Oneida jump, also the "Seminole" pattern, Blake & Lamb. The point to keep in mind when trapping for otter, is that they are very shy of the scent of man; more so perhaps than any other animal, and unless great care is observed, are likely to be frightened entirely out of the locality in which you are trapping. This human scent theory is disputed by some trappers, but I speak from my own experience, and from the experience of many expert trappers with whom I am acquainted. If one will use a little judgment he will readily understand why human scent is alarming to many wild animals. Man is the natural enemy of all wild animal life, and all wild creatures realize this fact. Now you will see that any indications of the presence of man, puts the animal on its guard; especially is this the case in the wilderness where the animals are not accustomed to seeing the tracks of man wherever they go. When an animals finds human scent, he has positive proof that man has been in that vicinity. Footprints and other human signs, if there is no scent, are not so alarming, as they are likely to be mistaken for signs made by some wild animal. Although the animals of the wilderness are more afraid of human scent than those found in the settled countries, they are just as easily trapped. The more wary animals found in settled parts, are always looking for danger because of the continued presence of man in their locality, but on the other hand, they are not likely to be frightened by human scent because it is a common thing to them. As mentioned before the otter is sure to visit the beavers, if there are any about, so if you know of a family of beavers, go to that place and if you can find an old beaver dam, on the stream somewhere, below where the beavers are located, make a break in the center of this dam, so that all of the water will flow through this opening, and set the trap in the water, in the upper end of this passage. Narrow down the passage to about eight inches, by driving a few old stakes on each side of the trap. The trap may be staked, but it is better, if the water is deep enough, to use a sliding pole, so that the captured animal will drown. No covering is needed on the trap, but after it is set, the entire setting should be drenched with water, to remove the human scent. This is an excellent set and will remain in working order until late in the fall, as the water immediately above the break in the dam will not freeze until long after other water is closed by ice. Even in the coldest weather this set may be kept from freezing by roofing it over with evergreen boughs, and banking it well with snow. Beavers and beaver dams are not found in every locality, but wherever otters are found traveling on small streams, they may be trapped in the following manner: Find a narrow place in the stream, where the water flows smoothly, and narrow up the stream by placing a bunch of old dead brush in each side, leaving a passage of about eight inches in the middle. Lay a few stones among the brush to keep them in place. Set the trap in the opening, and splash water over the brush and banks. The trap may be staked but it is better to fasten to a clog. Cut a small sapling of such a size that the ring of the chain will just pass over the butt of the sapling. Slip the ring over the clog and fasten it by splitting the butt and drive a wedge in the split, or by driving a staple over the ring. The clog may be placed on the upper side of the brush, used to block the stream, and the top may be tied to the shore, so that it will not be carried away by high water. In very small streams, a narrow passage may be made, by simply placing a few stones in either side, leaving a narrow passage in the middle, in which to set the trap. When you can find a sharp bend in the stream, with a trail across the point, set the trap in the water, at the end of the trail. Use same care as advised for the other sets. For spring trapping this method is excellent: if you can find one of the otter's landing places on the bank, prepare the place for setting in the fall in the following manner: Make a nest for the trap in the center of the trail and fill the nest with grass and leaves. Lay a bunch of dead brush or a chunk of rotten wood on each side of the trail, so as to leave only a narrow passage and cut a clog and lay it in place. The otters seldom visit these places in the fall, so there is no danger of frightening them. In the spring, before the snow is all gone, go and set your trap in the place prepared, covering with the leaves and grass, and attach to the clog, covering the entire setting with a little snow. As the snow melts, it takes with it all of the scent and signs, leaving the trap ready for the first otter that comes along. If you do not find the landing places until after the snow is gone, set the traps just the same, washing the scent away by sprinkling with water, or set the traps in the water where the otter climbs up the bank. [Illustration: Otter Trap Set Under Ice.] Another very good method for spring trapping, is to set the trap in the edge of the water, where the bank bluffs a little, sticking up a few fresh cut, green sticks behind the trap, and at the sides. Post a piece of the dried oil castor of the beaver on a stick, behind the trap, and about ten inches high. The ordinary beaver castor is also good. The oil castor is very attractive to the otter, and the green sticks are also attractive, as the otter mistakes them for beaver cutting. Always fasten the trap so the animal will drown, as you are likely to catch a beaver in this set. One of the best methods of trapping otter in winter, after the streams are closed with ice, is as follows: Find a long pool of still water, where you are sure the otter will be traveling under the ice, and at either end of this pool, where the water is about ten inches deep, cut a hole through the ice, make a pen of dead sticks in the water, making the pen about nine inches wide, by twelve or fifteen inches deep. Now take a fish and fasten it to a stick, in the back of the pen, and set the trap in the entrance, staking it securely. Drive the stake about ten inches in front of the pen, and directly in front of the trap. The object in this is to cause the otter, in entering, to twist his body, in which act, he will put his foot down in the trap. Throw some snow in the hole, so it will freeze over. The bait should be renewed once a week. In case you cannot get fish for bait, use the head of a rabbit, the breast of a partridge, or a piece of muskrat. The bait should be skinned. The otter will also be attracted by any white object. I know a trapper who caught one in this way by baiting with a white door knob, and the Indians sometimes use a piece of fresh peeled poplar for bait. If the ice has formed when the water was above its usual level, there will be an air space, between the water and the ice. In such a case, cut a hole through the ice at the edge of the water, placing a piece of beaver castor on a stick behind the trap. The hole may be closed by covering with a block of ice. When the otter has been working on a lake for some time, you will find where he has been coming out at the springholes, which are found on nearly all lakes. In such places the water is always shallow, and a trap may be set on the bottom directly under the hole. Great care must be used however, for if the otter is not caught the first time he comes out, he will be frightened away. Otters often land on the logs which project into the water. When you can find such a log, cut a notch for a trap, so that it will set about two inches deep, and place some mud in the notch so as to hide the fresh cutting. Some very successful trappers, set their traps in this way, and place some good scent on the log, above the trap. If you can find an otter slide, find the place where the animal lands on the bank to visit the slide, and set the trap under about two inches of water. The Nos. 2 1/2 and 3 1/2 Newhouse traps were designed especially for trapping otters on their slides. The trap should be set at the foot of the slide, so as to catch the animal by the breast or body. Otters often travel in pairs, and it is usually advisable to set two or three traps on one stream. Do not make your camp near the stream, and do not travel along the stream more than necessary. In looking at the traps, do not go too close, unless the traps need your attention. There is no way in which the sea otter can be trapped and they are hunted only with rifles. The methods employed in hunting them have been very successful and as a consequence the animal has been practically exterminated. The track of the otter is peculiar, owing to their strange mode of travel. As before mentioned their method of travel is a series of plunging slides and in the snow they make a deep furrow, their footprints being from four to eight feet apart, according to the "sliding conditions". When two or more are traveling in company, they will usually all run in the same trail. Their tracks are as a rule, only seen on lakes and streams, but occasionally they will go overland from one stream to another. The footprints will measure about one and one-half or one and three-fourths inches in length and about the same in width. [Illustration: The Beaver.] CHAPTER VIII. THE BEAVER. When this country was first explored and settled, beavers were found in good numbers throughout the United States and Canada, but at present they are extinct in many of the states where they were once abundant. Today they are found in fair numbers throughout the greater part of Canada and Alaska, also in a few of the northern and western states. There are also a few beavers found in the south at the present time. However, many of the states, as well as some of the provinces of Canada, have made laws prohibiting the trapping or killing of beavers, to prevent them from being exterminated. The beaver is an amphibious animal, resembling the muskrat in appearance but much larger. It has the same thick, heavy body, short neck and scaly tail. The hind feet are large and strong and the toes are connected by a web; the front feet are small. The tail is "paddle shaped," four or five inches wide and about ten inches long. When full grown, the beaver will weigh from forty to fifty pounds, although occasionally a much larger one is found. The under fur is very fine and soft, and is mixed with longer and coarser hairs called "guard hairs". The prevailing color is a rich, reddish brown, on the back and sides, and ashy beneath. The food of the beaver consists mostly of bark, of such woods as poplar, birch, willow and cottonwood, as well as the roots of the water lily. In the south they also eat corn. Beavers build houses of sticks, stones, and mud, similar in shape to the houses of the muskrat, locating usually, in the edge, of a pond or lake, but often making a large pond to suit their requirements, by building a dam across the stream. Even when their houses are built on a lake or pond, they always build a dam across the outlet, so as to raise the water two or three feet. The dams are built of the same material as the houses. Sometimes there are one or two small dams found below the main dam, and they are so well made that they will last for many years, and are so tight that the water usually drips evenly over the top. The houses are also very well made, the walls being several feet in thickness. There are usually two entrances, both under water. The size and general shape of the house depends on the number of beavers inhabiting it. The house of a full family of beavers will usually measure about twelve feet in diameter at the water line, but will some times be even larger, and the height is about six or seven feet. When there are only two or three beavers, the house is much smaller, and more pointed on the top. A full family consists of from six to eight members. There are usually two old beavers, two or three two year olds, and two or three young. The reason for this is that the young beavers remain two years with the parents, and as it requires several years for them to grow their full size, there are always three sizes in a family. When they have reached the age of two years, they start out and make a house of their own, the beavers born the spring before, becoming the medium size, and a new litter taking their place. By autumn, the beavers that have left the main family have their house and dam completed and a store of food laid up for winter. Many of the beavers travel about through the summer, following the streams, and return to their homes early in the fall. Sometimes, if they are late in getting back they will have to work day and night, in order to get sufficient food gathered for winter, before the ice comes. This food consists of saplings and small trees, which they gnaw off about a foot above the ground, drag into the edge of the water, where they are cut up into pieces of different lengths, stored away, under water in front of the house. Just how they cause this wood to sink, remain in place under the water, is a mystery. The beaver spends the entire winter under the ice. When he feels hungry he goes out and gets a piece of wood, takes it into the house, eats the bark, and takes the peeled stick out again. They repair the house and dam each fall and they also make holes in the bank under water, to which they can retreat in case the house is disturbed, or when they hear a noise on the ice. Trappers who are well acquainted with the habits of the beaver, can make a fair estimate of the number of inmates of a house. It sometimes happens that a pair of young beavers, or a lone beaver that has escaped from some family which has been trapped, will locate in an old deserted house, and then it is not such an easy matter. The experienced trapper, however, is not likely to be fooled. He goes along the shore and carefully examines the stumps, where the animals have been cutting trees for food. The amount of stuff that has been cut will show, usually; but he has still a better way of determining whether the work was done by one or more beavers. He examines the teeth marks on the stumps, and if they are all alike, he decides that there is not a full family, but only two, or perhaps only one. A lone beaver that has escaped from the trapper, is difficult to trap. I remember once finding such a one, located on a large pool of a fair sized stream. He had no dam and had only a small house along the bank. I found him in the fall, while the water was still open, and he was busy laying in a supply of food for winter. Well, I went there one rainy day and set two traps. I set the traps very carefully, fastening to sliding poles, which I had cut quite a distance away so as not to make any noise near the house. The rain washed the scent away in a short time, and I could see no reason why he should take alarm; but he did, just the same. I kept those traps set a week, but did not catch him, nor did I ever see any fresh signs there, after I had set the traps. Apparently he had left the place immediately after I had set the traps. An Indian trapper had trapped several families of beavers, near there the season before, and this beaver was one that had "given him the slip." In cutting timber, the beaver takes the wood in small chips, gnawing all around the tree, until it falls. He knows absolutely nothing about throwing the tree in the direction in which he wishes it to fall, but lets it fall just as it is inclined to go. I have seen where a tree had lodged, refusing to fall, and the beaver had stood up and cut several pieces off the butt, and as the tree still refused to fall, he had let it remain hanging. It was a case of hard work and no pay. When one finds a family of beavers, and expects to trap the same ground each season, he should not attempt to catch them all, as by leaving a few to breed, he is sure of getting beavers each season. The Indians, in such cases, trap the old beavers only, which they do by setting the traps a good distance from the house, for the young beavers never venture far away. Many beavers are trapped in the fall just before the ice forms, but their fur is not prime until mid-winter. In the north they remain in good condition until the first of June; in the south they would probably not be good after the middle of April. Beaver castors have a market value, usually selling for seven or eight dollars a pound. In preparing them, they should be dried slowly, in a shady place. Most trappers prefer to keep the castors for scent, as it is attractive to many animals. The Indians sometimes combine the two scents by making a hole in the beaver castors, and squeezing the contents of the oil castors into them. The castors are then hung up and allowed to dry. This is more or less attractive to all animals, only a small piece being used in connection with the bait. The best traps for beavers are the Nos. 2 1/2, 3, 3 1/2 and 4 Newhouse, the No. 4 Victor, the No. 4 Oneida Jump, and Blake & Lamb. [Illustration: Trap Set for Beaver--Sliding Pole.] The following methods of trapping are for use in open water, in either the fall or spring. The first method given is usually considered best: Find a place where the bank bluffs a little and the water is of good depth. Make a little pocket in the bank, several inches deep, and set the trap in the water directly in front of this pocket, where the pan of the trap will be about two inches under water. Take a piece of beaver castor and fasten it to the bank with a stick, about fourteen inches above the water, and as far back in the pocket as possible. If you are using some other scent instead of beaver castor, just dip a small stick in the scent and fasten it to the bank. Fasten the trap so that the beaver will drown; the sliding pole is best. Be sure to use a dead pole or stake, as if a green pole is used the other beavers may carry it away, trap and all. This is a very good method for spring and fall, or at any time when there is open water: Here is another method for the same kind of place: Set the trap under water at the foot of a steep bank, and fasten a couple of green poplar or cottonwood sticks on the bank, directly over the trap, so that the beaver will step into the trap in trying to reach them. Have the fresh cut ends of the sticks showing plainly, and make your set near the house or dam so that the beavers are sure to see it. Fasten trap so that the captured animal will be sure to drown. No covering is needed on traps when they are set under water. Look for the beaver's slides or trails where he drags his food into the water, and if the water is deep enough to drown him, set the trap under about two inches of water, just where he lands on the bank. This set is all right in the fall, when the beaver is laying in his food for the winter, but is not much good in the spring. Some trappers set the trap a foot or more from the shore, where the water is about six inches deep, as by so doing the beaver is caught by the hind foot, and is not so likely to escape. When using a set of this kind, it is best to use a number 3 1/2 or 4 trap, as the No. 3 is too small for the beaver's hind foot. Beavers usually have a slide or trail over the center of the dam, and this makes a very good place to set a trap. Set the trap under water on the upper side of the dam, just where the trail leads over. Be sure to fasten the trap so that the animal will drown, as if it is not drowned, it is almost certain to escape, and even if it does not, the others will be frightened and you will have a hard time to get them. In the spring, after the ice has gone, it is a good plan to set a few traps along the stream, baiting with beaver castor, as the beavers are traveling at this time, and you are likely to catch one almost anywhere along the streams. When setting traps in this way, it is best to drench the set with water to remove the human scent. The beaver is seldom afraid of human scent, but there is likely to be an otter along that way, and you stand a good chance of catching him in a trap baited with beaver castor. Beavers may be caught in mid-winter and early spring, by setting baited traps under the ice. It is not much use to set traps under the ice in early winter, as the beaver's food is still in good condition, and they will not take bait well; moreover you are likely to frighten them and make them harder to trap later on. The following methods are among the best for use under the ice, the one first given, being most used, and is probably the best: Go close to the beaver's house where the ice is thin, and by cutting small holes in the ice, find a place where the water is about twelve inches deep. Having found such a place, enlarge the hole until it is about sixteen by twenty inches in size, making a pen the same size as the hole, by shoving down dead sticks about four inches apart. If the bottom is very hard, you will have to freeze the sticks to the ice, to hold them in place. This may be done by throwing snow in the water, and packing it around the sticks and against the edge of the ice. When the pen is completed, cut a piece of green poplar about 1 1/2 or 2 inches thick and two or three feet long, and fasten it to a stake by one end--the poplar being placed at a right angle to the stake. This green poplar is for bait, and the stake should be driven down in one corner of the pen so that the bait is within two or three inches from the bottom, and close along one side of the pen, extending a foot or more beyond the entrance. [Illustration: Beaver Trap Set Under Ice.] The trap should be staked and set well inside of the pen, and quite close to the bait, so that the jaw of the trap will just clear the bait. This set will be readily understood by referring to the cut. If the bottom is of thin mud, as is often the case, you will have to make a bed for the trap, by sinking a bunch of evergreen boughs inside of the pen. It is also best to fasten the bait near the entrance to prevent the beaver from swinging it around. When the set is completed, cover the hole with evergreen boughs, bank it with snow, to keep it from freezing. It is best to let this set go for about a week before looking at it. The beavers will be frightened and will not approach the set for a few days, but finally one of them musters up courage enough to try to pull the bait out of the pen. When he finds it fast, he cuts it off at the entrance of the pen, takes it to the house to eat it; this sharpens his appetite, makes him more courageous, and he finally ventures into the pen for the balance of the bait. In attempting to cut the bait, he places one front foot on the bait and the other one in the trap. When using this set you should use three or four sets at each house. Another good ice method is as follows: Find the proper depth of water, about fourteen inches, and make a pen of dead sticks arranging them in the form of a half-circle. Now take some green poplar and shove them down firmly into the bottom, about six inches apart, close up to the stakes, on the inside of the pen. These bait sticks must be long enough to reach above the ice, so that they will freeze fast at the top. Stake the trap and set it in the center of the enclosure, with the pan about nine inches from the center bait. Throw some snow in the hole, so that it will freeze and hold the bait sticks securely. The following method is one of the best for use in deep water: Cut a dead pole about four inches in diameter and six or seven feet long. Flatten the pole at one end, and loop the trap chain around the pole; then set the trap on the end of the pole and tie it with a string, to hold it in place. Now, cut an oblong hole in the ice, and place the pole in the water in an inclined position so that the trap is about twelve inches below the ice. Pack wet snow around the pole to hold it in place, fasten two sticks of green poplar in the ice over the trap, one on either side. In attempting to cut the bait, the beaver will put his foot in the trap. Always fasten your trap to a dead stick or pole, for if a green stake is used, the beavers are likely to carry it away, trap and all. Poplar and cottonwood make the best baits, but in case they cannot be obtained, use birch, willow or black cherry. When setting traps near the house, in open water, make as little noise as possible, and do not remain in the vicinity longer than necessary. When trapping in open water, never camp or make a fire near the pond where the beavers are located. In winter, after the ice has formed, it does not matter. If you find a beaver house in winter when the snow is deep, and wish to know if it is inhabited, examine the house, and if the snow is melted on the top, you may be sure there are beavers in it. Another way to tell whether a house is inhabited, is to cut a hole through the ice and shove down a piece of green poplar, filling the hole with snow. Examine it in about a week, and if the poplar has been cut, you may be sure you have found beavers. The track of the beaver is seldom seen as they do not move about much in winter and on their trails their tracks are obliterated by the food which they drag into the water. The trapper does not look for tracks, but for more conspicuous signs, such as houses and dams with fresh cut wood. [Illustration: The Muskrat.] CHAPTER IX. THE MUSKRAT. The muskrat is a small herbivorous animal of the amphibious class. Its head and body are from thirteen to fifteen inches in length. The tail is nine or ten inches, two edged, and for two-thirds its length is rudder shaped and covered with scales and thin, short hair. The front feet are small, the hind feet, large and slightly webbed, making the animal an expert swimmer. The color of the fur is brown above and ashy beneath. The muskrat is a nocturnal animal, but is sometimes seen in the day time. Their food consists of grass and roots, fruit, grain and vegetables. They will also eat clams, sometimes, when food is scarce. They thrive best in sluggish streams and ponds, bordered with grass and flags, the roots of which are their chief support and from the tops of which they construct their houses. These structures are dome shaped, and rise, sometimes to a height of five feet from the water. The entrances are at the bottom, under water, so that the inside of the house is not exposed to the open air. From six to ten muskrats are sometimes found in one house. Hundreds of these dwellings can be counted from a single point in many large marshes. The muskrats found on the streams do not build houses, but live in holes in the bank, the entrances of which are under water. The muskrat is found throughout the greater part of the United States and Canada. They are especially numerous in the marshes on the coast of Delaware and Maryland. This muskrat ground is owned by private parties, who lease the ground to the trappers for a certain length of time, the trapper catching all the animals he can in that length of time. Muskrats are also very plentiful in some parts of Western Canada. These animals are very prolific, bringing forth from six to nine at a birth and three litters in a season. They have many enemies, such as the fox, mink, otter and owl, but their greatest enemy is man. Muskrats are trapped in the fall, winter and spring, but they are not prime until mid-winter, and some are not fully prime until the first of March. Nevertheless, they are more easily caught in the fall, and as the skins bring a fair price, the most trapping is done at this time, that is for "bank rats,"--those living in holes in the banks. Where the muskrats live in houses, they are trapped mostly after the ice had formed. In the far North the skins are in good condition until the first of June, while in the extreme South they should not be trapped after the first of April. The muskrats found in settled districts are larger and better furred than those of the wilderness, also, those found East of the Mississippi River are larger than those of the West. When trapping for these animals, the traps should always be staked full length of chain into deep water, so that the captured animal will drown, as otherwise they are almost certain to twist off the foot, and escape, unless they are caught by a hind foot. Many trappers set their traps several inches under water, as by so doing they catch the rat by a hind foot, and there is very little danger of them escaping. Some stake their traps the length of the chain into deep water, and drive another stake about a foot beyond. The muskrat, when caught, winds the chain around the outer stake and is thus prevented from reaching the bank. Others prefer to tie a stone on the end of the chain, and lay the stone in deep water. The traps most used are the Nos. 1 and 1 1/2, but the No. 0 is also used sometimes. The Victor trap is a great favorite, as it does not have a strong a spring as the higher priced traps, and is not so likely to break the animal's leg. The single spring Oneida Jump traps are also fine traps for muskrats. One of the most common methods of trapping the muskrat is to find their slides on the bank and set the trap at the foot of the slide under about two and a half or three inches of water. No covering is needed. If you can find a log, with one end lying in the water, examine same and if there are muskrat droppings on the log, cut a notch for the trap, so that it will be just under water when set in the notch. The chain may be stapled to the log. Another good way is to find their holes in the bank and set a trap in the entrance, staking into deep water. If the water is still, and there is much grass in the water, look around, and you will find their feeding beds,--beds of grass which appear to be floating on the water. Set traps on these beds, under water. If you know there are muskrats about and you can not find any of the places described above, select a steep bank, and set the trap under two or three inches of water at the foot of the bank. Pin a piece of bait to the bank about ten inches above the trap. Where muskrats are found in large numbers as in a pond or slough, proceed as follows: Get a board about twelve inches wide and sixteen feet long and nail strips across it, arranging them in pairs, just far enough apart to let a trap set between. A board of this size will hold six or eight traps. The traps may be stapled to the edge of the board and some small pieces of bait scattered the entire length. The traps should be covered with dirt or dead grass. Attach a rope to one end of the board and anchor it in the water where the muskrats are sure to find it. To trap muskrats in their houses in winter, cut a hole in the side of the house, and set the trap inside, on the bed. Fasten the trap to a stick outside of the house and close the opening tight, so the diving hole will not freeze. I have had best success at this kind of trapping by using a small trap, No. 0, and a good length of chain, as it gives the rat more chance to drown. The traps should be visited evening and morning. In the spring, when the ice has just commenced to melt, you will find small piles of grass roots projecting above the ice. Move this aside and you will find a hole in the ice, with a feed bed directly in under it. Set a trap on this bed and cover the hole. The best baits for muskrats are sweet apple, parsnips, carrot, pumpkin, corn and the flesh of the muskrat. While they do not eat the meat, they will go to smell at it, which is all that is needed. Muskrat musk, beaver castor and catnip are all attractive to the muskrat. [Illustration: The Red Fox.] CHAPTER X. THE FOX. The various members of the fox family are found in almost all parts of the world but are most abundant in the Northern Hemisphere. There are many species and varieties, but it is those of North America that are of the most interest to the trapper. Those found on this continent are the red, the gray, the kit and Arctic foxes, and there are a number of varieties of the red and gray species. The black, silver and cross foxes are supposed to be only color varieties of the red, but why this occurs, and only in the North, is a mystery. The Silver or Black fox is the most beautiful and most valuable of all the foxes. It is found in the high, northern latitudes of both continents. In this country, it is found as far south as the northern tier of states. They are most abundant in the interior of Alaska, the Northwest Territories, Ontario, Northern Quebec, Labrador and Newfoundland. At the London fur sales, specimens have been sold at over one thousand dollars each, but the average price is probably about two hundred dollars. Wherever the Silver fox is found, the Cross or Patch fox is found also, and they also range somewhat farther south. They are always found in greater numbers than the Silver variety. The red fox is the most common and is distributed over a larger territory than the other varieties. They range from the northern timber line, to well down in the Southern States. They are probably most abundant in the Eastern provinces of Canada and the England States, but they are found in fair numbers in parts of New York, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Tennessee, Arkansas, Missouri, Michigan and the larger part of Canada and Alaska. The Gray fox is one of the least valuable, and is most abundant in the Southern States. In the East they range as far north as Connecticut, In some places they have supplanted the Red species, and in other places the grays have disappeared and the reds have taken their place. The fox, as well as the wolf and coyote, belongs to the dog family, which is second, only to man in intelligence. The different species are all practically the same size, but the same varieties vary in size in different localities. The average weight is from nine to ten pounds. In general appearance they somewhat resemble the dog, being rather light of build, considering their height. The ears are erect and pointed, the tail thick and bushy, and the muzzle small and pointed. The fur varies in the different species, being coarse and rather short on the Gray, while that of the Silver fox is extremely fine and soft. The mating season comes in February, and e young are born usually in April, there being from four to nine in a litter. They make dens in the sand hills and in rocky districts, den in the rocks. Except during the breeding season they spend very little time in the dens, but lie during the day in some clump of brush or weeds, or often on top of a stump or log. In mountainous sections they lie during the day, somewhere on the mountain side and come down into the valleys at night in search of food. The fox is not strictly a carnivorous animal. When food is scarce they often feed on apples and other fruits, but their regular food is flesh. They are fond of partridge, rabbits, mice, skunk, muskrat or opossum flesh, carrion of almost all kinds, fish, eggs, poultry, and often they come around the camps and gather up the scraps, bread, bacon rinds etc. If they are given time and not disturbed they become quite bold in coming to such places for food and the trappers sometime take advantage of this peculiarity by baiting them awhile before setting the trap. The fox in the North becomes prime in the beginning of November and remains in good condition until the middle of March, when the fur begins to take on a rubbed and woolly appearance. In the South they do not become prime until the last of November or the beginning of December and go out of prime in February. Most of the foxes are trapped in the fall before the ground freezes too hard for dry sets, and of course, many of them are not prime. The traps recommended for the fox, for dry land use are the Nos. 2 and 3 Oneida Jump and Blake & Lamb, the 1 1/2 Newhouse and Hawley & Norton and the No. 2 Victor. For water and snow trapping, the Nos. 3 and 4 Oneida Jump and Blake & Lamb, and the 21 1/2 and 31 1/2 Newhouse will be found most desirable. In places where there are springs and small streams, there is no better method than the old water set, which is made as follows: It is best to find a spring which does not freeze, but for early fall trapping a brook will do. The rise and fall of the water in small streams sometimes makes trouble, and a spring or small pond gives best results. The spring should be at least four feet in diameter and should be prepared for the set in the summer, but if care is used, may be fixed up during the trapping season. A moss covered stone, or a sod (according to surroundings) should be placed about a foot and a half from shore, and should rise about two or three inches above the water. This is the bait sod. The trap is set half way between the sod and the shore, and the jaws, springs and chain should be covered with mud, or whatever is found in the bottom of the spring. [Illustration: Water Set for Fox.] The pan of the trap should just be covered with water. Now take a nice piece of moss or sod and place it on the pan of the trap, so that it will rise an inch above the water. When properly placed, this sod will look natural and will, apparently be a safe stepping place for the fox. The pan should be so adjusted that it will not spring too easily. A small piece of bait and also some scent should be placed on the larger sod. In making this set you should wade up the outlet of the spring, and stand in the water while making the set. Do not touch the bank or any of the surroundings. The trap should be fitted with a chain about three feet in length, with a two prong drag attached, but most trappers simply wire a stone of eight or ten pounds weight to the end of the chain. The drag, whatever is used, should be buried in the bed of the spring. I recommend the flesh of the muskrat, skunk, opossum or house-cat for bait, and it should be allowed to taint by remaining about a week in a glass jar. This method was first used by William Schofield a famous fox trapper of the Eastern states. Two men have been known to catch over one hundred foxes in a season with this method, besides considerable other furs taken in the same traps, for the method is good for many other animals besides the fox. One trapper recommends setting the trap in exactly the same manner, except that the bait sod is omitted, and the bait, a bird, is fastened by means of a stick thrust in the bottom of the spring. The stick must be entirely out of sight, and the bird, apparently, floating in the water. Both of these methods are very good, and are especially recommended for the novice, as they are the easiest and surest methods to start on. The water sets given above, can of course, only be used in certain places, for in some of the best fox countries, springs cannot be found, and even the streams are not suitable for trapping. For this reason many professional fox trappers prefer to use dry land sets, and the blind set will be found to be one of the very best. Look for fox tracks in old stock trails, foot paths, old roads in the woods, openings under fences, etc., and having first cleaned the traps by boiling or washing, find a narrow place in the trail and dig out a nest for the trap. Make this nest so that when the trap is set in it, the jaws will lie lengthwise of the trail. Line this nest with dry grass or leaves, and having attached the trap to some sort of a drag, set it and place it in the place prepared. Fill in all around the outside of the jaws with dry dirt, and cover the springs. Now lay a piece of clean paper over the trap and cover all with about one-fourth inch of dirt, making it look like the other parts of the trail as much as possible. The chain and drag must be carefully concealed. It is best to have a basket or piece of canvas in which to place the dirt while making the set and to carry away what is not needed. Do not spit near the trap, and do not leave any signs of your presence. It is not necessary to wear gloves, but the hands should be kept clean. This is an excellent method, especially for the old, sly animals. [Illustration: Dry Land Set for Fox.] The professional trappers of the East use the bait method, mostly, and although the different trappers use different baits and scents, the methods of setting the traps are all, practically the same. The following directions are almost the same as you will get when you buy a method at from $1.00 to $5.00 or more. "Prepare your bait about a week before you want to set the traps, by cutting into pieces about half the size of an egg, and placing in a clean jar to become tainted. Put a little bit of scent on each bait before placing in jar. There are different ways for preparing the traps; most trappers prefer to boil them in hemlock boughs, or lay them over night in running water. Wear clean gloves when handling the traps and carry them in a clean basket. Now find an old stump or a rock along some hillside, and dig a hole under it making the hole four or five inches in diameter and ten or twelve inches deep. Stake the trap solid, driving stake out of sight, and set the trap about ten inches in front of the hole. Cover the trap first with a piece of clean paper and finish by about one-fourth inch of dirt dug out of the hole. It should look as if some animal had dug the hole and scratched the dirt out in front. Use a small shovel made for the purpose, or a sharpened stick to dig the hole, and keep your gloves on all the time. Do not walk around, but stand in the same spot until the set is complete. Now put a piece of bait in the back of the hole, using a sharpened stick to handle the bait and put just a little scent by the side of the hole. When you catch a fox, kill him without drawing blood, and set the trap back in the same place. Your chances for catching another fox are doubled. Skunks, coons and other animals will also be caught in these sets." The following method is a good one to use in settled countries, as it is not so likely to catch dogs and other animals, as other methods are. Find an ant-hill, a small, pointed knoll, an old rotten stump, a moss covered rock, or an old log with one end off the ground. Set the trap on the highest point, covering carefully, so that it looks just like it did before the trap was set. Place a fair sized bait, such as a skunk or muskrat about eight feet away from the trap. The fox is always suspicious of a bait, especially a large one, and will always get on the highest point to look at it before going close. Of course, there must be no other place for him to get up on, near the bait. In the winter, traps may be set on muskrat houses, and bait placed on the ice. I think it best to set the traps several days before placing the baits, as in that way the human and other scents have a chance to pass away. When baiting, go just close enough to throw the bait into place. Some trappers set traps around large baits, such as the carcass of a horse, cow or sheep, but I think it best to place the bait by the side of a trail and set several traps on the trail from thirty to seventy five yards from the bait. When feeding on the bait the foxes will travel on the trail, and they will not be looking for danger so far away from the bait. Comparatively few of the professional fox trappers can trap the fox successfully after the deep snow come on; but the following methods are the best known, and will catch the fox if you use care in setting. Of course, snow sets of any kind can only be used when the snow is dry and loose and likely to remain in that condition for some time. The first method given is the one used by the Canadian Indians, for taking the silver fox in the great northern wilderness. Out on the ice on some frozen lake, or on any open, wind swept piece of ground, make a cone-shaped mound of snow, beating it solid, so that it will not drift away. The trap should be fastened to a clog, and the clog buried in the mound. Make the mound about two feet high, and make a hollow in the top for the trap to set in. The hollow should be lined with cat-tail down, or some other dry material, and the trap set in the hollow and covered first with a sheet of white note paper, finishing with a half inch or more of loose snow. Do not handle this snow with your hands, for if you do it will be certain to freeze on the trap. The best way is to take a bunch of evergreen boughs, and brush the snow up over the mound so that it sifts lightly over the trap. The covering on the trap should be a little lower than the top of the mound so that the wind will not uncover the trap. The bait is cut into small pieces and stuck into the sides of the mound. After the trap is set it will only require a short time for the wind to drift your tracks shut and remove all traces of human presence, and the trap will remain in working order as long as the cold weather lasts. If water rises on the ice it will not reach your trap, and if there is a snow storm, the first wind will blow the loose snow off the mound, leaving just a little over the trap. When looking at the traps you should not go nearer than fifty yards, and do not turn off your route, but walk straight by. This is a splendid method for use in the far north where the snow never melts or freezes during the winter months. For use in the settled countries I have been very successful with this method. Find where foxes travel on old wood roads and with your traps clean, and with drags attached, go and break a trail in the snow by walking back and forth on the road, and set the traps in this broken trail without bait. The traps should be set and covered, as in the other method, and the chain and clog pushed under the snow at the side of the trail. Do not let it appear that you have stopped at all, and when looking at the traps you can follow the trail and step right over the traps. In settled localities, the fox will follow the trail because the walking is better, but in the wilderness where the track of a man is seldom seen, they not only refuse to follow the trail, but often will not even cross it. I believe that scent is more used for fox-trapping than for trapping any other animal. Some of the best trappers, however, do not use any scent at all, but I believe that if the right kind is used, that it is a great help. One of the best scents known for dry land or water sets is prepared as follows: Remove the fat from one or two skunks, chop it fine, and take a sufficient quantity to almost fill an ordinary pickle bottle. Take two mice; cut them up and add to the fat and let the bottle stand in the sun until the mixture is thoroughly decomposed; then add the scent of two skunks and five or six muskrats. The bottle must be kept covered so the flies will not blow it, but it must not be tightly corked. Different trappers have different ways of preparing this scent, but I think this way is the best. Another very good one is made by allowing the flesh of a muskrat to rot in a bottle, and adding about four ounces of strained honey and one-half ounce of essence of musk. Pure fish oil is attractive to the fox, and is used by some very good trappers. We believe that one of the most successful scents, especially for winter use is made by taking the generative organs of the female fox, when in heat and preserving it in alcohol. The urine of the fox is also good, but in using these two scents, no bait should be used. The brine from mackerel or other fish is claimed to be a good scent for foxes, but if there are any porcupines, or snow-shoe rabbits about, it will make plenty of trouble as the salt is very attractive to these animals. When making blind-sets, or when setting on a trail some distance from a bait, do not stake your traps, but fasten to a drag of some kind: a brush, a stone or a grapple. By so doing the fox will not spoil the trail for the next one, and the trap may be set back in the same place. For a bait set on dry land, the trap may be staked to advantage, for if one fox is caught and rolls around over the ground, you are more likely to catch another one there. Do not start out with a dozen traps and expect to make a success of fox trapping. You should have all the traps that you can look after. Do not depend on one method of setting, as a fox will sometimes learn your method, but some other method, even if it is not so good, may fool them. When killing foxes in traps, do so, if possible without drawing blood. One of the best ways is by piercing the heart with a wire dagger. Another good way is by breaking the neck, which may be done as follows: Strike the fox a light blow over the head with a stick, just hard enough to slightly stun him, and when he drops down, place your left hand on the back of his neck, pinning him to the ground and with your right hand pull his nose backward against his back. It requires some practice to do this right. The track of the red fox resembles that of a small dog, being perhaps a trifle narrower. The length of step is about twelve or fourteen inches, and the foot prints of an average sized fox will measure about one and a half inches in length. The track of the gray fox is rounder and more like that of a cat. Some hunters claim that they can distinguish the track of the male fox from that of the female, the footprints of the female being smaller and a trifle narrower in proportion. There is no difference in the footprints of the black, silver, cross and red foxes. [Illustration: The Coyote, or Prairie Wolf.] CHAPTER XI. THE WOLF. The Wolf belongs to the dog family and is found throughout the greater part of North America, also in Europe and Asia, and parts of South America. There are many varieties, varying greatly in size and color, but there are probably only two distinct species, namely, the timber wolf and the prairie wolf, commonly called the coyote. Of the timber wolves, we have in this country, the following varieties; the small dark grey or black wolf of Florida and southeastern United States, the red wolf or southern Texas; the brindled wolf of Mexico, the light grey wolf of the central plains region; the dark grey wolf of eastern Canada; the white wolf of northern Canada and Alaska and the large black or dusky wolf of the northwest coast region. Of the smaller prairie wolf, there are also several varieties, they being found throughout the prairie regions of the United States and Canada, extending westward to the foot of the Rocky mountains, and also occurring west of the mountains, in the states of Oregon and Washington. To the trappers and the western people in general, these two species are commonly known as the wolf and the coyote, pronounced ki'yote. As a rule, the varieties of timber wolves found in the far north are larger than those of the south. While they are found in fair numbers in most parts of the regions mentioned, the prairie wolf or coyote is far more abundant in the sections lying east of the mountains; there being, in most localities, probably fifty coyotes for one wolf. Of the large species, the common grey wolf, of the western stock region, is probably most abundant, and the most destructive to stock and game. The grey wolf varies considerably in size, the largest specimens weighing sometimes more than one hundred pounds. The fur is long and heavy and good prime skins bring usually from two to five dollars each. In former times, when the buffalo was abundant on the plains, they formed the chief food of the wolf, but since the buffalo has become an animal of the past, the wolves depend on stock for food. They are very destructive to cattle, horses, hogs, goats, etc. Occasionally a herd of sheep is raided, but this is of rare occurrence, as the sheep are always guarded by the herders. In the north where there is little or no stock raised, they prey on game of almost all kinds, being very destructive to deer and even killing moose, at times. They also follow the herds of cattle, which range in the mountains during the summer and in winter are found in the foot hills. The coyote preys on young deer and antelope and on small game, such as rabbits, prairie dogs, sage hens and badgers. They are very destructive to sheep, and many of them follow the sheep when they are driven into the mountains in summer. The breeding season of the grey wolf varies considerably, some being born in the summer, but the majority are born in March and April. The mating season comes mainly in January and February. There are usually from five to eleven in a litter. They breed in the foot hills and bad lands, in holes in the buttes and rim-rock and sometimes in enlarged badger dens. The breeding season of the coyote generally comes later than that of the grey wolf; most of them being born in April. They also breed in natural excavations in the rocks. Wolves are great ramblers and range over a large section of country. Like all other animals of rambling habits, they have a regular route of travel, and while they vary somewhat from the route, you may be certain to find them using the same passes through the hills, and the same route across a flat. However, when in pursuit of game, they go far out of their course. Almost all of the states where wolves are found, as well as some of the provinces of Canada, pay a bounty on wolves and coyotes. The bounties are different, in different states and so also, are the bounty laws, and the methods of obtaining the bounty money. Usually the skin and head, or part of the head, or the feet and bones of the legs, must be produced, in order to obtain this bounty. Besides the state bounty, the ranchmen often offer an additional sum, which in most cases, amounts to far more than the state bounty. Sometimes, when some particular band of wolves become especially destructive to stock, the bounties offered for these wolves amount to a fancy sum of money. On one particularly destructive wolf, in the state of Wyoming, bounties were offered amounting to five hundred dollars. Of course such instances are rare, but in most cases, the bounties are sufficient to make wolf trapping profitable, even in the summer, when the fur is of no value. For trapping grey wolves, I recommend only the Newhouse trap. A special trap is manufactured, for grey wolves, No. 4 1/2. It has an eight-inch spread of jaws and a five foot chain, fitted with a heavy iron drag, and with chain, complete weighs nine pounds. However, many trappers consider this trap too heavy and the No. 4 Newhouse trap is used more than any other. When these traps are used, they should be fitted with a heavy chain of suitable length, and a pronged drag. The length and style of chain needed will depend much on the method of setting. If the trap is to be staked, I think the ordinary length of chain is best but unless there are two or more traps used in a setting, I would not advise staking the trap. Some trappers do not use a drag, but wire a heavy stone to the end of the chain. The stone should be fastened securely, for it will be handled pretty roughly, if a wolf gets in the trap. For the coyote, I recommend the Nos. 3 and 4 Newhouse, the 3 and 4 Hawley & Norton, the No. 4 Oneida Jump trap and Nos. 3 and 4 Victor. They should also, be fitted with special chains, unless the traps are to be staked. Good hard-wood stakes should be provided and they should be about fifteen inches long, unless the ground is very soft, in which case they should be longer. As good hard-wood is scarce in many parts of the west, it will sometimes be best to have iron picket pins, made by the local blacksmith. The bait for the grey wolf should be strictly fresh, for if food is plenty, they are pretty particular. Any of their favorite foods may be used for bait. For the coyote, horse or sheep is probably best, but prairie dogs, rabbits (both sage and jack rabbits), sage hens, badgers, etc., make good bait. When using small animals for bait, they should never be skinned, for that makes the animal suspicious. Many different kinds of scent have been used for wolves. Some have been used successfully but in using scent, one should also use good sound judgment, or he will only make the animal suspicious, and harder to trap. Beaver castor and Chinese musk are mildly attractive. Siberian musk is very attractive to both the grey wolf and the coyote. Assafoetida used alone, is worthless, but may be mixed with other scents, to advantage. The urine of the wolf, bottled and kept until it has become rancid, is a very good scent, and the sexual organs of the female, taken when in heat, added to the urine, makes it far more attractive to the male. This scent is most successful during the mating season and should be used without bait. A very effective scent and one that is much used is made as follows: Place half a pound of raw beef or venison in a wide mouthed bottle and let it stand from two to six weeks, or longer, or until it is thoroughly decayed and the odor has become as offensive as possible. If the meat is chopped fine, it will aid decomposition. When thoroughly decayed, add a quart of some liquid animal oil--prairie dog oil is probably best, and one-half ounce of assafoetida, dissolved in alcohol and one ounce of tincture of Siberian musk, or if this can not be obtained, an ounce of pulverized beaver castor or one ounce of the common musk used as perfumery. Mix thoroughly and bottle securely until ready for use. This scent is attractive to both the wolf and the coyote, also to cattle and horses and in using it the traps should only be set in places where they are not likely to be disturbed by stock. [Illustration: Scent Set for Wolf.] This method of trapping, as well as the above scent formula is given by Mr. Vernon Bailey, who made an investigation of the wolf trouble in the interests of the Biological Survey and the department of Forest Service. "The best anchor for a wolf trap is a stone drag of 30 or 40 pounds weight, to which the trap is securely wired. A long, oval stone is best, but a triangular or square stone can be securely wired. The trap, stone and chain should be buried out of sight close to a runway, where the wolves follow a trail or road, cross a narrow pass, or visit a carcass, with the trap nearest the runway and when covered, flush with the surface of the ground. To keep the dirt from clogging under the pan, the pan and jaws should be covered with a clean, oval shaped paper, and over this should be sprinkled fine earth until the surface is smooth and all traces of paper and trap, have been concealed. The surface of the ground and the surroundings should appear as nearly as possible, undisturbed. The dust may be made to look natural again by sprinkling with water. Touching the ground, or other objects with the hands, spitting near the trap or in any way leaving a trace of human odor nearby, should be avoided. Old, well scented gloves should be used while handling the trap and making the set, and a little of the scent used for the traps should be rubbed on the shoe soles. A piece of old cowhide may be used to stand on, and on which to place the loose dirt when burying the drag and trap. Place the scent about 6 inches beyond the trap and a very little may be sprinkled over the trap, to the trail. If possible, place the trap between two tufts of grass or weeds, so that it can be readily approached from one side only." As many of the wolf trappers do not believe in scent, the following methods are given. They are methods that have been thoroughly tested and are being used today, by some of the best trappers. The first method is a trail set, for use with a large bait, and is equally good for grey wolves and coyotes. It should be remembered, however, that trail sets of any kind, can not be used to advantage, if there is much stock about. Find a well defined stock trail somewhere on the wolf's route of travel and set two traps close together, on the trail, then go on from fifty to one hundred yards and set two more in exactly the same manner. Use care in setting the traps, so as to leave everything looking the same as before. You can wear gloves if you like, but I do not think there is much gained by doing so, for it is impossible to make a set without leaving some human scent. The scent will pass away in a day or two and few trappers count on making a catch until after the traps have been set a couple of days. A large bait should be placed close along the trail and midway between the two settings. When the wolves get to feeding on the bait they will travel on the trail and will not be looking for danger so far from the bait. If desired, only one trap need be set in a place, but two are better, as the wolf is likely to step over the trap if only one is used. It is a good plan to set the traps several days before placing the bait, so as to allow time for the human scent to pass away and the setting to take on a more smooth appearance. Here is a method that is much used for both wolves and coyotes. It requires three or four traps and they should all be fastened securely to one stout, hard-wood stake. Find a smooth, sandy spot and scoop out a little hollow and drive the stake down until the top is below the level of the ground. Fasten your bait securely to the top of the stake, so as to hide the stake and prevent the wolf or coyote from taking the bait away. If three traps are used, spread them out in the form of a triangle, if four are used, arrange them in the form of a square. Set the traps very carefully, so that when they are covered, everything will be smooth and looking just like it did before. As the bait is fastened, the wolf can not take it away, and in trying to pull it up, will step in one of the traps. He is almost certain to get in another one when he commences to struggle, and there is little danger of him escaping. If a place can be found where the traps may be set between bunches of weeds, cactus, etc., so much the better. [Illustration: Bank Set for Wolf and Coyote.] Another very good method, is to set a trap on top of a straight or over-hanging bank, from four to eight feet high, so that when the animal is caught it will leap or fall over the bank and be unable to get back, where it would have a chance to struggle. The set is made as follows: Find two bunches of cactus, growing on the top of the bank, fix the bait on the very edge of the bank, between the two bunches of cactus. Fasten the bait with a small stake, and drive the stake out of sight in the bait. Stake the trap just the length of the chain from the edge of the bank, driving stake out of sight, and set the trap between the cactus and about twenty inches back from the bait, somewhat farther if grey wolves are expected. Cover the trap very carefully. If two bunches of cactus can not be found growing close together, get some and place it there, so that it will look natural, and have the appearance of having grown there. A single trap may be set almost anywhere, and small pieces of bait scattered around the trap. In this way you can bait the trap without dismounting from your horse and avoid leaving human scent. Mr. Vasma Brown, a noted trapper of Texas, gives the following method: "Take a large piece of fresh meat and drag it along a trail. Stop occasionally and set a trap, just outside of the edge of the trail, where the stock will not step in it. Dig out a place for the trap and set the trap, covering first with a piece of paper and finishing with sand, leaving the place looking just like it did before. Cut some of the meat in small pieces and scatter them around the trap. Use no scent; fresh pork is the best scent you can get. If you can find some animal that the wolves themselves have killed, do not fail to set traps there immediately." When trapping around a large bait, sometimes the animals will not approach close enough to be caught. In such cases a small bait may sometimes be used to advantage, by setting traps a short distance away. The tail of a skunk is said to be an unfailing lure. Do not smoke or grease your traps or the wolf is sure to locate them at once. Sometimes a badger will be caught in a wolf trap. If so, do not skin it, but kill it and set the trap close by. It will make a fine bait, and the trap may be set in the ground that the animal has dug up, leaving no signs of human presence. When trapping during freezing weather, fill in around the jaws and springs of the traps with sage leaves, or some similar dry material, before covering with dirt. Always carry a rifle with you when tending the traps. You will get shots at wolves or coyotes almost every day. When visiting wolf traps, always go on horseback and if possible avoid dismounting near the traps. Dark, cold, stormy nights are the best for the wolf trapper. Use plenty of traps. The more chances you have, the better success you will have. Sometimes a coyote will uncover a trap or dig it up and spring it. Nothing can prevent this. Your only remedy is to have lots of traps set, and if he fools you in one set, you may fool him in another. In warm weather, if you can set out a line of traps just before a rain, your chances for making a good catch are very good, as the rain washes away all human odors, and helps to smooth over the sets. In winter, a light snow fall will often help to increase the catch. The tracks of the wolf resemble those of the dog and fox. An average full grown grey wolf will make a foot print about three inches wide and four inches long and will step about twenty inches. The average sized coyote will make a footprint about two inches in length and the length of step is about sixteen inches. [Illustration: The Grizzly Bear] CHAPTER XII. THE BEAR. The bear family is a large one, and its members are found scattered over the greater part of the globe, Australia and Africa being excepted. They range through all latitudes, from the equator to the poles. The following species have been described by naturalists: Polar bear, grizzly bear, European Brown bear, American Black bear, Alaskan Brown bear, Inland White bear, Glacier bear of Alaska, Asiatic bear, Siberian bear, Spectacled bear of South America, Thibetan bear, Bornean bear and Malay bear. The three latter are called Sun bears, from their habit of basking in the rays of the mid-day sun. They are the smallest members of the family and live exclusively on vegetables. Bears differ from each other in consequences of the differences of climate, more than almost any other animal. Those that inhabit the far north and such high, cold regions as the Rocky mountains, are monsters, of great strength and ferocity, while those that inhabit warm countries are small, feeble and inoffensive. The smallest of all is the Bornean bear, while the Alaskan Brown bear is probably the largest. The Grizzly or Silver Tip, and the Polar bears are very large. The American Black bear is probably the most numerous of the family, and is one of most interest to the trappers. With the exception of the prairie country, they are found scattered over almost all of the United States, and a large part of Canada and Alaska. The Cinnamon is only a color variety of the Black bear, differing only in color. Both kinds are found in the same litter. In some sections, as for instance in some of the northwestern states, and in Mexico, the Cinnamon bear predominates, while in the east and north they are very rare. The average weight of the Black bear, when full grown, is from two hundred to three hundred pounds, but specimens have been killed weighing far more than these figures. The fur is fine and soft and usually of a jet black color. Bears of all kinds, with the exception of the Sun bears and the Polar bear, feed on both vegetable and animal food. The Polar bear lives entirely on fish and flesh. Bears, with the exception of the Polar species, hibernate in winter. They usually den in the ground or rocks, but sometimes in a hollow log or tree. The mating season is in July and August and the young, usually two, are born in January, February and March. They remain with the mother until fall, and sometimes longer. In sections where they are found in fair numbers, they form trails through passes in the mountains, along the bottoms of the cliffs, around points of the lakes, and in other places of like nature. These trails may be easily distinguished from the paths of other animals, by the marks on the trees. At intervals, all along the trail, the bear will stand on his hind feet, by the side of a tree, gnaw a circle around the tree, about five feet above the ground. I am told that this marking is done during the mating season. The trails are traveled more in the spring and summer than in the fall. Bears are very fond of fish, and in the north, when fish are in the streams, spawning, the bears spend much of their time fishing, at the foot of the falls. The sucker is the first fish to spawn, and as soon as they are gone, the pike come, and the bears fare well for a couple of weeks. After that they feed on the leaves of the poplar, insects, berries and nuts, and whatever meat they can find. In some sections they remain in the same locality during the entire year; in other places they migrate on the approach of cold weather and do not return until spring. The bear becomes prime about the first to the fifteenth of November, and remains in good condition until late in the spring. In northern sections they do not commence shedding until June fifteenth, and sometimes even later. The best time to trap them is in the spring just after the snow is gone, but many are trapped in the fall. The traps for black bears are the Nos. 5 and 15 and the Nos. 50 and 150 Newhouse. For larger bears the No. 6 is the trap to use, although many grizzly bears are caught in the No. 5. The most common method for trapping bears is the following: Make a sort of enclosure of old logs, brush, etc., in the form of a V, about eight feet long and two or three feet wide at the entrance. It should be three feet high, behind, but it is not necessary to have it so high in front. The bait should be fastened in the back of the pen, and the trap set in the entrance. Take a small, springy stick, about eight inches long, and spring it under the pan of the trap, to prevent small animals from being caught. To do this, stick one end firmly in the ground, and bend the other end down, and hook it under the pan. The trap when set, should support a weight of twenty-five pounds, but it is my opinion that most trappers allow the trap to spring too easily. Always turn the loose jaw up, and work from in under, for the sake of safety. Now drive down a couple of stakes on each side of the trap, so as to leave only a narrow passage; cover the trap with leaves or moss. It is a good idea to put a good sized piece of moss over the pan. To cause the bear to step in the center of the trap, some trappers put sharp sticks around the outside of the jaws, others lay a stick across the mouth of the pen, about six or eight inches high, and close up to the jaws. In stepping over it, the bear is more likely to put his foot in the trap. The trap should be fastened to a heavy clog of hardwood. For the Black bear, the clog should be about six or seven feet long, and just small enough to go through the ring on the chain. The ring should be slipped on to the middle and fastened with a spike. For the grizzly and other large bears, the clog should be larger. This is the best method, but if you nip a bear once, you will have to try some other method, and it is not likely that you will catch him, even then, as they become very cunning. Do not set the trap at the same place, but find his trail, and make a blind set; preferably where the trail leads through a pool of water. Of course you must be sure that no person will travel on the trail. Some trappers prefer to hang a bait about six feet above the trap and do not use any pen. Bears may also be trapped successfully with snares and deadfalls but the objection to these traps is that the animal is killed instantly and if the traps are not visited daily, the skin is likely to spoil. For bait, there is nothing better than fish, but pork, (either salt or fresh), mutton, beef or any kind of large game is good. Even the flesh of the bear makes fair bait. Beaver, otter or muskrat meat is also good. Honey is very attractive. There are a number of scents that are attractive to the bear, such as fish oil, oil of anise and beaver castor. The scent recommended for the raccoon is good for the bear. The track of the bear is easily distinguished from that of other animals, because of its large size. Ordinarily, the bear's mode of locomotion is a shuffling walk. The footprints of a large black bear will measure about eight inches in length. [Illustration: The Raccoon.] CHAPTER XIII. THE RACCOON. The raccoon is allied to the bear family. It is found only on the Western Continent, where it is represented by two species; the common raccoon of the United States and the crab-eating raccoon of the tropics. The common raccoon, called coon by the hunters and trappers, is found throughout the Mississippi Valley and all of the states east and also in the Pacific Coast states, Western British Columbia, Lower Ontario, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. They are found in greatest numbers in those states bordering on the Gulf of Mexico. The common raccoon is the one of principal interest to the trapper and fur dealer. The body is short and stout, like that of the badger. Its head resembles that of the fox. Its tail is ten or twelve inches long, thick and bushy. The feet are bare and the toes long. The general color is grey, the tips of the hairs being darker. Occasionally a very dark one is found, in some cases being almost black. The tail is ringed with black and a black band crosses the eyes. The raccoon is a nocturnal animal, is omnivorous and hibernates during cold weather, coming out in search of food only on warm nights. This food consists of green corn, grapes and other fruits, fish, frogs, clams, birds and their eggs and they are also fond of poultry. In search of food, they travel mostly along the streams and in early fall, in the corn fields. They den in hollow trees, having an entrance at a considerable distance from the ground. In mountainous districts, they also den in holes among the rocks. The young are born in April and May and from two to six are brought forth at a time. Their mating season is generally about the last of February and the beginning of March, and at this time the males travel considerably, crawling into a hollow tree wherever daylight overtakes them. In the North they become prime about November 1st; the season being later in the South. They remain in good condition until late in the spring. The fur is used mostly for coats and robes. The nature and habits of the raccoon, like all other animals differs considerably in different localities. In most sections they are very easily trapped, but those found in some parts of the Pacific Coast are said to be quite cunning. Any of the articles of food mentioned above, will make good bait; fresh fish however, being preferred. The traps to use are the No. 1 1/2 Newhouse or Hawley & Norton, the No. 2 Victor, and the Nos. 2 and 3 Oneida Jump and Blake & Lamb traps. The trap should be fastened to a clog, and in some cases an iron drag could be used to advantage, as the coon will get fastened up on the first brush he comes to. The most common method is to set the trap in the entrance of a pen of stakes, at the edge of the water where the animals travel. The trap may be set dry or under water, as preferred, and the bait should be placed in the back of the pen. Another very good method, much used in the South, is to fasten a piece of bright tin or a piece of a white dish, on the pan of the trap and set the trap under about two inches of water, near the bank. No bait is used, but a little scent may be used on the bank to good advantage. The Southern Trappers sometimes find a tree, stump or rock in the edge of the water, and set the trap in the water, just where the 'coon will walk, when passing around the obstruction. A fence made of brush will answer the same purpose. Where the bank is steep and the water is shallow, dig a six inch hole, straight into the bank at the edge of the water. Fasten some bait in the back of the hole and set the trap in the water, directly in front of the hole. Where coons are visiting a corn field, find where they go through the fence and you will sometimes find a well beaten trail. Set the trap in the trail, covered, and fasten to a clog. If you find a log lying across the stream and there are signs of 'coons about, cut a notch in the top of the log and set the trap in the notch, covering with rotten wood or moss. You are likely to catch a fox in a set of this kind. When a den tree can be found, cut a pole five or six feet long and six inches thick; lean it against the tree and set the trap on the pole. Cover the trap lightly with moss and staple to the tree. Any natural enclosure along a stream, such as a hollow log or a hole under a stump, makes a good place to set a trap. When trapping for foxes with water sets, many coons will be caught in the traps. One of the best scents for 'coon is made as follows: To a pint of fish oil, add twenty or thirty drops of oil of anise and two ounces of strained honey. Pure fish oil is used by some trappers and beaver castor, muskrat musk and oil of anise are also good. The trail of the raccoon is somewhat like that of the mink, but the tracks are larger. The animal makes the print of the entire foot and the long slender toes show plainly. The print of the hind foot will be from two and a quarter to three inches in length. [Illustration: The Badger.] CHAPTER XIV. THE BADGER. Badgers are burrowing, carnivorous animals. They are found in North America and various parts of the Old World; one species being found in Europe, one in India and another in Japan. There are several varieties of the American species and they are found at present only west of the Mississippi River, although formerly they ranged as far east as Ohio. They are perhaps most numerous on the High, dry plains just east of the Rocky Mountains, and range from Mexico to well up into Canada. They were at one time quite numerous in Wisconsin and Minnesota, as well as others of the Northern and Central States, but today are found but rarely in those sections. Wisconsin is sometimes called the "Badger State" because of the numbers of these animals found there by the early settlers. The badger is an animal of peculiar build, having a heavy, broad body, at times appearing almost flat, as when it crouches close to the ground, and the legs are short and stout. The feet are furnished with long, strong claws, adapted for digging. The tail is short, the ears short and round, the eyes small and black. A full grown specimen will measure about two feet or more from the end of the nose to the base of the tail. The color is a grizzly, yellowish grey, being darker on the back. A white line traverses the face, head and neck, bordered with black, which latter marking extends around the eyes. The sides of the face and the throat are white, and there is a black patch in front of each ear. The legs and feet are black. The back and sides of the body are mottled somewhat by narrow streaks of darker fur. The fur, or more properly speaking, the hair, is long and appears to be parted on the back as it hangs off to either side from a line down the center of the back. Each separate hair shows a number of colors and it is this which gives the animal the peculiar grizzled appearance. Although the animal is, as before stated, of a heavy build, the casual observer would scarcely credit the animal with the great strength which it really possesses, because of the apparently soft and flabby body, however, the strength of the animal is surprising. They are slow moving creatures and were it not for their strength and powers of digging, they would have difficulty in procuring a sufficient amount of food. They feed on the small burrowing animals mainly, such as the prairie dog, the gopher and the pouched rat, and they are enabled to capture many of these animals by digging them out of the dens. They also eat mice and reptiles and the eggs and young of ground-nesting birds. Being such an expert digger, the badger makes a deep den. The entrance to the den is wide and surrounded by a mound of earth. In addition to the main den the animal has a number of others nearby, so that one would scarcely know which of them is the main burrow. They are hibernating animals and remain in the dens during the cold portion of the winter. The animal is of a rather timid nature, and when alarmed seeks safety in the den if possible, but when surprised far from the den, will hide wherever possible and failing to find cover will flatten down close to the ground and by remaining very quiet, will try to escape notice. However when pursued, and finding escape impossible, they will fight desperately. The young are born in early spring, there being as a rule three or four in a litter. The fur of the badger is used for making brushes of various kinds, its peculiar texture making it especially desirable for this purpose. It is not used for wearing apparel. The No. 3 trap is the proper size to use for this animal, and only the stronger ones should be used. They are caught and held occasionally in smaller and weaker traps, yet such cases are exceptional. As the animal is not a valuable one and is not found in large numbers in any one locality, they are not much sought by the trappers and the most of the Skins which reach the market are from the animals caught in traps set for other game. The wolf and coyote trappers catch them occasionally, as they may be captured by any of the methods used for those animals. Perhaps the best way in which to capture the badger is to set the trap at the entrance to the main burrow, that is, the one showing the most use. The trap should be set just outside of the entrance and should be securely staked, using a long stake driven out of sight in the ground. The jaws of the trap should be parallel with the passage, so that the badger will step between the jaws, and not over them. It should be bedded down so that the covering will be flush with the surroundings. Traps may also be set with bait. On the plains, material for enclosures can not be found but the traps may be set between clumps of sage brush or cactus, placing the bait behind the trap, the setting being so arranged that the badger will be obliged to walk over the trap in order to reach the bait. The trap should be securely staked in all cases. For bait, rabbit, sage hen, prairie dog or almost any kind of fresh meat may be used. [Illustration: The Opossum.] CHAPTER XV. THE OPOSSUM. The opossum is the only American member of the family of pouched animals. Only one species is found in this country although others are found in other parts of the world. Of the American species, naturalists have discovered three varieties, namely the Virginia opossum, the Florida opossum and the Texas opossum, all very similar. The Virginia opossum is the most common and the most widely distributed, being found as far north as Pennsylvania and Ohio and from there westward to Nebraska and southward. In the southwest the Texas opossum is found. In general form the opossum resembles the house rat but is much larger. The tail is almost bare and is prehensile, that is, it is capable of holding on to anything which it encircles. The muzzle is long and pointed, the ears bare. In color this animal is generally a grizzly gray but some specimens are much darker than others. The fur is long, soft and fluffy. The opossum dens in the ground and the abode is usually located under a stump or rock. The burrows are shallow and terminate in a larger cavity lined with dry leaves. They also sometimes locate in hollow logs. They are found only in timbered districts and are active climbers. Their food consists mainly of mice, eggs and young birds and insects, but they are also fond of poultry and almost any kind of flesh, fresh or tainted. They are not strictly carnivorous as they feed on persimmons, paw-paws, polk berries and other wild fruits. They are slow moving and stupid creatures and have no means of defending themselves against their enemies. It is true that they do have a habit of feigning death when frightened but this trick is of no value in case of an attack from other animals, for no wild animal would be deceived, and even if it were, there would be no hope for the opossum for it would only be a case of a meal already prepared for the attacking animal. On other occasions instead of feigning death the animal will open its mouth and present a rather fierce appearance, but there is little danger of them biting. While the opossum is not a hibernating animal it remains in its den during cold weather. It is a southern animal and the severe winters in the northern parts of its range are not to the animal's liking, They are most active on warm, damp nights for they do not like to move about when the weather is dry and the leaves are rustly. They are very prolific, bringing forth from six to twelve young at a litter and in some cases even more. When newly born they are very small and imperfectly formed and are carried by the mother in the pouch on the under side of the body until large enough to travel. They become prime about the second week of November in the North and remain in good condition until March. In the South they do not become prime until about December 1st and commence to shed much earlier than in the North. The fur is not a very valuable one but there is a growing demand for the flesh which is used as food and in many places will meet with ready sale. I recommend the No. 1 trap for this animal and those of medium strength of spring only, as the opossum's foot and leg is tender, and if the bones are broken the animal is likely to escape. They do not struggle much, however, and comparatively few escape from the traps. I set my traps in the thick woods, usually in the gullies also along the edges of the woods, along fences, etc. The opossum is possessed of no cunning whatever, and no special care is needed in setting the traps if this animal alone is expected, however, it is always best to use care in setting for the most stupid animals, as one never knows what animal may pass that way. Whenever possible I place the trap in a natural enclosure, such as a hollow in the side of a stump or tree, a hollow between two spreading roots, an opening among rocks or in a hollow log. Failing to find any such place I construct a small enclosure of stakes, bark, stones or pieces of rotten wood, whichever is most convenient, and set the trap in the entrance nesting it down and covering with whatever is found nearby. The trap may be staked, stapled or fastened to a clog. For bait I use rabbit, fowl, muskrat or small birds of any kind. Bait may be fresh or tainted as the opossum is not particular. I have heard of many fancy sets and baits and have given some of them a trial, but find the method given above to be the most satisfactory. Opossums will sometimes be caught in traps set for skunks, foxes and other animals and there are probably more of them caught in such sets than in any other. They may also be caught in wooden traps. I have caught these animals in traps set on logs spanning the streams, also at the entrance of the dens, but if I were setting many traps for opossums I would use the above method mostly. The opossum makes a wandering, aimless sort of trail, quite broad for an animal of its size and the toes are turned outward in walking. The footprints of the average opossum will measure about one and one-fourth inch in diameter--that is, the front foot--the print of the hind foot being from one-fourth to one-half inch larger. [Illustration: The Lynx.] CHAPTER XVI. THE LYNX. The Lynx family is a branch of the cat tribe and its members are found in various parts of the world, but it is the European and Canadian species that are of the most importance, when viewed from the hunters' and trappers' standpoint. There are two species in North America, namely, the Canada Lynx and the Bay Lynx or wild cat. The Canada Lynx is the most valuable and they are most sought by the trappers. This animal is found throughout practically all of Canada, Alaska and Newfoundland, also in all of the most northern states and in the Rocky mountain region extending down into Wyoming and perhaps still farther south. Those found in Newfoundland and Alaska are of slightly different varieties. The Lynx, when full grown will measure about three or three and a half feet in length and the weight is from twenty to thirty pounds, but occasional specimens will weigh forty pounds or even more. They are very "cat like" in appearance but the legs are rather long, the feet large and the tail very short. The feet are heavily furred and the toes connected with a web, the whole forming a sort of snowshoe, which prevents the lynx from sinking in the loose snow. The ears are small and pointed and tipped with a pencil of black hairs. The tail is also tipped with black. The general color in winter is a silver grey on the back, shading to white on the under parts. In summer they take on a reddish color. The fur is long and soft and there is a ruff of longer fur on the sides of the face, near the throat. The young are born usually in May and there are from three to seven in a litter. The entire family will be found living in the same locality and although each will have its own particular route of travel, they frequently travel together along the border of certain swamps and occasionally the entire family will start off together and look for a better feeding ground. They live mostly in the swampy parts of the more open country, being rarely found in the great bush. In the west they are found in the timbered parts of the mountains. In the North, you will find their tracks leading along the edges of the swamps and alder or willow thickets. Their food consists mostly of rabbits and partridge. The snow-shoe rabbit falls an easy victim. They have been known to kill small deer and caribou, but only in very rare instances. There has been considerable controversy among naturalists regarding the courage of the lynx. From my own observations, I should say that they are very cowardly, as a rule, but all rules have exceptions. I know of two instances in which the lynx has stood his ground for a man, and in one case, for a number of men. This lynx was killed by an axe thrown by one of the men at a distance of twelve feet. In traveling, the lynx usually walks, only running when in pursuit of some animal, and always traveling the same route. They are active all winter, but travel most in fall and spring. They become prime about the first of November and if the spring is late, will remain in good condition until the middle of April. The European lynx closely resembles the Canadian in habits and appearance. Its general color is a dull reddish grey, mottled with black. In winter the fur is longer and lighter colored than in summer. It is found from the Pryenees to the Far North, and eastward throughout northern Asia. As a rule, the lynx is easily taken with the steel trap, unless food is very plentiful, when they do not care for dead bait. Almost any trap will hold them as they do not struggle much, and I have caught a number of them with the No. 1 trap, but because of their large feet, I would advise the use of a larger trap. The Nos. 3 and 4 traps are perhaps the best sizes to use. There are various methods of trapping them but the most common, as well as the best is to set the trap in an enclosure, with bait. I prefer to make the enclosures of split wood, placing the split side inward. I make the pen about three feet in height, about two and a half feet long, wide at the top and just wide enough to receive the trap at the bottom. The pen should be well roofed with evergreen boughs to protect the trap from the snow, and the trap should be just inside of the entrance. If there is snow on the ground, I make a bed of green boughs for the trap to rest on. It is not necessary to cover the trap but I prefer to do so. The bait should be placed on a stick in the back of the pen. Rabbit and partridge is the best bait, but it must be fresh, as the lynx does not care for stale food. Some scent should also be used as the lynx's sense of smell is not so highly developed as that of some other animals. Beaver Castor is perhaps the best, but fish oil is much used by the western trappers. Muskrat musk is also good. The trap should be fastened to a stout clog. I use a small spruce or balsam tree, about three inches thick at the butt and fasten the trap by stapling or by looping the chain around the clog, leaving some snags to prevent the chain from slipping over the end. The rabbits are a great nuisance, they being found in great numbers in the northern swamps. The scent of the hands left there while setting the trap, also the fresh cutting, attracts the rabbit into the pen and it is sometimes difficult to keep the trap in working order until the lynx journeys by that way again. The best way I have found to keep them out of the trap is by dropping some dead brush in front of the enclosure, as the rabbits do not like to jump through the dead brush. Squirrels and birds are also troublesome, and I have found it a good idea to place the bait well up under the roof of the pen so as to be out of sight of these creatures. I also place a small springy stick under the pan of the trap, which will sometimes prevent the squirrels and birds from springing it. I sometimes make a trap pen by standing up a number of small evergreen trees, cutting the boughs away on the inside. This is a very good method. When lynx do not take bait well, some trappers make a long pen or passage, open at both ends and high enough so that the lynx can walk through easily. The trap is set inside and some beaver castor or other scent is placed on a stick in the passage. Others put scent on a piece of red cloth and fix it in a pen of brush, setting the trap in the entrance. As the lynx's eye is more keen than its nose, I have found it a good plan to hang a rabbit skin from a string near the setting, so that it will swing about in the breeze. This will attract the animal for quite a distance, and is a good method to use when setting traps along the shore of a lake, as the lynx walks the ice and will sometimes pass outside of scenting distance of the trap. Lynx are easily killed by a blow from a stick but when caught in small traps it is safer to shoot them, using a small caliber pistol or rifle. Another good way is to choke them by tieing a snare to the end of a ten or twelve foot pole. Slip the snare over the animal's head, draw it tight and hold the pole; the lynx will die in a very short time. The advantage of this method is in the fact that the skin is kept clean and free from blood. The track of the lynx resembles that of the cat but is much larger. A large specimen will make a track three and a half inches in diameter and the length of step is from sixteen to eighteen inches. [Illustration: The Wildcat, or Bay Lynx.] CHAPTER XVII. THE BAY LYNX, OR WILD CAT. The Bay Lynx replaces the Canada Lynx throughout the greater part of the United States. This animal is known to the fur trade as the wild cat and is also known in some localities as the Catamount and the bobcat. The true wild cat is not found in America, being a native of Europe and Northern Asia, and resembling the domestic cat, somewhat, in appearance. Such cats are also found in certain parts of the United States but they are only the descendants of domestic cats which have strayed into the woods and become wild, and are not the wild cat of Europe. The Bay Lynx is found throughout the rough timbered portions of the eastern, northern and western States, also in the swamps and cane brakes of the south. The International Boundary is about the northern limit of its range. They are quite plentiful in parts of the south, also in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains where they have become so destructive to sheep that the stockmen pay bounty on those that are killed. The animal is somewhat smaller than the Canada Lynx, but resembles that animal in general appearance. It is about thirty inches in length, with a tail of five or six inches, and weighs from eighteen to twenty-five pounds, in some instances exceeding these figures. Its color on the back and sides is of a pale reddish brown, overlaid with grayish, the latter color being most prevalent in fall and winter. The throat is surrounded with a collar of long hair. The under parts are light colored and spotted and a few dark spots are also found on the sides. The tail is tipped with black and has half rings on its upper surface. The ears are also tipped with black hairs, but this tip is not so conspicuous as in the case of the Canadian Lynx. The hair is also shorter and coarser, and the feet smaller and less heavily furred. The food of this animal consists of rabbits, partridges, sage hens, and any other small animals and birds which they can capture. They are fond of poultry and have been known to kill and devour the raccoon. As before mentioned, they are partial to mutton. In all probability they capture large numbers of mice, moles, prairie dogs, etc. In the West, as in parts of the East the wild cat dens in natural holes in the rocks. In the swamps of the South they no doubt, nest in hollow trees. They are, as a rule, shy and retiring animals, but when brought to bay show considerable courage and fight desperately. The fur of the Bay Lynx is not as valuable as that of the northern lynx. It becomes prime in the north about the first of November; in the south three or four weeks later. The wild cat resembles the Canada Lynx so closely in habits, etc., that I do not consider it necessary to give any special methods for capturing it. The bait methods recommended for the lynx will also do very well for the wild cat, and the same bait may be used. In the south it would probably be better to set in natural enclosures whenever possible. In the foothills of the Rockies the Bay Lynx is frequently caught in traps set for coyotes, although they may be captured as easily there as in any other section, and if the trapper wishes, he can set his traps in hollows in the rocks, or in enclosures of brush, cactus, etc. Some trappers prefer to hang the bait above the trap, and it is a good way, but I think that the enclosure is more certain. I would recommend the Nos. 2 and 3 traps for these animals. Although they may be held at times in smaller traps, any trap having less strength than the No. 2 should not be depended on. The track of the wild cat resembles that of the lynx, but is much smaller. The footprints will seldom measure more than one and a half inches in diameter, and the step is a trifle shorter than that of the Canadian Lynx. [Illustration: The Cougar.] CHAPTER XVIII. THE COUGAR. With the exception of the Jaguar, which will average a trifle larger, the cougar is the largest representative of the cat tribe to be found in America. This animal is known locally under various names. In the mountainous districts of the Eastern States, where they were once found in fair numbers, they were known as the panther or "painter" from a fancied resemblance to the panther of tropical Asia. In the far West they are most commonly known as the mountain lion, and in other localities as the cougar, while in the Southwest they are sometimes called the Mexican lion. Throughout the whole of South America they are known as the puma. This animal has probably become extinct in the Eastern States, but they are still found in the South, from Florida, westward throughout the wild, swampy sections of the Gulf States, into the lowlands of Texas, and southward. In the West they are found in all of the mountainous portions from northern British Columbia southward, and in South America are to be found as far south as southern Patagonia. They have at all times been more abundant in the West than in the East and are still plentiful in portions of British Columbia, Idaho, Wyoming, and Colorado; also in the Pacific Coast States, especially in northern California. In size, the average, full grown cougar will perhaps measure seven feet in length from the nose to the tip of the tail, certainly not more, and large specimens will weigh from a hundred and fifty to a hundred and seventy-five pounds. Occasionally larger specimens are found, but they are exceptional. The tail will measure from two and a half to three feet. The color of the cougar is usually of a yellowish brown on the sides, a trifle darker on the back and white on the throat and underparts. The tip of the tail is dark, almost black in some specimens. This is the prevailing color but some will have a grayish cast. While there is very little difference in the specimens from the various sections, some naturalists claim that the cougar of Florida and other parts of the South is a distinct variety. Cougars prey largely on deer, also in some sections on the wild sheep and goats. They also kill small animals, and when pressed by hunger they will not hesitate to attack larger animals than the deer; even the moose is sometimes killed by the cougar. They are very destructive to stock in many parts of the West, particularly to horses, and many of the Western States, as well as the stockmen pay bounty on cougars. In South America they kill large numbers of wild cattle. Their method of securing game is by creeping cautiously to within springing distance, or by watching a runway from the branches of a tree, or a ledge of rock from which position they spring upon the unsuspecting victim, breaking its neck by a twist of the head. When they can get plenty of food they only suck the blood of the captured animal, and do not return to the carcass, When food is scarce they make a meal of the flesh and cover the remains. In such cases they may return for a second meal. It was only after the panther became rare in the Eastern States that the fabulous tales of their daring, and their inclination to attack human beings, originated, and such stories are never credited by those who are acquainted with the nature and habits of the animal. While it would be an easy matter for the cougar to kill an unarmed man, they are by nature, timid animals, and not to be feared by human beings. While individual animals may attack man on rare instances, such occurrences are very rare, and it is safe to say that nine-tenths of the "panther stories" have no foundation whatever. The western mountain men consider them very cowardly animals. In the mountainous districts the cougars live in natural dens, or caves in the rocks, in places that are almost inaccessible to other animals. In the swamps of the South they make their home in dense and almost impenetrable thickets and canebrakes, where they make a nest of sticks, grass, moss and leaves. The young animals are born in early spring, there being from two to four at a birth, but as a rule, only two. The mother animal displays considerable anxiety for the safety and comfort of her kittens. There is no method known by which the cougar may be successfully trapped. Owing to their rambling habits one never knows where to place a trap for them, and as they prefer to kill their own game, they will seldom touch bait. As a rule they do not return to the carcass of their victim, but if one can find an animal freshly killed, it is a good plan to set a trap by the side of the remains, and in case the animal should return for a second meal, its capture is likely. Practically all of those which are trapped are taken in this way. The No. 4 Newhouse trap is used but the No. 4 1/2 is better, for being a larger and stronger trap it is more certain to hold the animal. The trap should be fastened to a heavy clog, and the trap and clog carefully concealed, for the cougar is wary and suspicious. On rare instances when the trapper has been certain that there were cougars in the near vicinity, they have been captured by setting a trap in a natural enclosure, placing a fresh, bloody bait behind the trap, also by hanging the bait about five feet above a carefully concealed trap. They are most commonly hunted by the aid of dogs, and in this way the capture is a comparatively easy matter. When pursued they usually take to a tree and remain there until the arrival of the hunter when a rifle bullet ends the game. The animal will take to a tree readily for any dog which has the courage to follow it. The skin of the mountain lion is not valuable as a fur, and is used principally for rugs, but as before mentioned many of the states pay bounties on the animals, so that hunting them may be made a profitable business in certain localities. The tracks of this animal resemble those of the wild cat but are much larger. The footprints will measure about four inches in diameter. [Illustration: The Wolverine.] CHAPTER XIX. THE WOLVERINE. Perhaps the most rare of all fur bearing animals, as well as the least known, is the wolverine. This animal belongs to the marten family and is the largest, strongest and most cunning of the genus; in fact, is claimed to be the most cunning and wary of all the furbearing animals, and among the trappers has an unenviable reputation. It is strictly a northern animal and is found scattered over the greater portion of Canada and Alaska, ranging southward into the most northern portion of the United States. In the Rocky mountain region it is found as far south as Wyoming. They are not plentiful anywhere and are probably found in the greatest numbers in the Alaskan interior, Yukon, Mackenzie and northern British Columbia. While the wolverine is classed among the martens it appears to be the connecting link between the martens and the bears for it is stoutly built and very bear-like in general appearance, also is a plantigrade animal, walking on the entire sole of the foot. An average specimen will measure about thirty inches from the end of the nose to the base of the tail. The tail is about ten inches in length, exclusive of the long hair and is very stumpy and bushy. The fur is long and flowing and is fairly fine. The general color is a dull brown with black legs and feet and a black patch about the eyes. A spot or stripe of lighter color sweeps along the sides. The teeth are large and strong and the curved claws are white, contrasting sharply with the black fur of the feet and legs. The wolverine makes its home in a burrow. As to the breeding habits of the animal, my observations have been limited and I can give no authentic information. Naturalists disagree as to the number of young and the time of birth. Some claim that the young animals are born in May, others put the time as late as December. As the other members of the marten family give birth to their young in April and May, I think it safe to assume that the young of the wolverine are born about the same time, and that the number would be from three to five in a litter. The animal is a great traveler, straying sometimes thirty miles in each direction from its home. It is not a rapid traveler, however, and it is claimed that a man can easily outrun it. The wolverine is also known under other fancy names, the most common of which is "carcajou". In Europe it is called the "glutton" from its supposed gluttonous appetite. Among the Indians of the northwest it is known as the "mountain devil" and in British Columbia is sometimes called the "skunk bear." The animal really does bear some resemblance to the skunk in its appearance and actions, the most noticeable of which is its habits of raising its tail when disturbed or when it stops to listen to some noise. Sometimes it will stand on its hind legs in order to get a better view of some object which has aroused its interest. The wolverine is not as active as the other members of the genus, but its strength and cunning fully compensate for all that it lacks in activity. It can seldom capture enough of game to satisfy its hunger, therefore it seeks out and robs the caches of other animals, also robs the traps of their bait and the captured animals. For this reason the animal is despised and dreaded by the trapper. Once one has found the trap line it will follow the trail to the end, destroying the sets and eating the baits and catch. What it cannot eat, it will carry away and conceal presumably for future use. It will also sometimes enter the trapper's cabin and destroy or defile all that it cannot eat. Many strange stories are told of the animals cunning and of its evil ways. While some of these tales are no doubt true, I feel safe in saying that the majority have no foundation whatever. There is no doubt that the wolverine is exceedingly wary and that it is a great mischief maker, but the fact that the animal is not well known, has led the nature writers to draw on their imaginations and these wonderful stories are the result. We hear of the animal decoying deer to its hiding place by dropping a bunch of moss for them to feed on, and then springing upon the unsuspecting animal from a nearby limb. We also read of the wolverine biting off the string of a set gun without discharging the arm, so that it could eat the bait without danger. That such stories are false goes without saying. Not being plentiful in any one locality the animals are seldom trapped and what few are caught are taken when they are visiting camps or while robbing the traps of the bait and catch Trapping them at all times is difficult work, owing to the natural wariness of the animal. That the trap must be well concealed and that the animal must be taken when off its guard will be evident to all. The No. 4 trap should be used and only those which have strong springs, as the wolverine possesses great strength. The animals are not sought by the trapper and he may consider himself lucky if there are none of them on his trapping ground. When they are found, the trapper's aim is to get rid of them and the most certain way appears to be by means of poison. When they visit the traps a fair portion of strychnine placed in the bait will usually bring the desired result. [Illustration: The Pocket Gopher.] CHAPTER XX. THE POCKET-GOPHER. The pocket-gopher is found throughout the Mississippi Valley, ranging westward into Colorado and Wyoming, southward into Mexico, and northward into the prairie region of Canada. They are also found in Alabama, Georgia and Florida. They appear to be most abundant in those states bordering on the Mississippi River. There are a number of different varieties, but as their habits are the same, a description of the Prairie pocket-gopher, will be sufficient. This animal measures, when full grown, about eight inches from the end of the nose to the base of the tail. The tail is about two and a half inches long, and thinly covered with hair. The color is a liver brown, somewhat lighter on the under parts; the feet white. The legs are very short; the feet armed with large claws, adapted to digging. The head is large, no neck being visible. The eyes and ears are very small. The incisors are large and chisel shaped, for cutting roots. On each side of the face and neck are large pouches, having no opening into the mouth. These pouches are not used for carrying dirt, as is commonly supposed, but are only used for carrying food. The animals known as the "grey-gopher" and the "striped-gopher" are no gophers at all, but species of ground squirrels. [Illustration: Burrow of Pocket Gopher.] The gopher is a burrowing animal and is seldom seen above ground. They are working almost all of the time, during the spring, summer and fall, extending the burrows in search of food. They also work in winter, when the ground is not frozen, and it is supposed that they also work under the frozen ground, when it is not frozen too deep. They are most active in the fall when they are storing up food for winter. The burrows will be found from six to twelve inches beneath the surface of the ground, the usual depth being about eight inches. At irregular distances along the burrow, the animal makes a short branch passage leading up to the surface, where it deposits the dirt dug from the main passage, in the form of a mound. After the dirt is all thrown out, it closes the branch passage, packing the ground in solidly, so that the only visible signs of the burrow are the mounds of ground. There is a good reason why the animal should be so careful to keep the passage closed, for they have a number of enemies besides man. Its most dangerous enemies are, perhaps, the little spotted skunk or civet cat and the bull snake, as both of these creatures, once they get inside of the burrow, follow its course until they find their victim. The food of the gopher consists mostly of roots of plants but they often cut the roots of fruit trees. They are particularly destructive to alfalfa, and the loss to farmers, caused by these animals, is considerable, not only from the plants destroyed by having the roots cut, but also from the plants buried under the mounds, and from the fact that the mounds interfere with the cutting of the crop. The fur is of no value, but owing to the destructiveness of the animals, land owners are very anxious to be rid of them. In many places a bounty is paid on the gopher, so that they may be profitably trapped when fur-bearing animals are of no value. The traps recommended for the gopher are the No. 0 steel trap and some of the various choker traps made especially for this use. In setting steel traps, select the freshest mound, and by examining closely, one can usually tell which way the dirt was thrown out, and will know on which side to look for the burrow. A handy tool is a slender, pointed iron rod to use as a probe in searching for the burrow. Having located the passage, open it up and set the trap on the bottom, sinking it down until level. Cover it lightly with dirt, and close the hole by laying a small piece of board, or a shingle over the opening, covering with ground. The trap should be fastened with a stick, and the same stick will serve as a marker, so that one can easily find the trap. A small spade or a heavy garden trowel will be needed for digging and for convenience, the traps, stakes, etc., may be carried in a large basket. The regular gopher traps, mentioned above, are more easily set than steel traps and printed directions for setting usually accompany the traps. They should be set at one side of the burrow, on a level with the bottom and with the mouth of the trap just even with the side of the passage. Just a little light should be allowed to penetrate from behind, and all other parts should be closed, so as to exclude light. The gopher, in coming along the passage, sees the light and goes to investigate, when it will be caught in the trap. If too much light shows up, he does not go close to look at it, but immediately brings a load of dirt and proceeds to close the hole, thus burying the trap. All loose dirt should be removed from the burrow before setting the trap, as otherwise the gopher will gather up the dirt as it approaches the light, and shove it into the trap. [Illustration: The Cottontail Rabbit.] CHAPTER XXI. THE RABBIT. While the rabbit is classed among the fur-bearing animals, the skin having a slight market value, very few of the trappers ever market the skins as the price is so little that trapping the animals for their fur would not be a lucrative business. The flesh is much used as food by the northern hunters and trappers, and also as bait for traps, and it is well for the trapper to know something about the animal and how to capture it. Properly speaking there are no rabbits in North America, the animals known by that name being classed by naturalists as hares, but the name is so universally used that it would be useless now to try to bring the true name into general use. There are many species, one or more of which will be found in almost every locality of North America, but the most important species are the common cottontail, the jack rabbit and the snowshoe rabbit, or varying hare. Of these there are many varieties, but they are so similar in appearance and habits that I do not consider it necessary or advisable to go into detail in describing them in a work of this kind. Rabbits belong to the class known as rodents or gnawing animals, and are distinctly different in structure from all other animals of the class. The long hind legs, long ears, small tail and soft fur is characteristic of the genus. The common cottontail is found in almost all parts of the United States, in certain parts of the north only, being replaced by the snowshoe rabbit. They are smaller than the snowshoe and jack rabbits and are of a grayish brown on the back and sides shading to white on the under parts. The fur is a reddish brown in summer. Their food consists of grasses, fruits and vegetables, bark, and the leaves of evergreen shrubs such as the laurel. They are especially fond of fruits, sweet apples being a favorite food, and are also partial to cabbage. Their favorite haunts are the brushy, wooded bottom lands but they are also found on the hills and mountains; in fact, in almost any place where they can find food and shelter. The snowshoe rabbit replaces the cottontail in Canada and the most northern portions of the United States. As before mentioned they are larger than the common rabbits and like the northern weasel the color of their fur varies with the seasons. The summer coat is a reddish brown, but when the cold weather comes on in the fall they commence to take on a white color, the fur of the ears and legs being the first to change and in a few weeks the animal will be perfectly white. This is nature's provision for the animal's protection, and their color in winter is so nearly like that of the snow that when sitting under some log or clump of brush they are almost invisible. They have many enemies, being preyed upon by all the carnivorous animals, also by such birds as the hawk and owl, but as they are exceedingly prolific their numbers increase rapidly. Every few years, perhaps at regular intervals, but of that I am not certain, some disease makes its appearance among them and they die off rapidly. Some naturalists believe that this is caused by inbreeding as the rabbit's circle of acquaintance is comparatively small, and his knowledge of the country and the ground covered by his wanderings is limited to a very small area. The food of the snowshoe rabbit consists mainly of grasses in summer and the bark of certain young growths in winter. They are very fond of salt and wherever there is a trace of it to be found, they will come nightly and dig up the soil in order to procure it. The northern settlers who use large numbers of these animals for food sometimes make a salt lick for the rabbits and watch for the animals in the early evening. The feet of the snowshoe rabbit are very large and are heavily furred, forming a sort of snowshoe which accounts for its common name. They are very methodical, running the same route so often as to form a well defined trail, quite common in the northern swamps and hazel thickets. These trails are followed after the snow falls and become beaten several inches in depth. It is from the skins of the snowshoe rabbit that the northern Indians make the wonderful rabbit skin blankets. The skin is ripped down the back of the hind legs and is drawn off whole and while still fresh is cut into one long strip averaging an inch in width. Immediately after cutting, the strip rolls up leaving the outside covered with fur and resembling a fur rope. These skins are wound into a ball and kept frozen until the desired number has been secured when they are woven into a frame, the ends being sewed together. It makes the warmest bed covering known, and is used universally by the northern trappers. It also was a great comfort to those who went into Alaska and Yukon in search of gold. [Illustration: Rabbit Snares.] The jack rabbit is found mostly on the western plains and is the largest of the American hares. They resemble the ordinary rabbit in structure, but the ears are very long and the tail is more like that of the deer. In running they make long leaps, all four feet hanging straight down, presenting a singular appearance. Rabbits are seldom trapped with steel traps, but almost every country boy knows how to take them in box traps baited with sweet apples. The cottontail may also be taken in a spring pole snare, such as shown in the cut. The noose is made of twine and is about ten inches in diameter. When carefully made they are almost certain in action. They should be baited with sweet apple or cabbage. The snare used for the snowshoe rabbit is a very simple contrivance. The white trappers use No. 20 brass wire, doubled and twisted with a small loop on one end, and made into the form of a slip noose. The snares are set on the trails, the bottom of the noose being about four inches above the trail and the loop, about four inches in diameter, is attached firmly to a brush placed horizontally over the path. A short stick is set upright under the noose and others are placed on either side of the snare. When properly arranged the noose will take the animal by the neck when it attempts to leap through, and it will be choked by its struggles. The Indians make the snares of light linen cord but with the white man this method is a failure as the rabbit will invariably stop and bite the cord. I do not understand why they do not bite the snares set by the Indians. Where tracks are plentiful and good trails cannot be found I have caught them by placing a few fresh twigs of birch or tamarack on each side of the snare. The rabbit is certain to find them and after eating those placed on one side it will attempt to leap through the noose to reach the others, which, of course, is the end of poor "bunny". The smallest and tenderest shoots should be selected for bait and only two or three should be placed at a snare. At other times I have made a fence of small evergreen trees where signs of the animals were numerous, and have fixed snares in the openings along the obstruction. This is also a successful method. I have never learned of any method of trapping or snaring the jack rabbit, but believe they could be trapped successfully where they visit the farms and gnaw the bark from fruit trees as they do in some parts of the west. CHAPTER XXII. TRACKS AND SIGNS. Old and experienced trappers can read the signs of the forest and stream with a degree of accuracy that to the amateur is surprising. In this way he can make a fair estimate of the number and kinds of fur-bearing animals found in a locality, while the novice would see nothing, or if he did see the tracks and signs he would not be able to distinguish them, one from another. To be able to read the signs accurately is essential for successful hunting and trapping. The expert trapper will know instantly, on seeing a track, just what animal it was that passed that way, and by knowing its habits will know about when it is likely to return, and how to place a trap for its capture. He can also tell with fair accuracy at what time the animal passed that way, and frequently, will know whether it was a male or female; whether it was looking for food or a place of rest, whether it was on its regular route of travel and where it was going. To the novice all of these signs are unintelligible. The art of sign reading can be learned only from experience. While the writer can distinguish the signs and tracks of the fur-bearing animals, to put this knowledge in print is exceedingly difficult. However, I will endeavor here, to describe the tracks of the fur-bearing and game animals, and believe that the description will be of value to the amateur. Before the coming of the tell-tale snow, and the myriads of tracks which then appear, the stream with its muddy or sandy shores is per haps the most promising place in which to look for signs. In the mud alongside of a pool of water, the tracks of that busy little animal the muskrat, can be seen. The trail of this animal is accurately shown in the drawing. When seen at the water's edge, and only a few tracks are visible, the trail appears irregular, but if one can see where it has walked for some distance, it will be noted that the animal has a regular step, some five or six inches in length, and there is also the trail of the dragging tail, most plainly seen in the soft muddy bottom of the still, shallow water. In the snow the track will appear the same. Only the prints of the hind feet are visible, the front feet being very much smaller, and the print being obliterated by those of the hind feet. When the animal is running the prints of all four feet are readily discernible. The print of the hind foot will measure about two and a fourth inches in length if the full impression of the foot is to be seen. [Illustration: Tracks of Furbearing Animals.] In addition to the tracks other signs may be seen. Where the animals are found in fair numbers they will have well defined trails leading from the water. Where the bank is steep the trails are sometimes worn an inch or more in depth, owing to the muskrat's habit of sliding down the bank, which habit is not practiced in play, but for convenience. Other signs are the droppings on the logs which extend into the water; the dens with an accumulation of grass at the entrance; also the scratch signs on the bank, the feed beds, houses, etc. All signs are plentiful in early fall, and at such times the novice is likely to overestimate the number of animals, as the muskrat is very active at that season. The signs of the beaver are very similar to those of the muskrat, but the tracks are much larger, and owing to the fact that the level of the water in the vicinity of a beaver lodge, is raised far above the muddy shores, by the dam the tracks are seldom seen. However, the house and dam with the fresh cut wood, and well used trails are all of the signs that are needed. Old houses and dams are found frequently, but if there is no fresh cutting about, one may be certain that the house is uninhabited. One of the most puzzling things to the novice is to know the number of inmates, that is, whether or not it is a full family, but methods of determining this are given in the chapter dealing with this animal. In the North the beavers are ice bound during the winter months, but occasionally one may find them emerging from the water at some springhole near the lodge or dam, and at such times the tracks may be seen in the snow. The trail of the otter is unmistakable, owing to its peculiar, floundering, sliding mode of travel. It is seldom seen except in the near vicinity of the water. In the snow, the track is well defined and resembles the trail made by dragging a small log, the footprints in the bottom of the trail being very distinct. The length of jump is from four to eight feet, depending on the condition of the snow, and the footprints will measure about two inches in diameter. They travel under the ice whenever possible and one may see frequently where the otter has bored into a snow bank at the water's edge, trying to locate a weak spot in the ice. When they have been working under the ice for some time one may find where they have been entering at, and emerging from the spring holes near the shore. At such places the snow will be packed down solidly and remains of fish may be found. When there is no snow, one may learn of the most frequented localities by the number of slides and landing places. At the landing places the droppings will be found, and they may be distinguished from those of other animals from the large proportions of fish bones and scales. Another animal which will be found frequenting the waterways is the mink. The track of this little animal may be found along the muddy shore, where the steep bank crowds it down to the water's edge. At other times it will travel several rods from the water, and after he ice forms, will run on the ice, seldom going far from the shore. Its method of travel is an easy lope, and the footprints are nearly always in pairs about three inches apart one somewhat in advance of the other, and separated by a distance of from one to two feet. The footprints measure from one to one and three-fourths inches in length. They are sometimes found entering the water at spring holes in the ice, and at open places in the rapids. About the outlets or inlets of lakes and ponds, and at the log-jams or drifts on the stream one may sometimes find small, slender pointed droppings on the stones or logs. These sign will show unmistakably that the route is regularly used by at least one mink. The track of the weasel is similar to that of the mink, but is smaller, but as the weasel is not a water animal, its tracks are more likely to be seen along the fences and where logs and rocks are plentiful. Here the trail will be found leading here and there in an aimless sort of way, and entering every nook and corner, where the persistent little hunter thinks it may find a sleepy "bunny" or some other animal or bird. The length of jump is from sixteen to twenty inches and the footprints measure about one or one and a fourth inches in length. The marten has a similar method of travel and makes a track like those of the mink and weasel, being a little larger than the track of the mink and the footprint is broader and more rounded; the foot being heavily furred the toes do not show so distinctly. The trail will be found leading through the gullies and depressions of the heavily timbered places, and occasionally they also travel on the ridges. Few signs are seen when the ground is bare but in the dark, sheltered ravines, the droppings may sometimes be seen on the logs, resembling those of the mink, but somewhat larger. Sometimes one may also find where they have killed a bird or rabbit. [Illustration: Tracks of Furbearing Animals.] There is practically no difference between the track of the fisher and that of the marten except in size. The footprints of the fisher are perhaps a trifle more distinct, and will measure from two to two and a half inches in length, the distance between each set of tracks being from two and a half to four feet. The tracks of both the marten and the fisher are found in the same kind of places, but the fisher is more of a rambler and more given to rambling in the open country. When the ground is bare one may see occasionally where they have killed and eaten rabbits, in which case very little will remain except the fur and toes of the victim. Although the skunk is a member of the great weasel family, its method of travel is decidedly different from that of the weasel, for it seldom lopes, but has a slow, measured walk. The length of step is about five or six inches, and the footprints are from one to one and three-fourths inches in length. The trail is rather broad, and if the snow is deep and soft the animal sinks deeply, so as to make a trail with its body; however, the skunk seldom travels when the snow is in that condition. Signs of the skunk may be noted also in summer and early fall. Occasionally one will find in the field, small excavations varying from an inch and a half to four or five inches in depth, nicely rounded and funnel shaped. This is the work of the skunk, and it was hunting for insects or grubs. The most conspicuous signs, however, are the dens, which may be found along the steep, gravelly hillsides. Although the woodchuck makes a similar den, one may be able to distinguish them, as a rule. If the den is inhabited by skunks one will usually find black and white hairs clinging to the mouth of the den, also will be likely to find a pile of droppings somewhere near, and to one side of the entrance. The walk of the opossum is similar to that of the skunk, but the trail is broader, the footprints more spreading and the toes turned outward. The feet being naked, the toes show very plainly. Their tracks are only seen after a warm night, when the snow is melting, and the dens are seldom found unless one can follow the trail. The footprints will measure from one and a fourth to two and a half inches in diameter. The tracks made by the animals of the dog family, the fox, coyote and wolf, are all similar, practically the only difference being in size. The foxes make the smallest tracks, that of the red fox being about two or two and a fourth inches in length and the length of step is about fourteen inches. The female makes a narrower track than the male, the same being true of many animals. There is no difference in the tracks of the silver, cross and red foxes, they being all of the same variety, but the gray fox makes a shorter and rounder track, easily distinguished from that of the red fox. In early fall one may see the droppings of the fox along the old wood roads and stock paths, and they may be distinguished from those of the dog by the remains of apples and other fruits which are found there. Occasionally one may see the tracks in the mud or dust of the old roads in the woods, and sometimes the dens are to be found. As before mentioned the track of the coyote is identical with that of the red fox, except that it is larger. The length of step is about sixteen inches and the track will measure about two and one-half inches in length by two inches in width. The track of the timber wolf is larger, that of a full grown specimen measuring about three inches in width by four in length, the length of step being about eighteen or twenty inches. As the tracks of the dogs are similar so also are those of the cats, the wild cat, lynx and cougar, or mountain lion, the only difference being in size. The two first named are plainly shown in the drawings, and as will be noted, that of the wild cat is the smallest, and will measure about two inches in diameter with a step of about fourteen inches. [Illustration: Tracks of Furbearing Animals.] The lynx makes a step of about the same length and the footprint of a large one will be from three to three and a half inches in width. The cougar makes a larger track than the lynx, otherwise there is no difference. Occasionally one may find where these animals have killed game; the lynx will eat all but the feet of a rabbit. The droppings may also be seen at times. They resemble somewhat those of the fox, but are slightly larger, and never show remains of fruit, as the lynx never eats vegetable food. Along the streams and shores of the lakes and ponds one may see in summer and early fall the tracks of the raccoon, where the animal has traveled the strip of mud at the water's edge, looking for frogs and fish. One may trace the animal along the stream and will find that at times it has waded in the shallow water, and then again has gone the lope along the water's edge, or, perhaps has made a side journey to some cornfield. At such places if coons are plentiful, one may find a trail leading through the fence into a field. In parts of the South where these animals are abundant, trails may also be found along the ponds and swamps. The coon belongs to the bear family, and like the bear steps on nearly the entire bottom of the foot, instead of the toes only, as do the cats and some other animals, therefore, the footprint is usually long and narrow, and the foot being bare on the bottom, the long, slender toes show up distinctively. The animal has the loping method of travel, like the mink and weasel, but shows the print of a hind foot beside that of the front foot, the right and left alternating. The prints of the hind foot will measure from three to four inches in length, when the entire track is visible. One is not likely to mistake the track of the bear, as it is the largest of the furbearing animals. As far north as Pennsylvania, its tracks will occasionally be seen in the snow, but north of that tier of states, the bears seldom move about after the coming of snow. The tracks may sometimes be seen in the mud and wet moss of the northern swamps, also on the shores of the lakes and along the streams. The bear has a shuffling mode of walking and turns its toes outward. It is fond of walking on logs and will do so frequently, where fallen timber is plentiful. The track of a large black bear will sometimes measure eight inches in length, and that of the grizzly bear will be much larger. [Illustration: Tracks of Game Animals.] Although the tracks are not often seen, other signs are to be found, such as logs and stumps, torn open by the bear in its search for ants, etc., small poplars broken down in order to secure the young leaves, claw marks on chestnut and black gum trees, overturned rocks, and those most noticeable signs, the marked trails, which are mentioned in the chapter describing this animal. While the deer are not classed among the fur-bearing animals, they are interesting to all trappers, and I have shown drawings of the footprints of the common deer, the moose, the caribou, and the three most common species of rabbits, namely; the common cottontail, the snowshoe rabbit, or varying hare, and the jack rabbit. The tracks shown in one-fifth size are of the cottontail. As will be noted in the drawings of the deer tracks, that of the hind foot is narrower and more pointed than that of the front. The doe also makes a smaller and more slender track. The average track will measure about two and a fourth inches in length. The moose makes a similar track, but it is much larger and will measure about four and a half to five and a half inches. The track of the caribou will average somewhat smaller than that of the moose and is of decidedly different shape. It is not so pointed, and the hoof being split much higher, it spreads out more, also the prints of the two small toes on the back of the foot are to be seen in nearly all cases, while the moose does not always show them. Almost everybody is familiar with the track of the rabbit, but I have shown those of the three species mentioned, mainly to show the difference in size. The feet being furred heavily, the prints of the toes seldom show, except on hard snow. Some of these tracks were drawn from memory, but others were sketched from the actual trails. On the whole, I think they will be found to be accurate, at least near enough to enable anybody to distinguish the trails of the various animals, and I think that the descriptions and illustrations will be of value to the amateur trapper when looking over his territory and locating the runways of the animals that he proposes to catch. CHAPTER XXIII. HANDLING FURS. To know the habits and the nature of the various animals and to know how to catch them is not all that is essential for success, but the trapper must also know how to skin the various animals and how to cure the skins and prepare them for market. The loss caused the trapper by the lack of this knowledge is considerable; many skins because they have not been fully cured reach the dealer in a tainted condition, others are not fully stretched and are graded "small" and some do not have the proper shape. Some are not cleaned of flesh and fat, do not have the tail bone removed, have not been kept clean or have been badly damaged in killing or skinning, all of which has a tendency to decrease their value. I have seen the skins of raccoon, killed before they were prime, and stretched on the side of a barn where the glare of the sun burned the life out of the skins, rendering them worthless. I have also seen skunk and mink skins drawn over the end of a thick board roughly fashioned with an axe, and hung up by the nose, the weight of the board drawing the head out until it resembled the finger of a glove. The trapper who handles his catch in that way can never expect to receive full value for his furs. There are two ways of skinning fur-bearing animals, namely, "casing" and skinning "open". The weasel, mink, marten, fisher, fox, opossum, muskrat, civet, skunk, wild cat should be cased. The raccoon, bear, beaver, badger, cougar, wolf, wolverine and coyote should be skinned open. Some dealers prefer to have southern raccoons cased. To remove a skin by the first mentioned plan, cut it loose around the feet and rip down the back of the hind legs, to and around the vent. Peel the skin carefully from the hind legs and skin the tail by slipping a split stick over the bone, when by gripping the stick with the right hand with the bone of the tail between the second and third fingers and holding the animal with the left hand, the skin may be stripped off easily. Draw the skin downward from the body, keeping it as clean of flesh and fat as possible. To facilitate this process the animal may be suspended from the limb of a tree or other projection by looping a strong cord around the hind legs after they have been skinned. The skin should be drawn from the front legs and when the ears are reached they should be cut off, cutting downwards towards the head. The skin should be cut loose about the eyes and nose, and it will then be in the form of a long pocket, fur side in. The weasel, mink, marten, fisher, fox, skunk, civet cat and wild cat should be skinned in this way. The otter must have the tail ripped open its entire length on the underside, and as they are a difficult animal to flesh, it is best to skin them clean with a knife, leaving no flesh or fat adhering to the skin. The muskrat and opossum should also be cased, but as the tails of these animals have no fur they should not be skinned, the skin being cut loose about the base or where the fur ends. Some trappers do not use much care in removing the skin from the head of the muskrat, but simply pull it off by main strength. This leaves the flesh of the head remaining on the skin and a collection of such skins will usually be graded low and the skins will average a few cents less than when properly handled. To skin an animal "open", rip the skin on the belly from the point of the lower jaw to the vent, down the back of the hind legs and on the inside of the front legs across the breast to the point of the brisket. Animals that are intended only as furs may have the feet cut off, but bears, mountain lions, wolves and wolverines should have the feet skinned out to the ends of the toes, leaving the claws attached to the skin. This increases their value for mounting or for rugs. The skin should be peeled from the body, using the knife whenever necessary. In skinning the beaver, rip the skin from the point of the chin to the vent and around the base of the tail and cut off the feet, but do not rip the skin of the legs. Skin the animal perfectly clean using the knife everywhere, as it is almost impossible to flesh a beaver after skinning. Not a particle of flesh or fat should be allowed to remain on the skin. After all burrs, lumps of mud and blood clots have been removed from the skin it is ready for fleshing. For fleshing all cased skins prepare a narrow tapering board of sufficient length to accommodate the longest skins and plane it perfectly smooth, rounding the edges slightly. Draw the skin over this board flesh side out and scrape all flesh and fat from it, using some blunt instrument, such as a square edged knife or a hatchet. Turn the skin occasionally and do not flesh on the edges of the board or you may score the skin; be careful not to damage it in any way. Always turn the fur side out before laying it down, so as to keep it perfectly clean. Open skins, if they have not been skinned clean, are more readily fleshed after they are stretched. A good supply of stretching boards of various sizes should be made in advance of the trapping season. Soft pine, poplar, basswood, or cedar boards are best, and old dry goods boxes make excellent stretching boards. They should be free of knots and should be planed smooth so that the furs may be removed easily after they are dry. For mink the boards should be from 26 to 34 inches in length and from 3 1/2 to 4 1/2 inches wide at widest part, and about 1/2 inch narrower at the shoulders from which point it should taper gracefully to the head and end with a rounded point. For marten, the boards should be a trifle wider. For the average fox or fisher, the board should be 4 feet long, about 5 1/4 inches wide at the shoulder and 6 1/2 at the base. For the otter the board should be about 1/2 inch wider and a foot longer. The average lynx will require a board about 7 1/2 inches wide at the shoulder and 9 1/2 inches at the base, by about 5 feet in length. For large muskrats the board should be two feet long by 6 inches wide at the base, 3/4 inches narrower at the shoulder and with a flat iron shaped head, but more rounded at the nose. One should have several smaller sizes also. For skunk and opossum the boards should be about 6 inches wide at the shoulder and 7 1/4 inches at the base, 28 inches long. These dimensions are for the average animals, but it should be remembered that the sizes vary greatly in the various parts of the country. In the case of the skunk and the mink especially, there is a great difference in size. [Illustration: Canadian Pattern Stretching Boards.] For convenience and good results I advise ripping with a saw, a narrow wedge from the center of all boards except those intended for muskrats. In this way one can stretch the skins to their full size and they may be more easily removed from the boards, after the wedge is withdrawn. For large boards to be used for lynx, otter and animals of a similar size, I fasten two short strips to the base of one piece of the board, as shown in the cut. This stiffens the stretcher and prevents the pieces from turning in the skin. All boards should be beveled on the sides, leaving the edges thin, round and smooth. The boards shown are of the Canadian pattern used universally by the Canadian trappers both Indian and white, and recommended and approved of by such large dealers as the Hudson's Bay Co. The tendency among trappers of more southern districts is to use a less tapered board with a more rounded point. The skins should be stretched as soon as they are fleshed. In using the three piece board slip the two halves into the skin, the flesh side being out and fasten the hind legs with one or two small nails in each, then insert the wedge and draw down all slack parts and fasten with nails. Be sure to get the back on one side of the board and the belly on the other. Draw up the skin of the lower jaw and fasten with a couple of tacks or small nails. In the case of the lynx it is advisable to slip a narrow board into each front leg and a small incision should be made in the tip of the tail of all animals, to allow the moisture to drain out and the tail to dry. The tail of the otter should be stretched out to its full width and well fastened with small nails. Some trappers also split the tail of the skunk for about one-half of its length and fasten it in the same way. The proper way to stretch open skins is by lacing them with twine in a hoop or frame. The beaver should be stretched round, and a hoop is most convenient. My method is to fasten the skin in the hoop at four points and then with a large sacking needle and strong twine stretch out one quarter at a time. I use a separate twine for each quarter, sewing thru the edge of the skin and around the hoop, tying the end with a loose knot. In case I find that any part is stretched too much or not enough, it is a simple matter to untie the string and give it a little slack or take up a little as the case requires. The raccoon should be stretched nearly square and all other skins to their natural shape. A square frame is most convenient, and the method employed may be the same as for beavers. Open skins which have not been fleshed, should have all of the flesh peeled off after they are stretched and then it will frequently be found necessary to re-stretch them but this is not difficult when using the twine. All furs should be dried or cured in a cool, airy place. They should never be allowed near the heat of the fire as they dry rapidly and become brittle and unfit for use. In camp they may be dried in some corner, removed from the fire but they are likely to take on a dirty yellow color from the smoke, and it is better to have a shelter for them on the outside. Furs should not be allowed to remain a long time on the boards. As soon as they are sufficiently dry to prevent shrinking or wrinkling they should be removed. The lynx and all species and varieties of foxes should be turned with the fur side out as soon as they become dry enough, and if the skin has become too dry to turn, it may be dampened slightly on the stiffer parts by placing a damp cloth over it. A very little will suffice and one must be certain to allow the skin to dry out thoroughly after turning. It is best to watch the skins closely and not allow them to become too dry before turning. Some trappers turn the skins of other animals, but with the exception of those mentioned it is better to leave the fur side in. When shipping the furs they should be packed flat and bound tightly. Those having the fur side out should be kept separate from the others so that the fur will not become greasy. I sew the skins in burlap and put a card bearing my name and address inside of the package; also tie two shipping tags on the outside. Furs handled by the above methods will always command good prices and I never have any cause for complaint if I ship them to reliable dealers, but when furs are badly handled, damaged in killing or afterwards, or unprime, one cannot expect the highest market price. CHAPTER XXIV. STEEL TRAPS. In the preceding pages I have made frequent mention of the Newhouse and other brands of traps and the work would hardly be complete without a description of these traps. The Newhouse traps were designed by Sewell Newhouse, a resident of Oneida Co., New York, sometime prior to the year 1840 and the first of these famous traps were manufactured by the inventor in a little blacksmith shop, all of the work being done by hand. These traps were traded to the neighboring Indians and gradually became famous throughout the country. Early in the fifties, Mr. Newhouse moved to Kenwood, in Madison County and established a larger shop. It was at this time that he joined the Oneida Community and as the demand for the goods soon exceeded the output, the firm decided that the business must be enlarged and accordingly a small factory was erected. The business proved prosperous and it was found necessary to enlarge the plant from time to time in order to increase the output and supply the demand which was increasing rapidly as the traps became well known, and today these people are the largest manufacturers of steel traps in the world. Great care is used in the tempering of the springs and it is a fact well known to the users of this goods that the Newhouse spring is more reliable and more durable than any other. The nearly perfect state of the Newhouse trap as it is made at present, has only been reached after years of study and experiment and many of the improvements have been brought about by the trappers themselves, with whom this firm has a large correspondence. They are always pleased to receive any suggestions for the improvement of their traps. Although the Newhouse is a cheap trap, quality considered, it was soon found necessary to manufacture a line of cheaper traps and several styles were placed on the market. These were remodeled and changed in various ways to meet the demands of the consumer, and the names were changed with the style. Those made at present are known as the "Hawley & Norton," the "Oneida Jump" and the "Victor". The Hawley & Norton is made in the same style as the Newhouse, but is lighter. The Victor is also made in this style and it is safe to say that it is the most popular trap on the market. More of them are used than of any other brand and being so cheap they are especially liked by the beginner and by those who do not make trapping their leading occupation. In thickly settled districts where traps are often taken by thieves, many trappers prefer to use these cheaper grades of traps. The Oneida Jump trap is a distinct departure from the Newhouse pattern. It is a high grade trap but very light and its shape allows it to be placed where an ordinary trap could be set only with difficulty. Instead of having the long bow spring as in the other styles it has a short spring located inside of the jaws and under the pan, and it is attached to one end of the bed plate of the trap. This makes the trap very compact and it takes up very little room either when set or sprung. The traps have been on the market a comparatively short time but they have already become quite popular. All of these traps are made in sizes from No. 0 to No. 4 and the Newhouse is made in additional sizes and in special styles as described in the following pages. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 0 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 3 1/2 inches. This, the smallest trap made, is used mostly for catching the gopher, a little animal which is very troublesome to western farmers, and also rats and other vermin. It has a sharp grip and will hold larger game, but should not be overtaxed. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 1 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 4 inches. This Trap is used for catching muskrats and other small animals, and sold in greater numbers than any other size. Its use is well understood by professional trappers and it is the most serviceable size for catching skunks, weasels, rats and such other animals as visit poultry houses and barns. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 81 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 4 inches. Occasionally animals free themselves from traps by gnawing their legs off just below the trap jaws, where the flesh is numb from pressure. Various forms of traps have been experimented with to obviate this difficulty. The Webbed Jaws shown above have proved very successful in this respect. Noting the cross-section of the jaws, as illustrated at the left, it is plain the animal can only gnaw off its leg at a point quite a distance below the meeting edges. The flesh above the point of amputation and below the jaws will swell and make it impossible to pull the leg stump out of the trap. The No. 81 Trap corresponds in size with the regular No. 1 Newhouse. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 91 TRAP] Spread of Jaws--91, 5 1/4 inches; 91 1/2, 6 1/4 inches. The double jaws take an easy and firm grip so high up on the muskrat that he can not twist out. A skunk cannot gnaw out either. These traps are especially good for muskrat, mink, skunk and raccoon. All parts of the No. 91 except the jaws are the same size as the regular No. 1 Newhouse, while the 91 1/2 corresponds to the regular No. 1 1/2. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 1 1/2 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 4 7/8 inches. This size is called the Mink Trap. It is, however, suitable for catching the woodchuck, skunk, etc. Professional trappers often use it for catching foxes. It is very convenient in form and is strong and reliable. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 2 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 4 7/8 inches. The No. 2 Trap is called the Fox Trap. Its spread of jaws is the same as the No. 1 1/2 but having two springs it is, of course, much stronger. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 3 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 5 1/2 inches. This, the Otter Trap, is very powerful. It will hold almost any game smaller than a bear. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 4 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 6 1/2 inches. This is the regular form of Beaver Trap. It is longer than the No. 3 Trap, and has one inch greater spread of jaws. It is a favorite with those who trap and hunt for a living in the Northwest and Canada. It is also extensively used for trapping the smaller wolves and coyotes in the western stock raising regions. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 2 1/2 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 6 1/2 inches. In some localities the otter grows to an unusual size, with great proportionate strength, so that the manufacturers have been led to produce an especially large and strong pattern. All the parts are heavier than the No. 2 1/2, the spread of jaws greater and the spring stiffer. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 3 1/2 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 5 inches. The above cut represents a Single Spring Otter Trap. It is used more especially for catching otter on their "slides." For this purpose a thin, raised plate of steel is adjusted to the pan so that when the trap is set the plate will be a trifle higher than the teeth on the jaws. The spring is very powerful, being the same as used on the No. 4 Newhouse Trap. The raised plate can be readily detached if desired, making the trap one of general utility. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 21 1/2 TRAP] Single Spring. Same as No. 2 1/2 but without Teeth or Raised Plate. No. 31 1/2 NEWHOUSE TRAP. Single Spring. Same as No. 3 1/2 but without Teeth or Raised Plate. Spread of Jaws--No. 21 1/2, 5 1/4 inches; No. 31 1/2, 6 1/2 inches. These Traps are the largest smooth jaw, single spring sizes that are made. Professional trappers will find these especially valuable when on a long trapping line, as they are more compact and easier to secrete than the large double spring traps. The springs are made extra heavy. Note.--The 21 1/2 is practically a single spring No. 3 and the 31 1/2 a single spring No. 4. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 14 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 6 1/2 inches. This Trap is the same in size as the No. 4 Beaver, but has heavier and stiffer springs and offset jaws, which allow the springs to raise higher when the animal's leg is in the trap, and is furnished with teeth sufficiently close to prevent the animal from pulling its foot out. [Illustration: CLUTCH DETACHABLE TRAP] Clutch Detachable--Trap can be used with or without it. Spread of Jaws, No. 23, 5 1/2 inches; No. 24, 6 1/4 inches. The inventor of this attachment claims to have had wonderful success with it in taking beaver. The trap should be set with the clutch end farthest from shore. The beaver swims with his fore legs folded back against his body, and when he feels his breast touch the bank he puts them down. The position of the trap can be so calculated that he will put his fore legs in the trap, when the clutch will seize him across the body and hold him securely. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 4 1/2 TRAP] In response to a demand for a new model of the Newhouse Trap especially adapted to catching wolves, the manufacturers have perfected a trap which is numbered 4 1/2 and is called the "Newhouse Wolf Trap." This trap has eight inches spread of jaw, with other parts in proportion, and is provided with a pronged "drag," a heavy snap and an extra heavy steel swivel and chain, five feet long, warranted to hold 2,000 pounds. The trap complete with chain and "drag" weighs about nine pounds. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 50 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 9 inches. This trap is intended for catching small sized bears. In design it is exactly like the standard No. 5 Bear Trap, only that the parts are all somewhat smaller. Weight, 11 1/4 pounds each. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 150 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 9 inches. This trap is identical with No. 5 excepting that the jaws are offset, making a space five-eighths inch between them. This allows the springs to come up higher when the bear's foot is in the trap, and thus secure a better grip. Also there is less chance of breaking the bones of the foot. Weight, 11 1/4 pounds each. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 5 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 11 3/4 inches. This trap weighs nineteen pounds. It is used for taking the common black bear and is furnished with a very strong chain. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 15 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 11 3/4 inches. To meet the views of certain hunters whose judgment is respected, the manufacturers designed a style of jaw for the No. 5 trap, making an offset of 3/4 of an inch, so as to allow the springs to come up higher when the bear's leg is in the trap. This gives the spring a better grip. Those wishing this style should specify "No. 15." [Illustration: NEWHOUSE NO. 6 TRAP] Spread of Jaws, 16 inches. Weight, complete, 42 pounds. This is the strongest trap made. We have never heard of anything getting out of it when once caught. It is used to catch lions and tigers, as well as the great Grizzly Bears of the Rocky Mountains. [Illustration: BEAR CHAIN CLEVIS AND BOLT] This cut illustrates Bear Chain Clevis and Bolt, intended as a substitute for the ring on the end of the trap chain, when desired. With this clevis a loop can be made around any small log or tree without the trouble of cutting to fit the ring. The chain is made five feet long, suitable for any clog, and the prices of bear traps fitted with it are the same as with the regular short chain and ring. [Illustration: TRAP SETTING CLAMP] Every trapper knows how difficult it is to set a large trap alone in the woods, especially in cold weather, when the fingers are stiff, and the difficulty is greatly increased when one has to work in a boat. One of these clamps applied to each spring will by a few turns of the thumb-screws, bend the springs to their places, so that the pan may be adjusted without difficulty. No. 4 Clamp can be used on any trap smaller than No. 4 1 /2. No. 5 and 6 are strong clamps, carefully made and especially adapted to setting the large traps Nos. 4 1/2 to 6. They dispense with the inconvenient and dangerous use of levers. With them one can easily set these powerful traps. These clamps are also useful about camp for other purposes. END OF SCIENCE OF TRAPPING 
34228	----	The Accomplished Muskrat Trapper A Book on Trapping for Amateurs By A. E. SCHMIDT CHICAGO Copyright, 1922, by A. E. Schmidt. Boyle Brothers, Incorporated Printers 606 West Lake Street Chicago, Illinois INTRODUCTION. In placing this booklet before the great fraternity of American trappers, the author does not propose to exercise any pedagogical influence upon the truly professional trapper, who, seasoned in the hard school of experience, knows the animals he is seeking, like a mother knows her child. It is his wish, however, to assist and guide the amateur to a greater success. Practically all text-books written for trappers, treating upon the subject of trapping and raw furs, heretofore have been neglectful of two things, namely, how to trap the animals under various conditions, and the assorting and grading of raw furs. Of all fur bearers, the muskrat is the most numerous and least wary, hence very easily trapped--in consequence of this: it has been neglected by writers of trapping to a greater extent than any other fur-bearing animals. The author of THE ACCOMPLISHED MUSKRAT TRAPPER feels that he is instrumental in introducing to thousands of muskrat trappers a long-felt want. Being a trapper of wide experience, he early recognized the worth of the methods contained herein. Knowing that a fair trial will convince the most skeptical as to the merits and practicability of these methods, the writer feels sure that this little booklet will meet with the hearty approval of trappers everywhere. Chapter 1. Habits and Nature of the Muskrat. The rodent quadruped muskrat, also known by the Indian name "Musquash" is a small amphibious animal of North America, being found as far north as Labrador and Alaska, and ranging south as far as the states of New Mexico and Arizona. There is only one species of the muskrat, but naturalists recognize several varieties or subdivisions, the differentia lying mainly in the color of the fur, firmness of the skin or pelt, and the physical dimensions of the animal. For example, the muskrats of the Atlantic coast states are comparatively large and of dark color; while those of the Northwest prairie region are smaller, thin and papery in pelt (except those living in clear or cold water streams) and of paler color. These variations are no doubt due to climatic and local conditions under which the animal lives. Generally speaking, it may be said that the muskrat is a nocturnal animal, but where they are plentiful they are frequently observed prowling or swimming about during the day. It is found at home in rivers, lakes and ponds. When inhabiting the former it lives in burrows dug in the banks; the entrance to these are usually several feet under water. They are found to be most numerous in swamps which are heavily bordered with grasses and thickly strewn with scattering growths of aquatic vegetation. The roots of these plants compose the principal diet of the animal, while the tops furnish the material for the construction of their homes. The marsh 'rat differs in its mode of living from that of its brother the "river 'rat," by its habit of constructing dome-like houses. This change in abode is due to the natural environment in which it lives. In many large swamps scores of these queer little dwellings can be seen towering above the water. They average about three feet in height, and are composed of the roots and stems of grasses, reeds, wild rice and flags. The entrances are located under water. From four to eight 'rats are generally found in one house. The muskrat is a herbivorous animal. Its food consists of the roots of flags, water lilies, etc. It is also very fond of sweet apples and vegetables, and will often raid a garden when located near its haunts. It is also partial to grain, especially corn. Although the muskrat is herbaceous by nature, it is known to eat the flesh of clams. These it carries upon shore, deposits them in a pile in some secluded retreat and leaves them to die, whereupon they are easily opened and devoured with much avidity. The general assumption is that the animal eats these clams only when other food is scarce. This, however, is entirely in discord with the observations of the author, who has on several occasions discovered 'rats feeding on clams when their favorite food was plentiful. Therefore, it is only logical to presume, that it is not the lack of food that attracts the 'rat's attention to the lowly clam, but it is the abundance of the mussel in itself. Muskrats are our most prolific fur bearers, producing from two to three litters in a season, the first making its appearance in the latter part of April or early May. The period of gestation requires about forty-five days. The young of the early spring litters will frequently rear one family during the same season. It is this progeny of these young females that accounts for the numerous kitts (immature muskrats) taken during the early part of the trapping season. Considering the wonderful procreative powers of this little animal, it appears that they would become as numerous as the proverbial "hair on a dog's back," but they have many enemies, of which man with his traps and firearms is the most deadly, with perhaps the mink a close second. Many a time has the writer in his ramblings come onto a 'rat house, which had a small round boring at the water-line, just large enough to allow the long, slender body of a mink to pass through. To the casual observer this would appear to be merely a hole, but to the trained eye of the trapper it reveals a tale of woe. He knows that here, during the long, tranquil hours of the night, another family of muskrats was sacrificed to satisfy the flagrant craving of this bloodthirsty member of the weasel tribe. When a mink enters a house or burrow, in the aforesaid manner, the inhabitants flee by way of the diving hole. If everything remains quiet, they will return, one by one, to their home in a very few minutes. The crafty mink, knowing the nature of the muskrat, crouches near the diving hole, remaining very quiet, and bounces upon the poor, unsuspecting victims as they emerge. Occasionally a trapper may come upon the remains of a muskrat and, following an investigation, cannot detect any clues as to the identity of the assailant. When there are no telltale tracks about, then it is safe to assume that the marauder was an owl or some other bird of prey. The otter, fox and coyote can also be listed as enemies of the muskrat, as they too make an occasional capture. With the above facts in mind, it can be easily understood that approximately only fifty per cent of all muskrats born ever reach maturity. In spite of all this, they manage to hold their own and are found in fair numbers in the rat producing sections. The animal instincts of the muskrat are not as keenly developed as those of the designing fox or the wary mink. Unlike the beaver and otter, it is not afraid of civilization and thrives in the most thickly settled sections. Nature in its entirety is wonderful. It is not unlike a vast panorama of charm and beauty. Here we find the ancient law--the survival of the fittest--a reality. Many people surmise the muskrat to be very uninteresting. But those people who are willing to devote a little of their time to the nocturnal study of the animal will surely acknowledge it to be a very interesting little creature. Where can we find the lover of nature whose heart would not be thrilled as we quietly make our way along some moonlit stream in the late fall (this being the time of year when 'rats are very busy) to get a glimpse at the home life of this little fur bearer? As we approach the familiar patch of cat-tail flags, we hear the persistent crunch-crunch-crunch of tireless little jaws, as they grind away at the juicy morsel of flag or water lily. We pause to listen, our little friend seems to be no more than twenty feet away. Further upstream we hear another and another in fact; the rushes seem to be alive with them. Some of them are cutting down the stems of wild rice and flags, while others are dragging the material away to build and repair their houses with it. We stand motionless, as we discern a V-shaped streak of silvery lined ripples playing on the moonlit waters, heading directly toward us from the opposite shore. We know that the dark object at the head of this undulating formation is a muskrat, evidently bound on joining its friends at their feast in the rushes. Hark! There is a sudden commotion in the flags, followed by a splash and a plunge; then all is still, the grinding has ceased, the silvery ripples have faded away and the water is smooth and reflectent, not unlike a great mirror. We are surprised and wonder at the cause of the sudden alarm, which drove the 'rats to the sheltering depths of the river. Had we not remained perfectly quiet? We turn, just in time to see a monstrous owl glide noiselessly by the moon. [Illustration: Fig. 1] Chapter 2. Trapping Muskrats--Open Water Methods. There are numerous methods employed in trapping the muskrat; most of them will prove successful when they are used under the proper conditions, time and place. The muskrat being a member of the amphibious class of animals, consequently traps must be set in or very near the water to attain the best results. This, however, does not mean that traps set at random will bring results, but, on the other hand, when sets are properly placed at signs, then the novice can rest assured that he will be rewarded for his efforts. When a trapper decides to operate on a certain stretch of water, his first duty would be to study the signs of the animal, from the abundance or scarcity of which he can closely estimate the number of animals present in that particular locality, also the size of territory he can handle, and the number of traps required to cover the same. What are signs? They are the visible indications which betray the presence of the animals, such as tracks in the muddy margins of the shore (see Fig. 1), feed beds, houses, dens, slides, the freshly cut stems of aquatic vegetation and excremental matter on logs, drift wood, rocks, and other objects lying in or near the water. To become expert at reading signs requires practical experience; theory or book knowledge alone will not do. The success or failure of any trapper can be measured by his ability to read the signs of the animals he is seeking and his knowledge of their nature. Our next consideration will be the selection of the proper traps. When trapping muskrats with the common steel traps, never use anything larger than size No. 1 1/2 nor smaller than size No. 1. The "Newhouse" is without a doubt the best and most reliable all around steel trap on the market; the material and workmanship embodied in its construction, combined with its durability, render it a product of the highest character. The "Victor" is the most popular of the cheaper kind of traps and is generally used by those who follow trapping as a side-line. While trapping 'rats, many trappers prefer the Victor to the Newhouse, on account of the latter's powerful spring. The forelegs of the muskrat are comparatively small and frail and easily broken off; for that reason too strong a spring is not desired. The various makes of "jump" traps are rapidly becoming very popular. They are a very compact trap on account of their feature of having the spring on the inside of the jaws, which permits them to be set in places where other traps could only be set with great difficulty. There are many brands of traps manufactured which possess special features, such as double jaws, webbed jaws, high grip, etc. All of these traps are excellent for catching muskrats, as they are made to prevent the animals from gnawing or wringing off, and thus escaping. One of the best traps for muskrats ever invented is manufactured by W. A. Gibbs & Son, Chester, Penn. It is made with two sets of jaws; the inner set gripping the animal's leg, while the outer set clutches the body. From this trap there is no escape when once caught, in many cases killing its victim instantly, which benevolent feature makes it a favorite of many. Trapping methods may be classified into two separate groups, namely, blind and bait sets, ranking in the order named. A blind set is arranged at signs without the use of bait. Traps placed in position so as to guard the approach to food and scent decoys are termed bait sets. Scent decoys, better known as animal baits, are compounded of various ingredients which appeal to the inborn and irresistible instincts of the animals, and which assist in enticing them to traps. The following methods are recognized to be the best and most reliable for trapping 'rats when streams are free of ice. They will prove their merits to the beginner when applied intelligently. While the muskrat is generally conceded to be one of the easiest of fur bearers to trap, let no one suppose that the careless trapper who makes his sets in a sort of hit or miss fashion, will ever achieve much of a success in trapping them. Perhaps the most common method employed in the capture of this little animal, is to set traps at the foot of their slides, in two or three inches of water. A slide, in the trapper's vocabulary, is a place on the banks frequented by 'rats, usually extending from eight to sixteen inches above the water and having a kind of plastic perch or rest at the top, upon which are generally found excrements of the animal. These slides are easily recognized on account of their worn and smooth appearance, which is brought about by the animal's habit of sliding into the water when leaving them. Do not waste any time in setting traps at old and dried signs, those that are being used will appear damp and often sprinkled with fresh mud. Where the water is not deep enough at the foot of the slide to completely cover the trap, excavate a bed for the same to the desired depth. This rule should be followed in all forms of water sets. Whenever possible, always stake the trap chain into deep water at full length, as the first impulse of the captured game is to seek shelter by diving into deep water, where, following a short struggle, the weight of the trap finally drowns it. The sliding pole is another and more certain method of drowning the animals (See Fig. 2). Drowning will not only conceal the captured game from possible thieves, but also secure it for the trapper against gnawing and wringing off, and last, but not least, this humane act will do away with a lot of needless suffering. [Illustration. Fig. 2] Another good way to take them is at their feed beds. These are located near shore among the scattering growths of aquatic vegetation. They appear to be floating in the water semi-submerged, and are composed of the refuse of the animal's food, such as the stems of blue flags, wild rice, reeds and bits of various grasses found growing near their haunts. When making sets on these beds make sure that the traps are from one to two inches under water, as this will allow the trap to get a higher grip on the animal's outstretched leg. Arrange the set so that the catch will drown. Often while looking for signs the trapper will come upon a small, narrow path, which is three to five inches in width, leading from the water to some other body of water near by, or taking its course across a peninsula to again terminate in the water on the other side. Such a trail is commonly made and used by muskrats. When you find such a place, set a trap in the water at each end of the trail. When making a set where the water is much deeper than the usual depth required, take sticks about twelve inches long and twice the caliber of an ordinary lead pencil, shove these into the bank horizontally about a third of their length and three inches under water, placing them an inch apart, six in a row. This will make a platform for the trap, which will overcome the danger of the animals passing over the set without getting caught. In the late fall when 'rats are busy building and repairing their houses, they can be caught by setting the trap on that side of the structure showing the greatest slope; because here they ascend when at their labor. When staking the trap at a set of this nature, it is advisable to drive another stake about a foot beyond the first. The animal, when caught, struggling winds the chain around the outer stake, and is thus hindered from reaching the house, where it otherwise would do great damage, tearing and digging into it. This would result in frightening the other inmates away, thus lessening the trapper's chances of duplicating his catch. The washes under banks and the undermined roots of trees at the water's edge, created by the ceaseless toil of the elements, afford good places to set traps, as every passing 'rat will visit such places. Traps should be set and covered very carefully, as a place of this nature is often investigated by the elusive mink and inquisitive raccoon. As a consequence, the trapper has a fine opportunity of catching a more valuable animal. When searching the stream for signs, you will often notice the droppings of the animals on logs and scraps of lumber lying in the water. These can be converted into excellent sets by cutting a bed for the trap with the ax, just far enough under water to completely cover the trap. When signs and places as described above are scarce, but muskrats are known to exist, proceed as follows: At some conspicuous place, dig a horizontal hole in the bank right at the water-line, which should be about a foot deep and five inches in diameter. Pin a piece of parsnip, carrot, cabbage or sweet apple, back in the hole. Some trappers use a piece of the flesh of muskrat, the scent of which is attractive to muskrats. Set the trap at the mouth of this hole, in two or three inches of water, conceal carefully by covering lightly with water-soaked leaves and thin mud. The above is a set equally good for mink, as this animal has the habit of exploring every hole that it comes to in its travels. Another and most simple method, is merely to fasten the bait on the bank about eight inches above the trap. In reaching for the bait the 'rat will step into the trap and get caught. Some trappers prefer to use animal baits in connection with their 'rat sets at all times. This, I believe, is wholly unnecessary, excepting during mating, which occurs the latter part of February and extends throughout the rest of the trapping season. At this time, a good, dependable scent will help considerably in luring animals to traps. There are numerous brands of scents on the market, some of which are reliable, but most of them are a farce, and are merely intended to pry hard-earned dollars from overalls pockets. The formula used in the manufacture of most of these baits is kept a secret by the makers. The purchaser, not knowing what ingredients they contain, faces the perplexing problem of choosing, or more frankly stated, guessing, as to their merits, when buying. But, why worry about buying decoys when you can easily make them yourself? The musk of the muskrat is the best scent known for attracting this animal. It is found on both sexes, in two cream colored glands known as castors, which are located just under the skin of the belly. Remove these from every animal you catch, and place in an air-tight bottle or jar until needed. When you are ready to prepare the scent, proceed as follows: Mash the castors into a fine pulpy state; to every ounce of this mixture add two ounces of glycerine to give volume and prevent evaporation, also one grain of corrosive sublimate. Let stand for about a week and you will have the best muskrat scent obtainable. Cork tightly and keep in a cool place. Sprinkle a few drops of this scent at every set during the spring season. In the early spring, as soon as the first heavy thaws set in releasing the muskrats from their natural prison, they are eagerly sought because their pelts are at their best, being fully prime at this time of year. But trappers are often hampered in their operations against the lowly 'rat at this particular time, on account of the absence of signs. This drawback can be overcome as follows: Procure pieces of two by six (plank), each about four feet in length. Set two traps on each plank, one near each end, covering them lightly with dry grass or leaves. Sprinkle a few drops of scent along the plank between traps. Staple the traps to the ends of the plank and anchor the same near shore. Some trappers scatter pieces of bait on the plank, but this is not necessary, as the scent will draw them much better than food bait at this time of year. Another method is to build a small mound in about six inches of water. This can be made of small stones, plastered with mud, and should extend about six inches above the water. Sprinkle a few drops of scent on top of mound and set trap at the bottom, staking into deep water. Chapter 3. Trapping Muskrats Under Ice in Winter. The hustling trapper generally gathers a fair sized collection of muskrat pelts in the late fall, as 'rats are very active and move about a great deal at this time of the year, leaving signs in abundance at which the trapper may set his traps. Then suddenly some frosty morning as he makes his rounds, he finds the stream covered with a thin coat of ice, a sign heralding the arrival of winter. Under the thin ice the traps are setting and undisturbed just as he left them the day before. Disgusted he lifts them and quits. Right here is where many 'rat trappers make a mistake: When they find streams covered with ice, they pull stakes and quit. If these same trappers knew how to catch them under the ice, they could greatly increase their annual catch. What becomes of the muskrat when its natural highway is covered with ice? How does it obtain its food while thus imprisoned? How can it breathe under water? Queries such as these are often put to trappers by those who are unacquainted with the nature of the animal. When streams are frozen, muskrats are practically shut off from the outside world, but nevertheless they are as happy as ever, playing and frolicking in the water and often traveling great distances from their burrows. When hungry they seek the beds of wild rice and flags, from which they procure their food. This they carry to their feed beds or dens to be devoured. They cannot breathe in the water as fish do, because they are not endowed with gills, but they do travel long distances under the same breath, and when the lungs have drained the oxygen, the 'rat comes up to the under side of the ice and exhales. The bubble thus formed immediately fills with oxygen and is then again inhaled, whereupon the animal continues on its journey until it finds it necessary to repeat the operation. As soon as the ice is sufficiently strong enough to bear a man's weight, many muskrats are taken by men and boys who get out on the ice armed with clubs and pursue the animals as they swim along under the ice; when a 'rat comes up to the ice to replenish its supply of oxygen, a sharp blow from a well-seasoned club brought down on the ice directly above the animal will stupefy it. While the animal is in this temporary state of coma, a hole is cut in the ice and the victim taken out. When hunting 'rats in this manner, I prefer to use a shotgun in place of the club, because it is quicker in action and the terrific concussion which occurs when the shot strikes the ice often kills the game outright. As many as a dozen 'rats are often taken by one man in the course of a few hours, as they seem to move about more freely during the day, when streams are covered with ice. In their eagerness to get their share of the pelts, trappers often receive a wetting while pursuing the animals over thin ice. When operating on thin ice stay in the shallow places; remember the watchword "safety first." Sometimes muskrats are driven from their dens by pounding the bank with some heavy object directly over the entrance; when the animals are aware of the thumping, they usually flee from imaginary harm's way by taking to the water; they are then shot as they emerge. The above methods of taking muskrats through ice are good, but can only be used on clear ice, not over five inches in thickness, as the shot will not take effect in heavier ice. While open water trapping cannot be excelled, in comparison to results obtained, under-ice trapping will adequately repay those who are willing to give it a fair trial. No trapper should attempt to make sets under ice which is much more than a foot in thickness, as the task would prove too elaborate. The following methods will bring results when instructions are followed carefully. They are being used by expert trappers and are the only practical modes for this sort of trapping: Setting traps at the mouth of dens is perhaps the best and most profitable under-ice method known to the trapping fraternity, as it will be remembered that the average den contains from four to eight muskrats, and in some instances even more. Therefore it can be readily understood that the trapper who will locate dens in his spare time during the summer and fall will be the most successful. While hunting dens in open water use either a boat or hip boots; select a quiet day when the water is calm, travel slowly along near shore, keeping watch for the mouth of dens. These entrances are usually from one to four feet under water. If the den is inhabited, the entrance will be found clear of all rubbish and obstructions of any kind. Many of these holes have a trench-like trail or run extending a yard or two towards midstream. Whenever a den is found, mark the same by shoving a stick on the upstream side of the entrance, the top of which should extend about ten inches above the water level to allow for a sudden rise of the stream. When dens are thus marked they can be easily found after ice forms. Many dens can also be found through clear ice, as follows: Walk along on the ice near shore until you see a streak of bubbles under the ice, which is several yards in length, usually extending towards midstream; further examination will reveal the mouth of den at the termination of the bubble stream near the shore. Mark dens with stakes as described above. The traps are lowered into the mouth of den at the end of a four-foot piece of wire, said end being shaped into a hook for holding the trap; or, better still, purchase a "Triumph Trap Placer," which is manufactured by the Triumph Trap Co., of Oneida, New York. This is a very handy instrument, used for the setting of traps in difficult places, especially under ice. In all den sets, the trap should be placed inside the entrance as far as it is possible to get it. A wide entrance often allows the game to pass over the trap without getting caught. This can be overcome by placing flat stones under the traps or by obstructing the upper half of the entrance with a wide trap stake, which is pushed into the side of entrance in a horizontal manner. This compels the game to dive under it and pass low enough to get caught. The traps are fastened by slipping the chain ring on to the stake which marks the den. When the ice is covered with snow, dens cannot be located as described above. In that case a fair number of dens can often be found by sounding. This is accomplished by pounding the ice with the ax in shallow places along the shore, until you find a place which produces a hollow sound upon being struck; this indicates a 'rat run. When you find such a place, cut through and set a trap in the run, then cover the hole in the ice, using sticks and dry grass as a foundation and then pack tightly with snow. A run is the trench-like trail under water which leads to the mouth of den. When these runs are located in shallow water, the body heat of the animals melts the ice to the extent of several inches directly above the run. This creates an air space which accounts for the hollow sound when struck from above. The barrier set will capture both the muskrat and mink, traveling under the ice. Every experienced trapper knows that these animals swim along near shore in their travels, for various reasons, chiefly while hunting for food. The set is as follows: Cut a narrow channel in the ice about six feet in length; begin at the bank and work out towards midstream. Now take sticks and build a barrier the entire length of channel, shove them down well into the bottom about an inch apart, leaving the tops an inch or two above the level of the ice. Leave an opening about six inches wide, twelve or eighteen inches from the bank, in about six inches of water. In this opening set your trap. An animal coming along will find this opening, attempt to pass through and get caught. This set will bring the best results when used on small streams and drainage canals, as these can be staked their entire width. When staking small streams, leave an opening for a trap on each side of the stream. Fasten traps by slipping the chain ring into the stake at opening. When the water where the set is to be made is somewhat deeper than eight inches, place flat stones or similar objects under traps. This should be done to crowd the animals into the traps. When the ice gets heavier, thus lessening the water space, then these obstacles must be removed. Cover the holes in the ice as stated above. It is advisable, also much easier, to construct the barriers shortly before the streams freeze up. On warm winter days muskrats often come forth to sun themselves; they remain but a few moments at a time, but that is sufficient to catch them in traps which are properly placed in the water at springs, air holes and rapids, also at the inlets and outlets of lakes and ponds. In many lakes and swamps muskrats live in houses instead of burrows. To trap them in their houses, cut a hole on the south side of the house, then set the trap inside on the bed or in the diving hole. Fasten the trap to a clog on the outside of the house, then tightly close the opening with the material cut away; on top of this freely pack dry grass or reeds and then snow. This must be done to keep the diving hole from freezing. The traps should be visited at least twice a day, preferably in the morning and in the evening, because the animals do not always drown when caught in this way. Before you decide to set traps in houses, better look up the statute of your state in regard to this matter. Many states have now enacted a law making it unlawful for any person, at any time, to destroy, molest or set traps in or upon muskrat houses. Where muskrats are plentiful, they are often taken by lowering the traps through the ice, in three or four feet of water. These traps are baited with a piece of carrot or cabbage, which is bound to the pedal of the traps. The muskrats prowling along the bottom of the stream investigate the dainty morsel and are caught. The best traps to use for this method are the "Two Triggers" and "Alligator" game traps, because these traps clutch the animal's body. Should you use the common steel trap, be sure you use nothing small than size No. 1 1/2, because the game is usually caught by the head. The trigger of the trap should be set very lightly, so it will spring at the slightest pressure. This method is most generally used near muskrat houses, in states where the law prohibits the setting of traps in these houses. Chapter 4. Opportunity and 'Rat Ranching. The annual catch of North American raw furs has a monetary value of approximately twenty-five million dollars. The number of pelts required to reach such a figure must necessarily be very large. Trapping is done, more or less, by many people, in many walks of life, who follow the sport for both profit and pleasure; from the professional pelt hunter, down to the farmer's boy, who during the winter indulges in trapping as a side line, tending his traps between chores. The fur business is and always has been an important cog in American industry. It furnishes employment for thousands, from the trapper to the buyer, manufacturer and retailer; but there is now a cloud of depression threatening on the horizon of the industry. Fur-bearing animals, which at one time roamed our prairies, streams and woodlands, in seemingly unlimited numbers, are now rapidly becoming very scarce, where a few years previous they were very plentiful. The beaver and several other species of fur bearers are already threatened with extinction and are doomed to follow in the wake of the passenger pigeon and bison, unless something extremely radical is done in the way of game preservation in comparison to present-day methods. What has brought about this rapid diminution in the ranks of fur-bearing animals? It is the rapid advance of civilization which deprives the fur bearers of their natural haunts. It is the inventive genius of Americans, who, with highly efficient traps, guns, especially prepared poisons, smoke-torpedoes and other ingenious devices, contribute to deplete the ranks of the animals; the numerous fur houses throughout the country, flooding the mails with their propaganda urging everyone to trap. We can hardly scan the columns of a paper or magazine during the fur months but what our gaze will fall upon an alluring display of raw fur advertisements. These announcements are continually calling for unlimited quantities of raw furs; they are ever urging men and boys to push their trapping operations to the utmost. These concerns are giving free advice to beginners; they offer free instructions in the art of trapping the fur bearers. All this has had but one result: The fabulous prices paid for raw furs and the extensive advertising in recent years have kindled a crusade on our fur bearers which has developed a crisis. When trapping is carried on to the extreme folly of taking the animals which should be left for breeding, then our natural supply of "wild fur" shall cease to be perpetual. And that is just what is taking place, in spite of the legislation passed in favor of the fur bearers--in spite of the laws which have been enacted for their protection by the various states and territories. In the light of this fact, the question arises: Where are the millions of pelts to come from that the world needs each year? The time is not far off when the demand will exceed the supply. How can we keep an industry alive that can use millions of dollars' worth of raw furs annually, thus furnishing employment for thousands of people? There is only one remedy, and that is--fur farming. Fur farming is by no means a new idea. Farsighted men experimented with fur bearers early in the seventies. Many people advance the theory that the animals will not breed or thrive in captivity; but this argument is not sound; we need only remember that all our domestic animals were wild creatures at one time. True, fur farming, like any other business, has its drawbacks; but these impediments are rapidly conquered by the persistent and energetic study and scientific research of enthusiastic men, who are devotedly interested in the welfare of the animals, and the evolution of the industry to a higher and better standard. In any case, the injury is not beyond the remedy. For example, some of the early pioneers in the business felt very much dejected when they discovered that the animals did not fur properly in captivity. This was later found to be due to crowded and improper quarters, improper drainage and the lack of shade about the enclosures. This has been remedied to the extent that ranch raised fur now excels the "wild" in quality and beauty. This testimony is verified by the fact that the sum of $3,800 was paid for the pelt of a single "ranch bred" silver fox; a sum that has never been realized for the pelt of a wild fox of like variety. Cannibalism among the animals was another evil fur farmers had to contend with. This was traced to be due to the feeding of improper foods, and especially underfeeding. Abortion must also be guarded against. During pregnancy strangers must be kept away from the ranch, because during this period females become very suspicious of them and are nervous and restless, often injuring themselves when thus excited. This trouble is most common among animals which were procured in the wilds. Each succeeding generation of ranch raised stock becomes more and more domesticated; consequently the keeper finds it much easier to win their confidence. Practically all the failures in fur farming are due to the lack of experience of the people thus engaged; their failure to take the proper interest in the animals, so they may understand them and their requirements. There are now numerous fur farms located throughout the northern part of the United States and Canada. These establishments propagate and improve the breed of fox, skunk, muskrat, raccoon, mink and opossum. Fox ranching is the leading branch of this industry. There are many ranches which specialize in high grade foxes, such as black, silver, cross and red. Prince Edward Island is the center of this industry; the most valuable foxes in the world are ranched here, being the result of careful and selective breeding. John A. Lea, of Summerside, P. E. Island, is recognized as one of America's leading authorities on the question. He is a man of wide experience and knows the animals like a mother knows her flock. In his "Facts About Foxes" Mr. Lea says: (a) "Fox ranching is an industry begun in P. E. Island in the 80's. (b) "Raising domesticated silver foxes is now an established success. (c) "Since 1909 millions of dollars have been paid in fox dividends. (d) "The domesticated silver fox is tame and easily cared for. (e) "Foxes will eat anything the ordinary dog will eat. (f) "The average litter is from three to four pups. (g) "The total annual increase is about 100 per cent. (h) "It is possible to breed up or improve any kind of foxes. (i) "The foxes now ranched on P. E. Island are valued at $6,000,000. (j) "These foxes earned $2,500,000 for their owners in 1920. (k) "The average profit to the fox rancher is about 40 per cent annually." The above facts show that fox ranching Is not a dream, but an established success, paying large dividends on the capital invested. This is also true about fur farming in general. There are many cases on record showing the wonderful results obtained by men who experimented with skunk, mink and muskrats. Especially Is this true of the muskrat. I shall endeavor to set forth here the possibilities 'rat ranching offers to those of small means. In the large salt water marshes along the Atlantic coast and Chesapeake Bay, 'rat ranching has been carried on systematically for many years. This marsh land which was at one time considered practically valueless is now yielding large returns annually. The animals are protected from possible poachers by the authorities and land owners. They are trapped only when the fur is at its best. The owners see to it that enough animals are left for breeding. Wicomico, Dorchester and Sommersett Counties (Maryland) compose the center of this industry. The value of the catch in any one of these counties runs Into thousands of dollars yearly. And It must be remembered that this is from land which at one time sold from state or government at thirty cents an acre. The following are extracts from a letter by a well known manufacturer of game traps, who owns a large muskrat preserve In Maryland. I shall put down these statements, not to encourage anyone to go there, as the ground is well occupied and trappers are numerous, but merely to serve as an Illustration of what can be done with the numerous swamps, ponds and small lakes scattered throughout the rest of the United States and Canada, and which are now considered practically worthless: "Good muskrat marsh in Maryland, where the writer's place is located. Is selling now for from twenty to thirty dollars an acre... As a general proposition the owners lease their marshes to the trappers for a certain part of the catch, which has up to the present time been anywhere from one-half to two-thirds to the owners... The marshes never dry up, because they are only a very few feet above sea level and a great many of them are overflowed at times by extremely high tides... My 'rats are in an open marsh and I do not furnish them any feed, or look after them in any way, except to try to keep the dogs and foxes out of It and to catch the hawks, owls and eagles that prey on them. The marsh furnishes plenty of natural feed, and the only thing that is necessary to do is simply to keep their enemies away and they take very good care of themselves... There are a great many natural marshes along the east coast of the country, in New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland and Virginia especially, these marshes have been inhabited by muskrats probably since their creation." Now then, from the above statements we can readily conceive that the raising of muskrats is the simplest form of fur farming, requiring very little capital to get started. For these reasons: First, it does not necessitate the construction of expensive pens and enclosures; second, animals need not be fed--the food supply is natural; third, a keeper is not required--the animals take care of themselves. As prospective 'rat ranchers, our first duty would be the selection of the proper site for the ranch. This would naturally be in the form of a lake, marsh or pond. Many farmers have such a body of water on their land; these vary in size from a few acres to several hundred. Those who contemplate raising 'rats, but do not own a proper site, could easily buy one at a reasonable figure, as most people consider such property of little value. Before buying a pond or marsh which you are not familiar with, investigate whether it has any inlets, such as springs and small streams. A marsh or small lake which is likely to dry up during a drought is not to be considered, as the 'rats would then be forced to leave it. Some of these waters have no visible means of support, yet they hold the same level of water year after year. This seems to be due to the nature of their location or else they are fed by inner springs. When in doubt about a certain marsh or lake, better talk with several neighbors who are familiar with it, before buying; they may, from observation, be able to give you reliable information about the water supply. Many lakes and ponds which are possessed of an inlet and outlet are often burdened with a very high level of water, and then again at other times not enough. This water could be held to a normal level by putting a dam across the outlet. This dam, however, would need protection against the burrowing mania of the muskrats, as they would soon have it looking like a sponge; the only difference would be, that the sponge holds water, while the dam would not. Such a dam could be amply protected with a solid covering of rocks. These should average in size anywhere from a baseball to a man's head, and should cover the dam to a depth of about two feet. This layer of rocks should also extend along the bottom of the stream on both sides of the dam to a distance of about twenty feet. The building of such a structure would require some hard labor and time, but would well pay for itself where the ranch in question is large enough to warrant its construction. Following the selection of the proper site, our next consideration would be the food supply. Most lakes, marshes and ponds are naturally conducive to wild rice, flag and water lily growth. These aquatic plants are the mainstay of the muskrat's food supply; they also represent the material of which they construct their houses. Should the prospective 'rat ranch be devoid of such vegetation, as is sometimes the case, the owner should at once take steps to encourage its growth by Introducing some flags and water lilies. These should be planted in about one foot of water and one yard apart. It is advisable to plant them along the shore, in several patches of two or three rows each, and numbering about fifty plants to the patch. These plants, when once started, will multiply very rapidly and spread into deeper water. The best time to do this work of transplanting is in the spring, just before the plants start sprouting. During the summer green grass is eaten by muskrats with great relish; therefore, mixed grass seed should be sown liberally wherever the banks are barren. The seed of wild rice should also be sown in the fall of the year, shortly after it is gathered. Wild rice will grow in deeper water than flags, and all that is necessary to start it is to scatter the seed in a depth of several feet of water. It is good policy to sow some wild rice every fall, even when the supply of food is ample, as 'rats are very fond of the myriads of young tender sprouts which shoot up in the spring. In waters where the food supply must be developed, it is advisable to keep muskrats away for at least one year, because their presence would greatly hamper its progress. When the food supply has been well established, we are ready to stock up our ranch. The 'rats can be purchased or procured by trapping. As a general rule, 'rats will already be found at home in a prospective ranch, which boasts of plenty of water and food; they find such a place by force of instinct, though the nearest stream may be fifty miles away. We need pay no further attention to them, except to destroy their enemies, which in this case are, chiefly, the birds of prey. Sometimes these pirates of the air will establish headquarters at some muskrat marsh, and remain for weeks at a time. Selecting some lofty perch from which they can scan every angle of their acquired domain, they will often remain perfectly motionless, for hours at a time, only to hurl themselves upon the unwary muskrat as it makes its appearance on the water. These intruders must be caught--but how? Occasionally we may be able to "check" up on one of them, with our old scattergun; but this is the exception to the rule, as these birds are far too wary to be approached in the open. Therefore we must resort to steel traps for their destruction. This is not as difficult as it would seem at first thought. Knowing their habit of alighting on the highest point of vantage while awaiting their prey, we proceed to set up poles in our marsh, which are about eight inches in diameter at the top. On the tops of these poles we conceal our traps (preferably jump traps), by covering them with water-soaked chaff or leaves. Pegs are driven into the sides of the poles, upon which we ascend when tending the traps. These poles need not be very high when they are set up in the open; eight or ten feet above the water would be sufficient, when there are no higher objects near. The erection of one such pole would suffice for every ten acres of territory. The animals must also be protected against poaching and free trapping. It is a good idea to post signs of warning against trespassing on the premises. There should not be much trouble on this point, however, because people, as a whole, respect the property and rights of their fellow men. When the animals are thus protected, they will increase very rapidly. A marsh or pond which is covered with a mixed growth of aquatic vegetation will naturally support a greater number of muskrats than a deep water lake where such vegetation can only be found along the shores. Good marsh land has been known to produce an average of one hundred 'rats per acre annually, and in some instances even more, but such a yield is above the ordinary. Statistics show the average yield of 'rat pelts to be about fifteen per acre yearly. This number of animals can be safely trapped without fear of encroaching upon the necessary quota of animals required as breeders. Of course there are some waters that produce a much larger yield per acre, and these must be trapped accordingly. In a marsh or lake of low banks the 'rats are compelled to build houses. The owners of such a ranch can closely estimate the number of animals present by counting the houses and then multiplying the result by four. Though the muskrat will tolerate more crowding than other fur-bearing animals, the owner should prevent overcrowding, otherwise some of them would leave for parts less crowded. Some raisers, while gathering their annual crop of fur, make it a point to trap only two-thirds of their grounds, and when this is exhausted of muskrats they quit. This method assures the owner sufficient breeding stock for the next crop, and at the same time prevents crowding the animals. 'Rat ranching is a business which does not require much money or effort to build up, and when once established there is very little to do, except to trap the muskrats during the proper season. The best time, in fact the most profitable time to do this, is in the early spring, when pelts are strictly prime and the fur is at its best. Judging from the ever-increasing popularity of muskrat fur and the consequent rise in value, "rat ranching" can certainly be considered a profitable undertaking. Let us, for example, take into consideration a fifty-acre marsh, producing the low average of fifteen 'rats per acre. This would represent an annual crop of about seven hundred and fifty pelts. To trap this number of animals would require about thirty days. For eleven months out of the year, the owner would be free to take up any line of endeavor he may choose to follow. Considering the small amount of capital and time required for the establishment and upkeep of such a "vivarium," is there any other form of farming or stock raising more profitable? We venture the answer without fear of contradiction--there is absolutely not. Chapter 5. Handling and Grading Muskrat Fur. Thousands of dollars are annually lost to trappers on account of the improper handling of raw fur. This is due to both ignorance and carelessness on the part of a certain class of trappers. If these amateurs would pay a little more attention to the proper way of killing and skinning the animals, and the proper fleshing, stretching and drying of the skins, they would realize from 5 to 10 per cent more on their furs. When animals are found alive in traps they may be dispatched by a few sharp blows on the head with a stick, which should be smooth and free from knots and stubs, otherwise the fur is liable to be damaged. An animal when caught will often retreat under the banks or between root snags, and then there is always danger of the catch escaping by its violent struggles when the trapper attempts to dislodge it from its retreat. A .22 caliber pistol will prove very handy for just such emergencies; a bullet between the eyes from such a weapon will subdue the animal, whereupon it can be safely hauled out. There is no danger of decreasing the value of the fur when using such a small firearm. Trapped muskrats are sometimes attacked, killed and torn to shreds by mink or owl, as these nocturnal prowlers are very fond of the flesh of these animals. When traps are not promptly looked after early in the day, magpies and crows will often stage a mass attack and peck and harass the poor victims to death. Such catches are a total loss to the trapper, who is in most part to blame, because of his carelessness in attending traps and his failure to arrange the sets so the entrapped animals may drown and be thus concealed from view. Before skinning an animal, examine the carcass and make sure that the fur is clean and free from foreign matter. When an animal is bespattered with dried mud, proceed to remove the same by thoroughly brushing the fur; fresh mud and blood stains can be removed by rubbing and rinsing the carcass in cold water. Burs and other foreign matter should also be combed and brushed out. When this has been accomplished, we are ready to skin the animal. There are two methods employed in skinning the various fur-bearers, namely, "open" and "cased." The former method is used on the larger animals, such as bear, wolverine, mountain lion, etc. The latter method is used on the smaller animals, which include our friend the muskrat. The blade of the skinning knife should possess a very keen edge at all times, so that there will be no ragged edges on the pelts. It is much easier and more agreeable to skin an animal right after it is killed, while the body heat is still retained. Never allow an animal to lay unskinned for more than twenty-four hours, as it is liable to taint, which has a tendency to cause the fur to slip. Such pelts would have little or no value. To skin the muskrat, cut the skin loose around the hind legs near the feet where the fur ends, then rip down the back of the hind legs to the root of the tail and loosen the fur around the same. Do not skin the tail of the muskrat, as this has no fur value. Now lay the knife aside and peel the skin with your fingers by drawing it down towards the head. You will find that it will peel very readily, with a little flesh here and there threatening to adhere to the skin; most of this can be held back by pushing the fingers of one hand against it, while pulling the skin with the other. To loosen the skin at the front legs, work the thumb of your right hand between the skin and the flesh on the underside of the main joint of the leg, and pull; the skin will come off very easily. The knife comes into play again when the ears are reached. These must be cut off at the base, close to the head. When cutting the skin loose around the eyes, care must be exercised to avoid dilating the apertures. Now peel down to the nose and jaws, and with the knife assist in peeling the skin from these members. The job of skinning is now complete and we have what is termed a cased pelt with the fur side in. It is a deplorable fact that a large percentage of trappers do not use the knife when removing the skin from the head of the muskrat. They simply pull it off by sheer force, with the result that the skin generally tears off right back of the ears, which leaves a badly damaged pelt. Such pelts when marketed are thrown into the lower grades and sell for about 40 per cent less. When the pelt is ready for fleshing, it is placed on the fleshing board. This board should be made of one-half-inch material about thirty inches long, four and one-half inches wide at the base and three and one-half inches wide at the shoulders. The upper end of the board should taper to a rounded point. The edges should be rounded and sandpapered, so there may be nothing to injure the fur. A mink fur stretcher makes an ideal fleshing board for muskrats, because it is just about the size and shape required. Place the skin on the board fur side in, and with a dull knife proceed to remove all loose fat and flesh. An old table knife is a very handy tool for this purpose. When using a jackknife, care must be taken not to score or tear the pelt. The skin should be held taut with the left hand, while manipulating the knife with the right. Scrape by working from the head towards the base, or vice versa, being careful not to scrape the muscles behind the shoulders too close, because the ends of these are firmly attached to the skin. When all superfluous fat and flesh have been removed, the pelt is ready for the stretcher. [Illustration: Fig. 3] There are various makes of steel and wire fur stretchers on the market, which can be purchased at a reasonable figure; but for the accommodation of muskrat pelts, I know of none better or cheaper than the common plain board stretchers which are made of dry goods boxes or similar material. These boards should be made of one-quarter-inch material, about thirty inches in length, six inches wide at the base and five and one-half inches wide at the shoulders. From the shoulders to the tip of the nose they should rapidly taper, coming to a point. This point should be rounded so as to fit the head snugly (See Fig. 3). The edges of the board should be nicely rounded and smoothly sandpapered. When boards are made of one-half-inch material, they should be beveled down to one-eighth of an inch at the edges. A quarter-inch hole should be drilled in each board near the base, so the pelts may be hung up when drying. It will be remembered, as stated elsewhere in this work, that muskrats vary greatly in size in various parts of the country. This fact makes it impractical to quote exact dimensions for stretchers. The above dimensions are an approximate average for standard skins and are given to serve as an illustration for the guidance of the novice. When stretching the fur, draw the pelts on to the stretcher, fur side in, in such a manner that the back squarely covers one side of the board (as illustrated), while the underside covers the other. Never stretch a pelt so carelessly that parts of both the back and underside appear on each side of the board. Draw the skin down firmly and fasten to the board by driving tacks all around the base. A tack should also be driven into the tip of nose and lower jaw to hold them in place. The pelts should be hung up to cure in a cool, airy place; dampness causes mildew, which ruins them. Never dry furs in the sun or too near a fire, as this is liable to cause considerable damage. Never use salt or any other chemicals in curing pelts; allow them to dry by the natural process of evaporation. Be sure that they are held secure against mice and other pests. * * * Large quantities of the cheaper fur are made up and sold under fictitious names by the manufacturing furriers, such as "Hudson seal, river mink, coney, nutria," and others too numerous to mention. Hudson seal is the fur of muskrat, which is sheared, plucked, dyed and beautifully blended to imitate the fur seal. River mink is also the fur of muskrat prepared and dyed to a rich, deep brown to imitate the more valuable mink. Coney is a species of European rabbit, somewhat resembling our native cottontail, but the pelt of the former is firm and tough, which renders it fit for manufacturing purposes. Nutria is the commercial term for the fur of the South American coypou. These fancy names have been adopted, no doubt, so that the goods may sell better. For instance, that beautiful new "black sable" cloak, which is so soft and silky, and which Mrs. Brown is showing with so much pride to her neighbor Mrs. Smith, is in reality nothing more than the unadulterated fur of that despised animal, the skunk. Nevertheless, with the exception of the rare black fox, the skunk supplies the most beautiful and most durable natural black fur of North America. In the making up of this article, the white stripes in the fur are eliminated, as this is hair and not fur, as some people erroneously believe. Select specimens of the cheaper fur, such as muskrat, opossum, etc., are prepared by skilled furriers to imitate the finer and more valuable furs; and when these craftsmen are through with their process of fixing, it would require the skill of an expert to distinguish the finished product from the genuine article which it imitates. Though the manufacturing end of the business is of little interest to the trapper and small dealer in raw furs, I merely record the above statements to give the average reader an idea of how a large percentage of furs are skillfully camouflaged to improve their appearance and thus promote their sale. In the following lines I shall endeavor to delineate, in an abridged form, the fundamentals and principles of "fur grading"; this, for the guidance of the reader, who, I shall presume, knows nothing about the art of grading and assorting raw furs. Be it remembered that in this, like in any other art or craft, the past master of that art or craft has from long experience acquired, unconsciously or otherwise, a certain "knack," the absence of which forms the main obstacle in the path of the novice. This fact again calls to mind the truth of that age old maxim, "Experience is the best teacher." What I am about to set forth here on the subject is done with the view in mind of assisting the amateur muskrat trapper (in whose interest this is written) to know and determine the value of his fur, which will enable him to realize more money on his catch and to find a better market for his goods. In my own days of adolescence as an amateur mink and muskrat trapper, it has been my privilege to handle and examine the pelts of hundreds of muskrats. This study and experience, alone, have been invaluable to me in buying and selling raw furs. PELT: The inspection of the pelt or flesh side of a piece of fur is generally the first thing the fur buyer does, for the reason that the furs of most of the different animals are stretched and shipped to market pelt side out. The degree of primeness of any piece of fur is largely determined by the appearance of the pelt. To pass as No. 1, a pelt must possess a white, pink or flesh color. When blue spots are apparent on the pelts, they are termed blue-pelts or unprime. The value of these depends on the amount of blue showing on the pelts. When a pelt is possessed of but a few streaks or spots of blue, it is termed good unprime and goes into grade No. 2. The No. 3, or poor unprime, are those where the degree of primeness covers 40 per cent or more of the pelt. Any peltries below this plane of primeness are of little or no value. With the exception of the muskrat and one or two others, the pelts of fur bearers are generally strictly prime during the latter part of November and the months of December, January and February, though occasionally an animal is caught during the latter part of November or early December whose pelt is not strictly prime, but these are exceptions. From this it can be readily seen that the appearance of blue-pelts in a trapper's collection of furs is due to early and late trapping. This trapping out of season should not be encouraged, and is now illegal in most states. A pelt which has been damaged while killing or skinning its wearer, or in the process of fleshing, stretching and curing, cannot be classed as No. 1, though the pelt may be prime and the fur of good quality. Such pelts are classed as No. 2's, 3's, and trash, all depending on the amount of damage done. A pelt which has tainted or heated on account of flesh adhering, is considered valueless when the damage thus incurred loosens the fur and causes it to slip when handled; such peltries are termed trash and are unfit for any purpose. To avoid disaster, keep in mind the importance of properly fleshing the pelts as soon as they are taken off the animals. FUR: Though the condition of the pelt is an important factor in determining the value of furs, the fur on fur side is of much more importance, also more difficult to grade and assort intelligently. The quality of the fur bespeaks the real value of the skin. The vital points for consideration are: density, length, color, sheen and superficial luster. Blow into a piece of fur against the grain and you will notice two distinct layers. These are defined as inner or under fur, and top or guard hair. The former is the basis of the fur coat and on a No. 1 skin must exhibit a very dense growth. Pelts which possess a poor or thin coat of under fur are graded down. The guard hair forms the outer layer of the fur coat and must be sparse in density, but uniform throughout the pelt. The various shades of color and silky glossiness of these guard hairs harmonizing with the under fur is what gives the fur its natural beauty. Many a piece of fur will appear to be in first-class condition, but close scrutiny will often reveal the fact that guard hairs are missing in spots. This gives the fur a rugged or shaggy appearance. Furs possessing such defects cannot be made up in their natural state, but must be either sheared or plucked. On the grading sheet they are classified as "rubbed" and are graded down accordingly. This loss of guard hair is due to various reasons, principally the presence of parasites in the fur, which causes the animal to rub against foreign objects. White fur, such as that of the ermine or Arctic fox, is valued as to the purity of its color. The pure or snow white pelts are the most valuable. Other shades in this class are gray white, blue white and yellowish to cream color. To command the highest market prices, it is essential that white fur be free from all blood stains. The policy of color is reversed in the assorting of the black, brown, red and gray furs. Here the rule is, the darker the shades of the various colors, the more valuable the fur. The mere color and beauty of certain furs of the same species often create a tremendous difference in the range of values. Let us, for example, consider the pelts of two foxes: We will say they are both large skins and perfectly prime, but one is a red, while the other is a black fox. Though both of these foxes may be of the same consanguinity, the pelt of the black would be worth about as many hundreds as that of the red would be worth dollars. In the case of the mink, otter, marten and other fine furs, a well furred pelt of dark color is often worth two or three times as much as a pale colored pelt of equal size and quality. Towards spring many furs fade or grow pale in color, some are rubbed and the fur appears woolly. These are graded down and termed singed or "springy," and as a consequence are less valuable. To receive full value for raw furs, the tails must also receive proper attention. Where they are partly or wholly missing or have been damaged beyond redemption, the furs are discounted. This amounts to from ten to twenty-five per cent of the value of the pelt. All tails should be split a portion of their length and the bone removed, otherwise they are apt to spoil. The tails of muskrat, opossum and beaver are left on the carcass, as they have no fur value. SIZE: There are three sizes of pelts, namely, large, medium and small; but dealers in raw furs find it necessary to quote a special grade for the very small or undersize skins. These kitts, as they are termed, are the skins of the young of late litters. They are not mature in pelt and the fur is of poor quality, hence of little value. A No. 1 large pelt is usually worth about twice as much as one of the same quality in the small size. From this the reader may gather that the large grade pelt must be twice the size of the small, but this is erroneous. The fact is, that in most species of fur bearers the variation in the large, medium and small size is but a difference of two or three inches in the length of the pelt. Just why there is such a radical difference in price is a mysterious prank of the fur trade, for which no one person is responsible. On the other hand, a small size pelt which is of good color and possesses a lustrous and dense coat of fur, is often worth as much or more than a large pelt of poor color. Remember that dimensions of the skin and primeness of pelt are of little consideration when the fur lacks quality. GRADING MUSKRATS: Muskrats, unlike most other furs, are not strictly prime in pelt until early spring. For that reason they are assorted under three headings, as follows: Fall, winter and spring. The pelt of the fall muskrat displays very little primeness, but is endowed with a fairly dense growth of fur, and therefore is in good demand. The degree of primeness increases as the season advances, and when fifty per cent or more of the pelt is prime they are quoted as "Winter." When they are fully prime, which occurs during the latter part of February or early March, they are termed "Spring 'rats" and command the best prices. Abnormally thin pelts are not uncommon among fur bearers, but this defect is most frequently found on muskrats. Just what causes this imperfection is not definitely known. The writer while trapping in the prairie region of Dakota caught both river and marsh 'rats, and discovered that the pelts of the latter were very thin, and when dry rattled like paper when handled; the color of the fur was a pale, rusty red and very dull compared with that of the pelts of the river 'rats in the same district. I believe the inferior quality of the fur of these marsh 'rats is due to the excessive amount of alkali present in the marshy waters of the Northwest. Papery peltries are discounted from ten to twenty-five per cent, because the leather of such thin pelted fur is delicate and not very lasting. There is a larger percentage of kitts found in the average collection of fall muskrat pelts than among any other kind of fur. These pelts are poorly furred and very small compared with those of mature animals, and are of little value. In the spring muskrats fight a great deal, especially the males. As a result, the pelts of these are often damaged considerably. It is not an uncommon occurrence to find entrapped muskrats so badly chewed and torn, by their own kind, that it does not pay to skin them. In assorting muskrats, buyers usually pay more attention to size and primeness of pelt than they do to the fur, because it is generally conceded that the average run of 'rat fur is good. Nature endows the muskrat with a dense coat of fur, which, in fact, is a necessity to further its welfare in the icy waters in which it lives. As before stated, 'rats, like most of the other fur bearers, vary considerably in size in various parts of the country. For example the pelt of a large Southwestern muskrat is no larger than that of an Atlantic coast 'rat of the small grade. The districts which show a marked difference in the value and size of 'rat pelts may be divided into four groups, as follows: First, Eastern Canada, New England, New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and West Virginia; second, Delaware, Kentucky, Maryland, Virginia, Tennessee, and the Carolinas; third, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, Nebraska, and the Northwest; fourth, Missouri, Arkansas, Kansas, to the Pacific and Southern. The pelts of the first district are of the best quality and therefore command the best prices. Those of the second average about ten per cent less per pelt, and those of the third and last district average about twenty and thirty-five per cent less, respectively, than those of the first named district. END OF THE ACCOMPLISHED MUSKRAT TRAPPER 
47639	----	Internet Archive. Transcriber's Note Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. HINTS ON COYOTE AND WOLF TRAPPING [Illustration] [Illustration: LEAFLET NO. 59] HINTS ON WOLF AND COYOTE TRAPPING By STANLEY P. YOUNG, _Principal Biologist, in Charge Division of Predatory-Animal and Rodent Control, Bureau of Biological Survey_ Issued July, 1930 THE RANGE of coyotes and wolves in the United States to-day is confined mainly to the immense area west of the Mississippi River. Wolves, however, have been so materially reduced in numbers west of the one-hundredth meridian that except for those drifting into the United States from the northern States of Mexico, they are the cause of little concern. The areas now most heavily infested with wolves are in Alaska, eastern Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Missouri, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Michigan. A few r of these animals are found also in northern Louisiana and eastward along the Gulf coastal area into Mississippi. Coyotes, on the other hand, exist in all the Western States, as well as in the Mid-Western States above listed as inhabited by wolves. They have also been reported in Orleans County, N. Y., and in southeastern Alabama where introduced. [Sidenote: Why Control Is Necessary] COYOTES AND WOLVES make serious inroads on the stocks of sheep and lambs, cattle, pigs, and poultry, as well as on the wild game mammals and the ground-nesting and insectivorous birds of the country. Wherever these predatory animals occur in large numbers, they are a source of worry and loss to stockmen, farmers, and sportsmen because of their destructiveness to wild and domestic animals. The coyote is by far the most persistent of the predators of the western range country; and moreover, it is a further menace because it is a carrier of rabies, or hydrophobia. This disease was prevalent in Nevada, California, Utah, Idaho, and eastern Oregon in 1916 and 1917, and later in Washington and in southern Colorado. Since this widespread outbreak, sporadic cases of rabid coyotes have occurred each year in the Western States. The coyote has also been found to be a carrier of tularemia, a disease of wild rabbits and other rodents that is transmissible and sometimes fatal to human beings. Much of the country inhabited by coyotes and wolves is purely agricultural and contains vast grazing areas, and a large percentage of the food of the animals of those areas consists of the mutton, beef, pork, and poultry produced by the stockman and farmer, and the wild game that needs to be conserved. It is a matter of great importance, therefore, to the Nation's livestock-producing sections, as well as to the conservationist's plan of game protection or game propagation, that coyotes and wolves be controlled in areas where they are destructive. Trapping has been found to be one of the most effective methods of capturing these animals. [Sidenote: Strategy Required] EVERY WILD ANIMAL possesses some form of defense against danger or harm to itself. With wolves and coyotes this is shown in their acute sense of smell, alert hearing, and keen eyesight. To trap these animals successfully, one must work to defeat these highly developed senses when placing traps, and success in doing so will come only with a full knowledge of the habits of the two predators and after repeated experiments with trap sets. Of the two animals, possibly the wolf is the more difficult to trap. It is cunning, and as it matures from the yearling stage to the adult its cleverness at times becomes uncanny. Individual coyotes also possess this trait, particularly old animals that have been persistently hunted and trapped with crude methods. The steel trap, in sizes 3 and 4 for coyotes and sizes 4K and 14 for wolves (114 in Alaska), is recommended for capturing these large predators. Steel traps have been used in this country by many generations of trappers, and although deemed by many persons to be inhumane, no better or more practical device has yet been invented to take their place. [Sidenote: Scent Posts] ON THE OPEN RANGE coyotes and wolves have what are commonly referred to as "scent posts," or places where they come to urinate. The animals usually establish these posts along their runways on stubble of range grasses, on bushes, or possibly on some old bleached-out carcasses. Where ground conditions are right for good tracking, these scent posts may be detected from the toenail scratches on the ground made by the animals after they have urinated. This habit of having scent posts and of scratching is similar to that noted in dogs. As wolves and coyotes pass over their travel ways, they generally stop at these posts, invariably voiding fresh urine and occasionally excreta also. [Sidenote: Where to Set Traps] FINDING these scent posts is of prime importance, for it is at such points that traps should be set. If such posts 'can not be found, then one can be readily established, if the travel way of the coyote or wolf has been definitely ascertained, by dropping scent of the kind to be described later on a few clusters of weeds, spears of grass, or stubble of low brush. The trap should then be set at this point. Any number of such scent stations can thus be placed along a determined wolf or coyote travel way. Time consumed in finding a wolf or coyote scent post is well spent, for the success of a trap set depends upon its location. Coyotes and wolves can not be caught unless traps are set and concealed where the animals will step into them. If traps are placed where the animals are not accustomed to stop on their travel ways, the chances are that they will pass them by on the run. Even if a wolf or a coyote should detect the scent, the fact that it is in an unnatural place may arouse the suspicion of the animal and cause it to become shy and make a detour. Often the fresh tracks of shod horses along wolf and coyote runways are sufficient to cause the predators to leave the trail for some distance. A lone wolf is much more cautious than a pack of wolves running together. Travel ways of coyotes and wolves are confined to open and more or less broken country. In foraging for food over these runways the animals may use trails of cattle or sheep, canyons, old wood roads, dry washes, low saddles on watershed divides, or even highways in thinly settled areas. Any one of these places, or any combination of them, may be a wolf or coyote runway. Wolves have been known to cover a circuitous route of more than a hundred miles in an established runway. It is in such country that their scent posts should be looked for. [Illustration: B19741; B24414; B19739 FIGURE 1.--First step in setting traps for wolves and coyotes. The stubble and woods near the traps are the scent post: A, Trap and stake in position, and "setting cloth"; B, doable trap set; C, trap set showing distance from scent post, and stake driven into ground] Places where carcasses of animals killed by wolves and coyotes or of animals that have died from natural causes have lain a long time offer excellent spots for setting traps, for wolves and coyotes often revisit these carcasses. It is always best to set the traps a few yards away from the carcasses at weeds, bunches of grass, or low stubble of bushes. Other good situations are at the intersection of two or more trails, around old bedding grounds of sheep, and at water holes on the open range. Ideal places for wolf or coyote traps are points 6 to 8 inches from the bases of low clusters of weeds or grasses along a trail used as a runway. [Illustration: B19743; B24415 FIGURE 2.--Burying the traps: A, A shoulder of dirt should be built up around and under the pan as a foundation for the trap pad, which is shown in place; B, trap completely bedded, springs and jaws covered, and pan unobstructed, ready for trap pad to be put in place] [Sidenote: Setting the Traps] TRAPS used should be clean, with no foreign odor. In making a set, a hole the length and width of the trap with jaws open is dug with a trowel, a sharpened piece of angle iron, or a prospector's pick. While digging, the trapper stands or kneels on a "setting cloth," about 3 feet square, made of canvas or of a piece of sheep or calf hide. If canvas is used, the human scent may be removed by previously burying it in an old manure pile. The livestock scent acquired in this process is usually strong enough to counteract any scent later adhering to the setting cloth and likely to arouse suspicion. The dirt removed from the hole dug to bed the trap is placed on the setting cloth. The trap is then dropped into the hole and firmly bedded so as to rest perfectly level. Instead of using digging tools, some hunters bed the trap where the ground is loose, as in sandy loam, by holding it at its base and with a circular motion working it slowly into the ground even with the surface and then removing the dirt from under the pan before placing the trap pad to be described later. An important advantage of this method is that there is less disturbance of the ground around the scent post than when tools are used, for the secret of setting a trap successfully is to leave the ground as natural as it was before the trap was concealed. A double trap set, as shown in Figure 1, B, may be used and is often preferred to a single set for coyotes. The trap may be left unanchored or anchored. Either draghooks may be attached to a chain (preferably 6 feet long) fastened by a swivel to the trap base or to a spring, and all buried underneath, or a steel stake pin (fig. 1, A and C) may be used, attached by a swivel to a 6-foot chain fastened to the base or a spring of the trap. If a stake pin is used, it should be driven full length into the ground near the right-hand spring of the trap, with the trigger and pan directly toward the operator. Anchoring the trap is the preferred method, because animals caught are obtained without loss of time and because other animals are not driven out of their course by one of their kind dragging about a dangling, clanking trap, often the case where drag hooks are used. The next stage (fig. 2, A and B) is the careful burying of the trap and building up of a so-called shoulder around and under the pan. This should be so built that, when it is completed, the shape of the ground within the jaws of the trap represents an inverted cone, in order to give a foundation for the pan cover, commonly called the "trap pad." The trap pad may be made of canvas, of old "slicker cloth," or even of a piece of ordinary wire fly screen cut into the shape shown in Figure 2, A. The trap pad to be effective must contain no foreign odor that might arouse the suspicion of wolf or coyote. In placing the trap pad over the pan and onto the shoulders of the dirt built up for carrying it, the utmost care must be taken to see that no rock, pebble, or dirt slips under the pan, which would prevent the trap from springing. With the trap pad in place (fig. 2, A), the entire trap is carefully covered with the remaining portion of earth on the setting cloth (fig. 3, B). Cover traps at least half an inch deep with dry dust if possible. It is well to have the covered surface over the trap a little lower than the surrounding ground, for a wolf or a coyote is then less apt to scratch and expose the trap without springing it. Furthermore, the animal will throw more weight on a foot placed in a depression, and thus is more likely to be caught deeper on the foot and with a firmer grip. All surplus earth on the setting cloth not needed for covering the trap should be taken a good distance away and scattered evenly on the ground. [Illustration: B19744; B24416; B19745 FIGURE 3.--Completed trap sets, with ground made to blend again with surroundings. The small stone in the foreground of A and the triangular stick in B serve to break the natural gait of the animal and cause it to step directly over it onto the pan of the trap; C, place the scent on side of brush or weed that is nearest the trap] A few drops of scent are now applied (fig. 3, C) to the weed, cluster of grass, or stubble used as the scent post. A scent tested and successfully used by Government hunters is made as follows: [Sidenote: Scenting] PUT INTO a bottle the urine and the gall of a wolf or a coyote, depending on which is to be trapped, and also the anal glands, which are situated under the skin on either side of the vent and resemble small pieces of bluish fat. If these glands can not be readily found, the whole anal parts may be used. To every 3 ounces of the mixture add 1 ounce of glycerin, to give it body and to prevent too rapid evaporation, and 1 grain of corrosive sublimate to keep it from spoiling. Let the mixture stand several days, then shake well and scatter a few drops on weeds or ground 6 or 8 inches from the place where the trap is set. The farther from the travelway the trap is set, the more scent will be needed. A little of the scent should be rubbed on the trapper's gloves and shoe soles to conceal the human odor. If the animals become "wise" to this kind of scent, an effective fish scent may be prepared in the following way: Grind the flesh of sturgeon, eels, trout, suckers, carp, or other oily variety of fish in a sausage mill, place in strong tin or iron cans, and leave in a warm place of even temperature to decompose thoroughly. Provide each can with a small vent to allow the escape of gas (otherwise there is danger of explosion), but screen the aperture with a fold of cloth to prevent flies depositing eggs, as the scent seems to lose much of its quality if many maggots develop. This scent may be used within 3 days after it is prepared, but it is more lasting and penetrating after a lapse of 30 days. It is also very attractive to livestock, and its use on heavily stocked ranges is not recommended, as cattle are attracted to such scent stations and will spring the traps. An excellent system for a hunter to follow is to commence with a quantity of ground fish placed in large iron containers, similar to a milk can. As the original lot is used on the trap line, it should be replenished by adding more ground fresh fish. The addition from time to time of new material seems to improve the quality of the scent mixture. Where no moisture has fallen, rescenting of scent posts need be done only every four or five days. In wet weather every third day is good practice. For dropping the scent it is best to use a 2 to 4 ounce shaker-corked bottle. The actual trapping of a wolf or a coyote by the method here described occurs when the animal comes over its runway and is attracted to the "post" by the scent that has been dropped. In approaching the spot for a smell the animal invariably puts a foot on the concealed pan; the jaws are thus released and the foot is securely held. The place where a wolf or a coyote has thus been caught affords an excellent location for a reset after the animal has been removed from the trap. This is due to the natural scent dropped by the animal while in the trap. It is advisable always to wear gloves while setting traps and to use them for no other purpose than for trap setting. U. S. GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE: 1930 For sale by the Superintendent of Documents, Washington, D. C. Price 5 cents 
17093	----	[Illustration] CAMP LIFE IN THE WOODS AND THE TRICKS OF TRAPPING AND TRAP MAKING CONTAINING COMPREHENSIVE HINTS ON CAMP SHELTER, LOG HUTS, BARK SHANTIES, WOODLAND BEDS AND BEDDING, BOAT AND CANOE BUILDING, AND VALUABLE SUGGESTIONS ON TRAPPERS' FOOD, ETC. WITH EXTENDED CHAPTERS ON THE TRAPPER'S ART, CONTAINING ALL THE "TRICKS" AND VALUABLE BAIT RECIPES OF THE PROFESSION; FULL DIRECTIONS FOR THE USE OF THE STEEL TRAP, AND FOR THE CONSTRUCTION OF TRAPS OF ALL KINDS; DETAILED INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE CAPTURE OF ALL FUR-BEARING ANIMALS; VALUABLE RECIPES FOR THE CURING AND TANNING OF FUR SKINS, ETC., ETC. BY W. HAMILTON GIBSON AUTHOR OF "PASTORAL DAYS" _ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR_ [Page 1] TO MY BELOVED FRIENDS MR. AND MRS. F. W. GUNN, KIND INSTRUCTORS, AND PARTICIPANTS IN THE BRIGHTEST JOYS OF MY YOUTH, THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. [Page 3] [Illustration] PREFACE [Illustration: O]f all the various subjects in the catalogue of sports and pastimes, there is none more sure of arousing the enthusiasm of our American boys generally, than that which forms the title of this book. Traps and Trapping, together with its kindred branches, always have been and always _will_ be subjects of great interest among boys, and particularly so to those who live in the country. It is a fact to be regretted that we have so few examples of "Boys' Books" published in this country. There are a few English works of this character, that are very excellent as far as they go, but are nevertheless incomplete and unsatisfactory to the wants of American boys, dwelling largely on sports which are essentially English, and merely touching upon or utterly excluding _other_ topics which are of the _utmost_ interest to boys of this country. In no one of these books, so far as the author of the present volume knows, is the subject of Traps considered to any fair extent, and those examples which are given, represent only the most common and universal varieties already known to the general public. [Page 4] With these facts in mind, the author has entered with zealous enthusiasm upon the preparation of a work which shall fill this odd and neglected corner in literature, and judging from the reminiscences of his own boyish experiences, he feels certain that in placing such a volume within reach of the public, he supplies a long felt want in the hearts of his boy-friends throughout the land. Far be it from us in the publication of this volume, to be understood as encouraging the wanton destruction of poor innocent animals. Like all kindred sports, hunting and fishing for example, the sport of Trapping may be perverted and carried to a point where it becomes simple cruelty, as is _always_ the case when pursued for the mere _excitement_ it brings. If the poor victims are to serve no use after their capture, either as food, or in the furnishing of their plumage or skins for useful purposes, the sport becomes heartless cruelty, and we do not wish to be understood as encouraging it under any such circumstances. In its _right_ sense trapping is a delightful, healthful, and legitimate sport, and we commend it to all our boy-readers. It shall be the object of the author to produce a thoroughly _practical_ volume, presenting as far as possible such examples of the trap kind as any boy, with a moderate degree of ingenuity, could easily construct, and furthermore to illustrate each variety with the utmost plainness, supplemented with the most detailed description. With the exception of all "clap-trap," our volume will embrace nearly every known example of the various devices used for the capture of Bird, Beast, or Fowl, in all countries, simplifying such as are impracticable on account of their complicated structure, and modifying others to the peculiar adaptation of the American Trapper. Devices, which inflict cruelty and prolonged suffering, shall, as far as possible, be excluded, as this is not a necessary qualification in any trap, and should be guarded against wherever possible. Following out the suggestion conveyed under the [Page 5] title of "The Trapper," we shall present full and ample directions for baiting traps, selections of ground for setting, and other hints concerning the trapping of all our principal game and wild animals, valuable either as food or for their fur. In short, our book shall form a complete trapper's guide, embracing all necessary information on the subject, anticipating every want, and furnishing the most complete and fully illustrated volume on this subject ever presented to the public. In vain did the author of this work, in his younger days, search the book stores and libraries in the hopes of finding such a book, and many are the traps and snares which necessity forced him to invent and construct for himself, for want of just such a volume. Several of these original inventions will appear in the present work for the first time in book form, and the author can vouch for their excellence, and he might almost say, their infallibility, for in their perfect state he has never yet found them to "miss" in a single instance. As the writer's mind wanders back to his boyish days, there is one autumn in particular which shines out above all the rest; and that was when his traps were first set and were the chief source of his enjoyment. The adventurous excitement which sped him on in those daily tramps through the woods, and the buoyant, exhilarating effect of the exercise can be realized only by those who have had the same experience. The hope of success, the fears of disappointment, the continual suspense and wonder which fill the mind of the young trapper, all combine to invest this sport with a charm known to no other. Trapping does not consist merely in the manufacture and setting of the various traps. The study of the habits and peculiarities of the different game--here becomes a matter of great importance; and the study of natural history under these circumstances affords a continual source of pleasure and profit. Among the most useful, although the most cruel, of inventions used by the professional trapper are the steel traps; so much so that the author would gladly omit them. But as they are of such unfailing [Page 6] action, of such universal efficacy, and in many cases are the only ones that can be used, any book on trapping would certainly be incomplete without them. The scope of our volume not only embraces the arts of trapping and trap-making, but extends further into the subject of the wild life of a trapping campaign,--containing full directions for building log cabins, and shanties; boats and canoes; hints on food and cooking utensils; also full directions for the curing and tanning of fur skins,--in short, a complete repository of all useful information pertaining to the life and wants of a professional trapper. In the preparation of the work no pains have been spared to insure clearness in general directions, and every point which would be likely to puzzle the reader has been specially covered by separate illustration. In this particular it stands unique in the list of boys' books. Every difficulty has been anticipated, and in every instance the illustrations will be found thoroughly comprehensive and complete. That the care and thoroughness which has been displayed throughout the work, and to which its pages will bear witness, may meet with the appreciation and enthusiastic approval of every boy-reader throughout the land, is the most earnest hope of THE AUTHOR. [Illustration] [Page iii] [Illustration: CONTENTS] BOOK I. TRAPS FOR LARGE GAME. Introduction.--THE DEAD FALL.--Honey as Bait for Bears.--THE GUN TRAP.--Peculiar Habits of the Puma.--"Baiting" for the Puma.--Caution required in Setting the Gun Trap.--Several Guns used.--Different Modes of Setting.--Various animals to which the Gun Trap is adapted.--THE BOW TRAP.--Vane and Barb for Arrows.--Best Wood for Bow.--A Second Example of Bow Trap.--Arrows Barbed and Poisoned.--THE DOWN FALL; or Hippopotamus Trap.--The terrible Harpoon used by the African Trapper.--Different Modes of Setting the Down Fall.--Modification of the Down Fall for small animals.--THE BEAR TRAP.--Various Methods of Setting.--Honey as Bait for Bear.--Bait for Puma.--THE PITFALL.--Use of the Trap in Asia as a means of defence against the Tiger.--Disposition of the Bait.--Wonderful agility of the Puma.--Niceties required in the construction of the Pitfall.--THE LOG COOP TRAP.--Various animals for which it is adapted.--Different Modes of Setting.--THE CORRALL OR HOPO of Africa.--Its Construction and Appalling Effects.--THE NET TRAP.--Its Use in the Capture of the Lion and the Tiger.--American animals to which it may be adapted.--Two Methods of Setting.--BIRD LIME.--Its Use for the Capture of the Lion and Tiger. [Page iv] BOOK II. SNARES OR NOOSE TRAPS. General Remarks.--Requisite Materials for Snaring.--THE QUAIL SNARE.--"Sucker Wire" Nooses.--Six Quail caught at a time.--HOOP NOOSES.--HORSE HAIR NOOSES.--HEDGE NOOSES.--Peculiarities of the Grouse.--Selection of Ground.--THE TRIANGLE TREE SNARE.--A Hawk captured by the device.--The Wire Noose, as arranged for the capture of the Woodchuck, Muskrat, and House Rat.--THE TWITCH-UP.--Selection of Ground for Setting.--Various Modes of Constructing the Traps.--THE POACHERS' SNARE.--Its portability.--THE PORTABLE SNARE.--Its Peculiar Advantages.--The "Simplest" Snare.--The valuable principle on which it is Constructed.--Its Portability.--Various Adaptations of the Principle.--THE QUAIL SNARE.--Its ample capabilities of Capture.--Peculiarities of the Quail.--Successful Baits.--THE BOX SNARE.--Modification in a very small scale.--THE DOUBLE BOX SNARE.--The Animals for which it is Adapted.--GROUND SNARES.--THE OLD-FASHIONED SPINGLE.--THE IMPROVED SPINGLE.--Objections to Ground Snares.--THE FIGURE FOUR GROUND SNARE.--THE PLATFORM SNARE. BOOK III. TRAPS FOR FEATHERED GAME. THE SIEVE TRAP.--THE BRICK TRAP.--THE COOP TRAP--Improved Method of Setting.--Defects of the old style.--THE BAT FOWLING NET.--Its Use in England.--How the Dark Lantern is Used by Bird Catchers.--THE CLAP NET.--Its Extensive Use in Foreign Countries.--Decoy Birds.--The "Bird Whistle" used in place of decoy.--Wonderful Skill attained in the Use of the Bird Whistle.--Selection of Trapping Ground.--THE BIRD WHISTLE Described.--Its Use and Marvelous Capabilities.--THE WILD GOOSE TRAP.--Its Extensive Use in the Northern Cold Regions for the Capture of the Goose and Ptarmigan.--Tame Goose Used as Decoys.--Gravel as Bait.--THE TRAP CAGE.--A Favorite Trap among Bird Catchers.--Call Birds.--THE SPRING NET TRAP.--Rubber Elastic as Spring Power.--A SIMPLER NET TRAP.--Common Faults in many Bird Traps.--Complicated Construction as Unnecessary Feature.--Requisites of a good Bird Trap.--Hints on Simple Mechanism.--Different Modes of Constructing Hinge.--Hoop Iron Used as Spring Power.--Manner of Tempering Spring.--THE UPRIGHT NET TRAP.--A Second Method of Constructing Platform.--THE BOX OWL TRAP.--Ventilation a Desirable Feature in all Box Traps.--Tin Catch for Securing Cover in Place.--Peculiar Mode of Baiting for Birds.--Modification of Perch.--Baiting for the Owl.--Locality for Setting.--The Owl in Captivity.--Its Food.--Hints on the Care of the Bird.--THE BOX BIRD TRAP.--Cigar Box Used as a Trap.--THE PENDANT BOX TRAP.--Ventilation.--Simple Mechanism.--Care in Construction of Bearings.--THE HAWK TRAP.--A "Yankee" Invention.--Stiff-Pointed Wires Effectually Use in the Capture of the Hawk.--Owl also Captured by the Same Device.--THE WILD DUCK NET.--Its Use in Chesapeake Bay.--Manner of Constructing the Net.--Decoy Ducks.--Bait for the Ducks.--THE HOOK TRAP.--Its cruel Mode of Capture.--Peculiar Bait for Ducks.--THE "FOOL'S CAP" TRAP.--Its Successful Use in the Capture of the Crow.--Shrewdness of the Crow.--Strange antics of a Crow when Captured in the Trap.--Bird Lime the Secret of its Success.--Wonderful Tenacity of the Cap.--Different Modes of Setting.--BIRD LIME Described.--Its astonishing "Sticky" Qualities.--The Bird Lime of the Trade.--Various "Home-Made" Recipes.--Manner of Using Bird Lime.--Limed Twigs.--The Owl Used as a Decoy in connection with Bird Lime.--Bird Lime used in the Capture of the Humming Bird.--A Flower Converted into a Trap.--Masticated Wheat as Bird Lime.--Its Ready Removal from the Feathers.--Delicate Organization of the Humming Bird.--Killed by Fright.--Use of its Plumage.--Snares for the Humming Bird.--Blow Guns Successfully Used for its Capture.--Killed by Concussion.--Disabled by a Stream of Water. [Page v] BOOK IV. MISCELLANEOUS TRAPS. THE COMMON BOX TRAP.--Two Modes of Setting.--Animals for which it is Adapted.--A Modification of the Trap.--ANOTHER BOX TRAP.--THE FIGURE FOUR TRAP.--Its Advantages.--THE DOUBLE ENDER.--A Favorite Trap in New England.--Simplicity of Construction.--The Rabbit's Fondness for Salt.--Its Use as a Bait.--THE SELF SETTING TRAP.--Animals for which it is adapted.--THE DEAD FALL.--Various Methods of Construction.--Animals for which it is usually Set.--Remarkable Cunning of some Animals.--The Precautions which it Necessitates.--Bait for the Muskrat.--Various Baits for the Mink.--Skunk Baits.--A Fox Entrapped by a Dead Fall.--Slight Modification in the Arrangement of Pieces.--Live Duck used as Bait.--Another Arrangement for the Dead Fall.--Trap Sprung by the Foot of the Animal.--THE FIGURE FOUR TRAP.--Applied to the Dead Fall.--THE GAROTTE.--Its Singular Mode of Capture.--Its Common Victims.--THE BOW TRAP.--An oddity of the Trap Kind.--Its Singular mechanism.--THE MOLE TRAP.--A Much-needed Contrivance.--Subterranean Mode of Setting.--Its Unfailing Success.--A FISH TRAP.--A Section of Stove Pipe used as a Trap.--Its Various Victims.--Adjustment of the Bait.--Curious Mode of Capture. BOOK V. HOUSEHOLD TRAPS. A Chapter Dedicated to Pestered Housekeepers.--The Domestic Cat as a Household Trap.--The Rat.--Its Proverbial Shrewdness and Cunning.--THE BARREL TRAP.--Its unlimited Capabilities of Capture--Other Advantages.--"Baiting" for Rats.--A Second Form of Barrel Trap.--Various other Devices adapted to the capture of the Rat.--The Steel Trap.--Hints on Setting.--Necessary Precautions.--THE BOX DEAD FALL.--THE BOARD FLAP.--THE BOX PIT FALL.--Animals for which it may be set.--Its Extensive Capabilities of Capture.--Its Self-Setting Qualities.--The principle Utilized for the Capture of the Muskrat.--THE CAGE TRAP.--THE JAR TRAP.--A Preserve Jar Converted into a Mouse Trap.--Its Complete Success.--BOWL TRAPS.--Two Methods.--FLY PAPER.--Recipe for Making.--FLY TRAP. BOOK VI. STEEL TRAPS AND THE ART OF TRAPPING. General Remarks.--Advantages of the Steel Trap.--Its extensive use in the business of Trapping.--Hints on the Selection of Traps.--REQUISITES OF A GOOD STEEL TRAP.--The Newhouse Trap.--Various sizes.--Rat Trap.--Muskrat Trap.--Mink Trap.--Fox Trap.--Otter Trap.--Beaver Trap.--"Great Bear Tamer."--Small Bear Trap.--HINTS ON BAITING THE STEEL TRAP.--The Staked Pen.--Old Method of Baiting.--Its Objections.--Advantages of the New Method.--THE SPRING POLE.--Its Service to the Trapper.--THE SLIDING POLE.--Advantages of its Use in the Capture of Aquatic Animals.--THE CLOG.--Objections against Securing the Steel Trap to a Stake.--Method of Attaching the Clog.--THE GRAPPLING IRON.--THE SEASON FOR TRAPPING.--Best condition for Furs.--THE ART OF TRAPPING.--Antiquity of the Sport.--Necessary Qualifications for Successful Trapping.--The Study of Natural History a source of pleasure and profit.--The Professional Trapper's most serious [Page vi] Obstacles.--Marvellous Cunning of many Animals.--Necessity of the Study of their Habits.--"Practical Natural History."--Trapping Without Bait.--Run-ways or By-paths.--How Utilized by the Trapper.--How Detected.--Favorable Localities for the Setting of the Steel Trap.--Natural Advantages.--Entrapping animals through their Sense of Smell.--Remarkable Power of Scent Baits.--Their great value in the Capture of the Beaver.--Caution in Handling the Steel Trap.--Effect of the Touch of the Hand.--Buckskin Gloves a Necessary Requisite.--MEDICINES, OR SCENT BAITS.--Their Great Importance in the Art of Trapping.--CASTOREUM OR BARKSTONE.--How Obtained.--Castoreum Composition.--Recipe for Making.--How Used.--MUSK--ASSAFOETIDA.--OIL OF RHODIUM.--FISH OIL.--Its General Use in the Capture of Aquatic Animals.--Valuable Recipe for its Manufacture.--OIL OF SKUNK.--How Obtained.--How Eradicated from Hands or Clothing.--OIL OF AMBER.--OIL OF AMBERGRIS.--OIL OF ANISE.--Its General Use as a "Universal Medicine."--SWEET FENNEL.--CUMMIN--FENUGREEK--LAVENDER--COMPOUND MEDICINE--THE TRAIL--Its Object and Value.--Various Modes of Making.--HOW TO TRAP.--General Remarks.--THE FOX.--Its Scientific Classification.--The Various American Species.--The Red Fox.--The Cross Fox.--Why so Named.--The Black or Silver Fox.--The Great Value of its Fur.--The Prairie Fox.--The Kit or Swift Fox.--The Gray Fox.--Similarity in the General Characteristics of the Various Species.--Food of the Fox.--Its Home.--Its consummate Craft.--Instances of its Cunning.--Baffling the Hounds.--How to Trap the Fox.--Preparation of the Trap.--Adverse Effect of Human Scent.--Necessity of handling Trap with Gloves.--The "Bed."--"Baiting" the Bed Necessary.--Precautions in Setting the Trap.--The "Tricks of the Trapper" Illustrated.--How to Proceed in case of Non-Success.--The Scent-Baits Utilized.--Various Modes of Setting the Trap.--The Baits Commonly Used.--The Dead Fall as a Means of Capture.--Common Mode of Skinning the Fox.--Directions for Stretching Skin.--THE WOLF.--The Various Species.--Fierce Characteristics of the Wolf.--Its Terrible Inroads among Herds and Flocks.--The Gray Wolf.--The Coyote or Common Prairie Wolf.--The Texan Wolf.--Home of the Wolf.--Number of Young.--Cunning of the Wolf.--Caution Required in Trapping.--How to Trap the Wolf.--Preparation of Trap.--Various Ways of Setting the Trap.--Use of the Trail and Scent Baits.--"Playing Possum."--The Dead Fall and "Twitch-up" as Wolf Traps.--Directions for Skinning the Wolf and Stretching the Pelt.--THE PUMA.--Its Scientific Classification.--Its Life and Habits.--Its Wonderful Agility.--Its Skill as an Angler.--Its Stealth.--Various Traps Used in the Capture of the Puma.--The Gun Trap.--The Bow Trap.--The Dead Fall.--Trap for Taking the Animal Alive.--Log Coop Trap.--The Pit Fall.--Bait for the Puma.--The Steel Trap.--Common Mode of Setting.--Selection of Locality for Trapping.--How to Skin the Puma.--Directions for Stretching the Pelt.--THE CANADA LYNX.--Description of the Animal.--Its Life and Habits.--Its Food.--Its Peculiar Appearance when Running.--Easily Killed.--The Dead Fall as a Lynx Trap.--Peculiar Manner of Construction for the Purpose.--The Gun Trap.--The Bow Trap.--The Twitch-up.--Young of the Lynx.--Value of its Fur.--The Steel Trap.--Various Methods of Setting.--Directions for Skinning the Animal and Stretching the Pelt.--THE WILD CAT.--Its Resemblance to the Domestic Species.--Its Strange Appetite.--Its Home.--Number of Young.--Haunts of the Wild Cat.--Its Nocturnal Marauding expeditions.--Its Lack of Cunning.--How to Trap the Wild Cat.--An Entire Colony Captured.--Ferocity of the Wild Cat.--The Twitch-up.--Its Common Use in the Capture of the Wild Cat.--Other Successful Traps.--Various Baits for the Wild Cat.--Directions for Skinning the Animal, and Stretching the Pelt.--THE BEAR.--The Various American Species.--The Grizzly.--Its Enormous Size and Power.--Its Terrible Fury.--Description of the Animal.--Food of the Grizzly.--The Black Bear or Musquaw.--Its General Description.--Bear Hunting.--Danger of the Sport.--Food of the Bear.--Its Fondness for Pigs.--Honey Its Special Delight.--The Cubs.--The Flesh of the Bear as Food.--"Bears' Grease."--Hibernation of the Bear.--Traps for the Bear.--The Dead [Page vii] Fall.--Pit-fall.--Giant Coop.--Gun Trap.--The Steel Trap.--The Clog and Grappling-Iron.--Their Advantages.--How to Trap the Bear.--Various Methods of Adjusting Traps.--Natural Advantages.--Honey as Bait.--Other Baits.--Scent Baits.--Skinning the Bear.--Directions for Stretching the Pelt.--THE RACCOON.--Classification--Cunning and Stealth of the Animal.--Characteristic Features.--The "Coon Chase."--How the Raccoon is Hunted.--The "Tree'd Coon."--Varied Accomplishments of the Raccoon.--Its Home and Family.--The "Coon" as a Pet.--Its Cunning Ways.--Its Extensive Bill of Fare.--Life and Habits of the Raccoon.--Remarkable Imprint of its Paw.--Season for Trapping the Coon.--How to Trap the Coon.--Various Modes of Setting the Trap.--Use of the "medicines" or "Scent Baits."--Other Traps for the Animal.--Directions for Removing the Skin, and Stretching the Pelt.--THE BADGER.--Its Peculiar Markings.--Use of the Hair.--Nest of the Badger.--Number of Young.--Food of the Animal.--Its Remarkable Fondness for Honey.--Its Cunning.--Remarkable Instincts.--Its Shrewdness.--How to Trap the Badger.--Various Baits.--Use of "Medicine."--Capture of the Animal by Flooding its Burrow.--How to Skin the Badger.--Directions for Stretching the Pelt.--THE BEAVER.--Description of the Animal.--Its Nature and Habits.--The Beaver Village.--The "Lodges," or Beaver Houses.--Remarkable Construction of the Huts.--The Dam of the Beaver.--Wonderful Skill shown in its Construction.--Nocturnal Habits of the Beaver.--Remarkable Engineering Instincts of the Animal.--How the Beaver Cuts Timber.--How the Dam is Constructed.--The Formation of "Reefs."--The Tail of the Beaver as a Means of Transportation.--Subterranean Passage to the Huts.--How Beavers are Hunted.--Young of the Beaver.--How to Trap the Beaver.--The Necessary Precautions.--Castoreum or Bark Stone.--Its Great Value in the Capture of the Beaver.--Various Methods of Setting the Trap.--How to Apply the Castoreum.--Use of the Sliding Pole.--Food of the Beaver.--Directions for Skinning the Animal and Stretching the Pelt.--THE MUSK-RAT.--General Description of the Animal.--Its Beaver-like Huts.--Its Nocturnal Habits.--Its Food.--The Flesh of the Musk-rat as an Article of Diet.--Description of the Hut.--Extensive Family of the Musk-Rat.--Its Home.--How the Musk-Rat swims beneath Unbroken Ice.--How it is Killed by being Driven Away from its Breath.--Spearing the Musk-Rat.--Construction of the Spear.--How to Trap the Musk-Rat.--Use of the Sliding Pole.--Various Modes of Setting Trap.--The Spring Pole.--Scent Baits.--Various Devices for Capturing the Musk-Rat.--The Barrel-Trap.--Remarkable Success of the Trap.--The Trail.--Skinning the Musk-Rat.--How to Stretch the Pelt.--THE OTTER.--Description of the Animal.--Beauty of its Fur.--How the "Otter Fur" of Fashion is Prepared.--Food of the Otter.--Its Natural Endowments for Swimming.--Habitation of the Otter.--Its Nest and Young.--The Track or "Seal" of the animal.--How the Otter is Hunted.--Its Fierceness when Attacked.--The Otter as a Pet.--Fishing for its Master.--The Otter "Slide."--How Utilized by the Trapper.--Playfulness of the Otter.--How the Animal is Trapped.--Various Modes of Setting Trap.--The Sliding Pole.--The Spring Pole.--Scent Baits.--How Applied.--Necessary Precautions.--How to Skin the Otter.--Directions for Stretching the Pelt.--THE MINK.--Its Form and Color.--Value of the Fur.--Habits of the Animal.--Its Diet.--Its Perpetual Greed.--Ease with which it may be Trapped.--Habitation of the Mink.--Its Nest and Young.--How to Trap the Mink.--Various Methods of Setting the Trap.--Baits.--The Sliding Pole.--"Medicine."--The Runways of the Mink.--How Utilized in Trapping.--The Trail.--Various Traps Used in the Capture of the Mink.--How to Skin the Animal.--THE PINE MARTEN.--Description of the Animal.--Its Natural Characteristics.--Its Nocturnal Habits.--Its Wonderful Stealth and Activity.--Its "Bill of Fare."--Its Strange mode of Seizing Prey.--The Marten as a Pet.--Its Agreeable Odor.--Various Traps Used in the Capture of the Marten.--Baits for the Marten.--The Steel Trap.--Several Modes of Setting.--Directions for Skinning the Animal.--THE FISHER.--Its Form and Color.--Its Habitation and Young.--How the Animal is Trapped.--Various Methods.--The Spring Pole.--Baits for the Fisher.--Principal Devices Used in its Capture.--The Skin.--How [Page viii] Removed and Stretched.--THE SKUNK.--Its Fetid Stench.--Origin of the Odor.--Its Effect on Man and Beast.--"Premonitory Symptoms" of Attack.--Acrid Qualities of the Secretion.--Its Terrible Effect on the Eyes.--Interesting Adventure with a Skunk.--"Appearances are often Deceitful."--The Skunk as a Pet.--Color of the Animal.--Habits of the Animal.--Its Food.--Its Young.--"Alaska Sable."--How to Trap the Skunk.--Various Traps Used.--The Steel Trap.--Different Modes of Setting.--Baits.--The Dead Fall.--Modifications in its Construction.--The Twitch-up.--Its Peculiar Advantages for the Capture of the Skunk.--Chloride of Lime as Antidote.--Method of Eradicating the Odor from the Clothing.--Directions for Removing and Stretching the Skin.--THE WOLVERINE.--Its Desperate Fierceness and voracity.--Its General Characteristics.--Its Form and Color.--Food of the Wolverine.--Its Trap-Robbing Propensities.--How to Trap the Wolverine.--Baits.--Use of the "Medicine."--The Gun Trap and Dead Fall.--The Steel Trap.--Various Modes of Setting.--Home and Young of the Animal.--How the Skin should be Removed and Stretched.--THE OPOSSUM.--Description of the Animal.--Its Nature and Habits.--Its Home.--Remarkable Mode of Carrying its Young.--Nocturnal Habits of the Animal.--Its Food.--Its Especial Fondness for Persimmons.--Its Remarkable Tenacity as a Climber.--"Playing Possum."--How the Opossum is Hunted.--How Trapped.--Various Devices Used in its Capture.--Scent Baits.--How the Skin is Removed and Stretched.--THE RABBIT.--Wide-spread Distribution of the Various Species.--Their Remarkable Powers of Speed.--Nest of the Rabbit.--Its Prolific Offspring.--Food of the Rabbit.--Its Enemies.--Various Devices Used in Trapping the Animal.--Necessary Precautions in Skinning the Rabbit.--THE WOODCHUCK.--Description of the Animal.--Its Habits.--Its Burrows.--Its Food.--Toughness of the Skin.--Its Use.--Nest of the Animal.--The Woodchuck as Food.--How the Animal is Trapped.--The Steel Trap.--The Spring Pole.--The Twitch-up.--How the Woodchuck is "Drowned Out."--The Turtle as a Ferret.--Smoking the Burrows.--Directions for Skinning the Animal.--THE GOPHER.--Its Burrows.--Its Food.--Remarkable Cheek Pouches of the Animal.--Their Use.--How to Trap the Animal.--How the Skin is Removed.--THE MOLE.--Its Varied Accomplishments.--Its Remarkable Dwellings.--Complicated Structure of the Habitation.--The Fury and Voracity of the Mole.--Peculiarities of Its Fur.--A Waistcoat of Mole Skins.--Odor of the Mole.--Mole Traps.--Various Species of the Mole.--The Mole of the Cape of Good Hope.--Marvellous Beauty of Its Fur.--SQUIRRELS.--Their General Peculiarities of Form and Habit.--Their Food.--Their Provident Instincts.--"Nutting" in Midwinter.--The Nest of the Squirrel.--Burrowing Squirrels.--The Various American Species.--The Grey Squirrel.--The Chipmunk.--The Chickaree.--The Flying Squirrel, &c.--How Squirrels are Trapped.--Various Traps Used in their Capture.--Removal of Skin.--THE DEER.--Difficulty of Hunting the Animal in Dry Seasons.--Various American Species of the Deer.--How the Deer is Trapped.--Peculiar Construction of the Trap.--Scent Bait for the Deer.--Various Methods of Setting the Trap.--Violence of the Deer when Trapped.--The Clog.--Dead Falls.--Food of the Deer.--Deer "Yards."--Natural Enemies of the Deer.--How the Deer is Hunted.--"Still Hunting."--The Deer's Acute Sense of Smell.--How to Detect the Direction of the Wind.--Natural Habits of the Deer.--"Night Hunting."--Luminosity of the Eyes of the Deer at Night.--Hunting the deer with dogs.--"Deer Licks."--How Salt is used in Hunting the Deer.--Hunting from a Scaffolding.--Peculiar Sight of the Deer.--"Salt Licks" used in Night Hunting.--Head Lantern.--How made.--How used.--The fiery Eyes of the Deer.--"Fox Fire" or Phosphorescent wood.--How used by the Hunter.--Seasons for Deer Hunting.--How to skin the Deer.--THE MOOSE.--Description of the animal.--Immense size of its Horns.--Moose yards.--Hunted on Snow shoes.--The dangers of Moose Hunting.--Exquisite sense of Smell.--How the Moose is Trapped.--Directions for removing the Skin of the Animal.--ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHEEP.--Description of the Animal.--Its enormous Horns.--Habits of the creature.--Its flesh as Food.--How the Animal is Trapped.--THE BUFFALO.--Its Habits.--Its Food.--Buffalo-grass.--How the Animal is Hunted and Trapped.--Buffalo [Page ix] flesh as Food.--Buffalo skins.--THE PRONG HORN ANTELOPE.--Description of the Animal.--Peculiarity of Horn.--How the creature is Hunted and Destroyed by the Indians.--Remarkable sense of Smell of the Animal.--Its Beauty and grace.--Flesh of the Antelope a Food.--How the Animal is Trapped.--Various Traps used in their Capture.--The Dead-fall.--Pit-fall.--How to remove the Hide of the Animal.--SHOOTING AND POISONING.--"Shot furs."--"Poisoned furs."--"Trapped furs."--Their relative Value in the Fur Market.--Effect of grazing shot on fur.--Effect of Poison on Fur.--Remarks on the use of Poison.--Strychnine.--Poisoning Wolves.--Recipe for mixing the Poison.--Poisoning the Bear.--How the Dose is Prepared. BOOK VII. CAMPAIGN LIFE IN THE WILDERNESS. Introductory Remarks.--"Amateur Trapping."--PLAN OF CAMPAIGN.--Selection of Trapping-ground.--Advantages of a Watered District.--Labor of transportation lightened by Boating.--Lakes, Ponds and Streams.--The Adirondacks and Alleghanies.--Remarks on the "Home Shanty."--Selection of Site for building.--Value of a good Axe.--Remarks on the Bark Shanty.--Its value in case of Storms.--Wise fore-sight.--Remarks on the Indian Birch-bark Canoe.--Dug-out and Bateau.--Commencement of Trapping Season.--Advantages of preliminary preparation.--Extensive route of the Professional Trapper.--Sixty pounds of Personal Luggage.--How the traps and provisions are distributed among the Trapping lines.--Use of the "Home Shanty."--"Keeping Shanty."--Necessity of its being Guarded.--Wolves and Bears as thieves.--Steel Traps considered.--Number used in a Professional Campaign.--Number for an Amateur Campaign.--Their Probable Cost.--The average size of Trap.--Dead-falls, Twitchups, &c., considered.--Requisite Tools for a Campaign.--A "House-wife" a valuable necessity.--"Cleanliness next to Godliness."--The Trappers' Light.--Comparative value of Lanterns and Candles.--The Trappers' Personal outfit.--The jack-knife.--The Pocket-Compass.--Necessity of preparing for Emergencies.--Shot guns and Rifles.--Both combined in the same weapon.--Oil for Fire Arms.--Fat of the Grouse Used on Fire Arms.--Fishing tackle.--The Trappers' portable stove.--The Stove versus The Open Fire.--The Trapper's Clothing.--The Material and Color.--Boots.--High-topped Boots.--Short Boots.--Their Relative Qualities.--Waterproof Boot Dressing.--Recipe.--The Trapping Season.--Hints on Trapping-lines.--The "Wheel" plan.--Mode of following the lines.--"Trap Robbers" or "Poachers."--How to guard against them.--Hiding furs.--How to store Traps from Season to Season.--Gnats and Mosquitoes.--The "Smudge."--How made.--FOOD AND COOKING UTENSILS.--"Roughing it."--"A chance Chip for a Frying Pan."--A "happy medium" between two extremes.--Cosy and Comfortable living on a Campaign.--Portable Food.--Combined Nutriment and lightness in weight to be desired.--The Trappers' Culinary Outfit.--Indian meal as Food.--The Trappers' "Staff of Life."--Wheat flour.--Salt Pork.--Seasoning.--Pork Fritters a luxury.--Cooking Utensils.--The "Telescope" drinking cup.--Recipe for making Pork Fritters.--"Chop Sticks" à la "Chinee."--A Flat Chip as a Plate.--Boiled Mush.--Old "Stand by."--Recipe.--Fried Mush.--Indian meal Cakes.--Recipe.--Johnny Cake.--Recipe.--Hoe Cakes.--Recipe.--Fresh fish.--How to Cook fish in a most Delicious manner.--Prof. Blot, and Delmonico, out-done.--The "NE PLUS ULTRA" of delicacies.--All the sweet Juices of the Fish preserved.--Disadvantages of the ordinary method of cooking.--Partridge, Duck, Quail, Cooked deliciously.--Roasting unrivalled!--Hints on Broiling.--An extemporized Spider or Toaster.--Roasting on a spit.--Venison, Bear, and Moose Meat broiled in the best style.--Venison cutlets.--The Camp fire.--Usual mode [Page x] of building Fire.--How the Kettle is suspended.--"Luxuries" considered.--The Knapsack a desirable Acquisition.--Matches.--The Bottle Match-safe.--Waterproof Matches.--How made.--Lucifer Matches.--Recipe for Waterproof preparation.--The Pocket Sun Glass.--A necessary adjunct to a Trapper's Outfit.--Its Advantages in case of Emergency.--"Touch wood" or "Punk Tinder," valuable in lighting fires.--How to light Fires without matches or Sun glass.--How to light a fire without Matches, Sun Glass, Powder, or Percussion Caps.--A last Resort.--Matches best in the long run.--The Portable Camp Stove described.--Its accompanying Furniture.--The Combination Camp-knife.--Hint on Provisions.--Potatoes as food.--Beans.--"Self raising" Wheat flour.--Light Bread, Biscuit and Pancakes in Camp.--Various accessories.--Olive Oil for purpose of Frying.--Pork.--Indian meal.--Crackers.--Wheaten Grits.--Rice and Oatmeal.--Tea and Coffee.--Soups.--Liebig's Extract of Beef.--Canned Vegetables.--Lemonade.--Waterproof bags for provisions.--Painted bags.--Caution!--Waterproof preparation.--Air-tight jars for Butter.--Knapsack or Shoulder Basket.--Venison as food.--To preserve the overplus of meat.--"Jerked Venison" Recipe and Process.--Moose and Bear meat and Fish, similarly prepared.--How to protect provisions from Wolves.--The Moufflon and Prong-horn as food.--"Small game," Squirrels, Rabbits, and Woodchucks.--"Skunk Meat" as a delicacy.--The Buffalo as food.--Grouse, the universal Food of Trappers and Hunters.--Various species of Grouse.--The Sage Cock.--The Ptarmigan.--How they are trapped by the Indians in the Hudson's Bay Country.--Waterfowl.--Sea and Inland Ducks.--Various species of Duck.--Mallard.--Muscovy.--Wigeon.--Merganser.--Canvass Back.--Teal, &c.--Wild Geese.--Fish as food.--Angling and Spearing.--Salmon Spearing in the North.--Description of the Salmon Spear used by the Indians.--Salmon Spearing at night.--Requisites of a good Spearsman.--Fishing through the Ice.--Cow's udder and Hogs liver as Bait.--Other Baits.--Assafoetida and Sweet Cicely as fish Baits.--Trout fishing with Tip-up's.--Pickerel fishing in Winter.--Pickerel Spearing through the Ice.--The Box Hut.--The "Fish Lantern" or Fish Trap.--Fish Attracted by light.--Light as Bait.--How the Fish Lantern is made and used.--THE TRAPPER'S SHELTER.--Introductory remarks.--The Perils of a Life in the Wilderness.--A Shelter of some form a Necessity.--The Log Shanty.--Full directions for building.--Ingenious manner of constructing roof.--How the Chimney is built.--Spacious interior of the Shanty.--THE BARK SHANTY.--A Temporary structure.--Full directions for its construction.--Selection of building site.--TENTS.--Advantages of their use.--Various kinds of Tents.--The House Tent.--The Fly Tent.--The Shelter Tent.--Directions for making the Tent.--Tent Cloth.--How to render tents Water and Fire-resistant.--Valuable recipe.--BEDS AND BEDDING.--Perfect rest and comfort to the tired Trapper.--A portable Spring bed for the woods.--A Hammock bed.--Bed Clothes.--The Canton Flannel Bag.--Hammocks.--TENT CARPETING.--Spruce and Hemlock boughs as bedding.--How to cover the ground evenly.--The Rubber Blanket. BOOK VIII. THE TRAPPER'S MISCELLANY. Warning to the Novice.--Winged Cannibals of the Woods.--INSECT OINTMENTS.--Mosquitoes and Gnats.--Their aversion to the scent of Pennyroyal.--Pennyroyal Ointment.--Recipe.--Mutton tallow Ointment.--Tar and Sweet Oil Liniment.--Recipe.--Its effect on the Complexion.--Invasions of Insects by night.--Their pertinacity and severity.--The experience of our Adirondack guide.--The bloodthirsty propensities of the Mosquito admirably depicted.--The "Smudge" Smoke versus Insect Bites.--"Punkeys" and "Midgets."--Their terrible voracity.--Painful effects of their Bites.--Pennyroyal an effective Antidote.--Depraved [Page xi] appetite of the mosquito.--A Warning to the Intemperate.--Use and abuse of Alcohol.--A Popular error corrected.--A substitute for Whiskey and Brandy.--Red Pepper Tea.--Its great value as a remedy in Illness.--The Mosquitoes' favorite Victim.--Result of the bite of the insect.--The Mosquito Head-Net.--Directions for making the Net.--Netting attachment for the Hat.--Portable Sun Shade or Hat brim.--Netting attachment for the Hat brim.--BOAT BUILDING.--A Boat of some kind a necessity to the Trapper.--The "Dug-Out" or Log-Canoe.--Requisite Tools for its Manufacture.--Selection of the Log.--Directions for making the boat.--Remarkable thinness to which they may be reduced.--Lightness of the boat.--How to gauge the thickness.--How to stop leaks.--THE INDIAN OR BIRCH BARK CANOE.--The Indian as a Canoe-maker.--His remarkable skill.--Perfection of the Indian made Canoe.--Description of the Canoe.--Capacity of the various sizes.--How to construct a Bark Canoe.--Selection of Bark.--How to prevent Leaks.--Material used by the Indians in sewing the Bark.--Advantages of the Birch Bark Canoe.--Basswood, Hemlock, and Spruce Bark Canoes.--A LIGHT HOME-MADE BOAT.--Selection of Boards.--Directions for making the Boat.--Caulking the seams.--Value of Pitch for waterproofing purposes.--How it should be applied.--THE SCOW.--How to construct the ordinary Flat-bottomed Boat.--The Mud-stick.--SNOW SHOES.--A necessity for winter travel.--The "Snow Shoe Race."--The mysteries of a Snow Shoe.--"Taming the Snow Shoe."--How to make the Snow Shoe.--Complicated Net-work.--Two methods of attaching the Net-work.--How the Snow Shoe is worn.--THE TOBOGGAN OR INDIAN SLEDGE.--Its value to the Trapper.--Winter Coasting.--Great sport with the Toboggan.--How to make a Toboggan.--Selection of Boards.--How the Sledge is used.--CURING SKINS.--Importance of Curing Skins properly.--Valuable hints on Skinning Animals.--How to dry Skins.--How to dress Skins for Market.--Astringent preparations.--Recipe.--STRETCHERS.--How skins are stretched.--The Board Stretcher.--How it is made and used.--The Wedge Stretcher.--How made and used.--The Bow Stretcher.--The Hoop Stretcher.--TANNING SKINS.--To Tan with the hair on.--Preparation of Skin for Tanning.--Tanning Mixture.--Recipe.--Second Mixture.--Recipe.--Third Mixture and Recipe.--How the Skin is softened and finished.--HOW TO TAN MINK AND MUSKRAT SKINS.--Preparation of Skin.--Tanning Mixtures.--Various Recipes.--"Fleshing."--The Fleshing-knife.--Substitute for the Fleshing-knife.--HOW TO TAN THE SKINS OF THE BEAVER, OTTER, RACCOON, AND MARTEN.--Tanning Mixtures.--How to soften the Skin.--Simple Tanned Skin.--Recipe for removing the fur.--How to finish the Skin.--OBSERVATIONS ON THE HISTORY OF FURS AND THE FUR TRADE.--Some bits of History in connection with Furs.--Ancient use of Furs.--Furs a medium of Exchange.--Furs and Fashion.--Extravagance in Fur Costume.--Choice Furs as Badges of Rank.--Their use restricted to Royal Families.--The Early Fur Trade of Europe.--A Tribute paid in Furs.--Early History of the Fur Trade in America.--Origin of the Hudson's Bay Company.--Hostility of the French Canadian Traders.--Establishment of the North West Company.--Competition and War.--Consolidation of the two Companies.--Great sales of the Hudson's Bay Company.--Importance of the Fur Trade.--Cities founded by the enterprise of the Trapper.--St. Paul.--Montreal and Mackinaw.--Fortunes built up on Fur Traffic.--John Jacob Astor.--Mink and Muskrat Skins.--Their extensive use in America.--Estimated value of the annual yield of Raw Furs throughout the World.--Classification of Furs by American Dealers.--"Home" Furs.--"Shipping" Furs.--Table of Sales of Hudson's Bay Company, in 1873.--March Sale.--September Sale.--Price according to Quality.--Estimated average per Skin.--List of American "Shipping" Furs.--List of American "Home" Furs.--MARKET VALUE OF FUR SKINS.--Eccentricities of the Fur Market.--Demand governed by Fashion.--How Fashion runs the Fur Trade.--The Amateur Trapper and the Fur Trade.--Difficulty of a profitable disposal of Furs.--Advice to the Novice.--How to realize on the sale of Furs.--TABLE OF VALUES OF AMERICAN FUR SKINS.--A complete list of American Fur bearing Animals.--Various prices of Skins according to Quality.--USES OF AMERICAN FURS AT HOME AND ABROAD.--The Silver Fox.--Fifty Guineas for a Fur Skin.--Red Fox Fur.--Its [Page xii] use in Oriental Countries.--Beaver Fur.--Its various uses.--Raccoon Skins, a great Staple for Russia and Germany.--Bear Skins and their various uses.--Lynx, Fisher, and Marten Skins.--The Mink.--Use of its hair for Artists pencils.--Muskrat Skins.--Three millions annually exported to Germany alone.--Their extensive use among the American poorer classes.--Otter Fur.--Sleigh Robes from Wolf Skins.--Rabbit Fur.--Its use in the Manufacture of Hats.--Breeding Rabbits for their Fur.--The Wolverine.--Skunk Fur, dignified by the name of Alaska Sable.--Large shipments to Foreign Countries.--How the Fur of the Badger is used.--Opossum, Puma, and Wild Cat Fur.--Robes for the Fashionable.--Squirrel and Mole skins. [Illustration] [Page xiii] [Illustration: ILLUSTRATIONS.] FULL PAGES. 1. Caught at last. 2. Traps for Large Game. 3. Snares or Noose Traps. 4. Traps for Feathered Game. 5. Miscellaneous Traps. 6. Household Traps. 7. Steel Traps, and the art of Trapping. 8. Almost Persuaded.--to face. 9. The Campaign. 10. Trapper's Miscellany. [Page xiv] ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT. 11. "Preface". 12. Initial to Preface. 13. End piece to Preface. 14. "Contents". 15. "Illustrations". 16. Initial to Book I 17. Dead fall for large Animals. 18. Explanatory drawing of pieces. 19. The Gun Trap. 20. The Bow Trap 21. " " " arrangement of parts. 22. " " " Section. 23. Foot String Bow Trap. 24. The Down fall. 25. The Bear Trap. 26. End piece to Book I. 27. Initial to Book II. 28. Quail Nooses. 29. Hedge Nooses. 30. The Triangle Snare. 31. The Twitch-up. 32. Method of Setting. 33. " " " No. 2. 34. " " " No. 3. 35. " " " No. 4. 36. " " " No. 5. 37. The Poacher's Snare. 38. The Portable Snare. 39. The "Simplest" Snare. 40. Modification No. 2. 41. " " 3. 42. The Quail Snare. 43. The Box Snare. 44. The Double Box Snare. 45. The Old fashioned Springle. 46. The Improved Springle. 47. The Figure Four Ground Snare. 48. The Platform Snare. 49. End piece. 50. Initial to Book III. 51. The Brick Trap. 52. Method of Setting. 53. The Coop Trap. 54. The Bat fowling Net. 55. The Clap Net. 56. The Bird Whistle. 57. The Trap Cage. 58. Diagrams of Cage. 59. The Spring Net Trap. [Page xv] 60. Section of Spring Net Trap. 61. A Simpler Net Trap. 62. The Upright Net Trap. 63. Second Method " 64. The Box Owl Trap. 65. The Box Bird Trap. 66. The Pendant Box Bird Trap. 67. The Hawk Trap. 68. The Wild Duck Net. 69. The Hook Trap. 70. The Fool's Cap Trap. 71. The Limed Twig. 72. Humming-bird Trap. 73. Initial to Book IV. 74. The Common Box Trap. 75. Two Modes of Setting. 76. Box Trap. 77. The Figure Four Trap. 78. Parts of " 79. The "Double Ender". 80. The Self-Setting Trap. 81. The Dead fall. 82. Method No. 2. 83. The Garotte. 84. Arrangement of "Setting". 85. The Bow Garotte Trap. 86. A Fish Trap. 87. End Piece "Maternal advice". 88. Initial to Book V. 89. The Barrel Trap. 90. The Box Dead Trap. 91. The Board Flap. 92. The Box Pit-fall. 93. Diagram of " 94. Cage Trap. 95. Initial to Book VI. 96. Steel Trap. No. (0) or Rat Trap. 97. Steel Trap. No. 1, or Muskrat Trap. 98. " " No. 2, or Mink Trap. 99. " " No. 2-1/2, or Fox Trap. 100. " " No. 3, or Otter Trap. 101. " " No. 4, or Beaver Trap. 102. "The Great Bear Tamer," Steel Trap. 103. Steel Trap No. 5, or Small Bear Trap. 104. Steel Trap set in pen. 105. The Spring Pole. 106. The Sliding pole. 107. The Grappling Iron. 108. The Wolf. 109. The Puma. 110. The Canada Lynx. [Page xvi] 111. The Wild Cat. 112. The Bear. 113. The Raccoon. 114. The Badger. 115. The Beaver. 116. The Otter. 117. The Mink. 118. The Marten. 119. The Skunk. 120. The Wolverine. 121. The Opossum. 122. The Squirrel. 123. The Moose. 124. Initial to Book VII. 125. Portable Drinking Cup. 126. The Home Shanty. 127. The Shelter tent. 128. The Trapper's Bed. 129. End Piece. 130. Initial to Book VIII. 131. Head Net. 132. Portable Hat-brim. 133. Hat-brim with netting attachment. 134. The Dug-out or Log Canoe. 135. The Birch-Bark Canoe. 136. A Light Home-made Boat. 137. Diagram view of Boat----. 138. The Snow Shoe. 139. The Toboggan or Indian Sledge. 140. The Board Stretcher. 141. The Wedge Stretcher. 142. The Bow Stretcher. 143. "The End". [Illustration] [Page 15] [Illustration: TRAPS FOR LARGE GAME] [Page 17] BOOK I. TRAPS FOR LARGE GAME. [Illustration: H]owever free our forests may be from the lurking dangers of a tropical jungle, they nevertheless shelter a few large and formidable beasts which are legitimate and deserving subjects of the Trapper's Art. Chief among them are the Puma, or Cougar, Bear, Lynx, Wolf and Wolverine. Although commonly taken in steel traps, as described respectively in a later portion of this work, these animals are nevertheless often captured by Deadfalls and other devices, which are well known to the professional Trapper, and which serve excellently in cases of emergency, or in the scarcity of steel traps. [Illustration] THE DEAD-FALL. There are several varieties of this trap, some of which are described in other parts of this volume. In general construction they all bear a similarity, the methods of setting being slightly changed to suit the various game desired for capture. For large animals, and particularly the Bear, the trap is sprung by the pressure of the animal's foot, while reaching for the bait. Select some favorite haunt of the Bear, and proceed to construct a pen of large stakes. These should consist of young trees, or straight branches, about three inches in diameter, and should be of such a length as to reach a height of four or five feet when set in the ground, this being the required height of the pen. Its width should be about two and a half or three feet; its depth, four feet; and the top should be roofed over with cross pieces of timber, to prevent the [Page 18] bait from being taken from above. A straight log, about eight inches in diameter, and six feet in length should now be rolled against the opening of the pen, and hemmed in by two upright posts, one on each side, directly on a line with the sides of the enclosure. Another log, or tree trunk, of the same diameter, and about fifteen or twenty feet in length, should next be procured. Having this in readiness, we will now proceed to the construction of the other pieces. In order to understand the arrangement of these, we present a separate drawing of the parts as they appear when the trap is set (_a_). An upright post, is supplied at the upper end with a notch, having its flat face on the lower side. This post should be driven into the ground in the left hand back corner of the pen, and should be three feet or more in height. Another post (_b_) of similar dimensions, is provided with a notch at its upper end, the notch being reversed, _i. e._, having its flat side _uppermost_. This post should be set in the ground, _outside_ of the pen, on the right hand side and on a line with the first. A third post (_c_), is provided with a crotch on its upper end. This should be planted outside of the pen on the right hand side, and on a line with the front. The treadle piece consists of a forked branch, about three feet [Page 19] in length, supplied with a square board secured across its ends. At the junction of the forks, an augur hole is bored, into which a stiff stick about three feet in length is inserted. This is shown at (_h_). Two poles, (_d_) and (_e_), should next be procured, each about four feet in length. These complete the number of pieces, and the trap may then be set. Pass the pole (_d_) between the stakes of the pen, laying one end in the notch in the post (_a_), and holding the other beneath the notch in the upright (_b_). The second pole (_e_) should then be adjusted, one end being placed in the crotch post (_c_), and the other caught beneath the projecting end of the pole (_d_), as is fully illustrated in the engraving. The dead-log should then be rested on the front extremity of the pole last adjusted, thus effecting an equilibrium. [Illustration] The treadle-piece should now be placed in position over a short stick of wood (_f_), with its platform raised in front, and the upright stick at the back secured beneath the edge of the latch pole (_d_). The best bait consists of _honey_, for which Bears have a remarkable fondness. It may be placed on the ground at the back part of the enclosure, or smeared on a piece of meat hung at the end of the pen. The dead-log should now be weighted by resting heavy timbers against its elevated end, as seen in the main drawing, after which the machine is ready for its deadly work. A Bear will never hesitate to risk his life where a feast of honey is in view, and the odd arrangement of timbers has no fears for him after that tempting bait has once been discovered. Passing beneath the suspended log, his heavy paw encounters the broad board on the treadle-piece, which immediately sinks with his weight. The upright pole at the back of the treadle is thus raised, forcing the latch-piece from the notch: this in turn sets free the side pole, and the heavy log is released falling with a crushing weight over the back of hapless Bruin. There are many other methods of setting the Dead-fall, several of which appear in another section of this book. The above is the one more commonly used for the capture of Bears, but the others are [Page 20] equally applicable and effective when enlarged to the proper size. In South America and other countries, where Lions, Tigers, Leopards, and Jaguars abound, these and other rude extempore traps are almost the only ones used, and are always very successful. The pit-fall often allures the Bengal Tiger to his destruction, and the Leopard often terminates his career at the muzzle of a rifle baited as seen in our page illustration. A gun thus arranged forms a most sure and deadly trap, and one which may be easily extemporized at a few moments' warning, in cases of emergency. The Puma of our northern forests, although by no means so terrible a foe as the Leopard, is still a blood-thirsty creature, and while he shuns the gaze of man with the utmost fear, he is nevertheless constantly on the alert to spring upon him unawares, either in an unguarded moment or during sleep. A hungry Puma, who excites suspicion by his stealthy prowling and ominous growl, may easily be led to his destruction at the muzzle of a gun, baited as we shall now describe. THE GUN TRAP. After a Puma has succeeded in capturing his prey, and has satisfied his appetite by devouring a portion of its carcass, he leaves the remainder for a second meal, and his early return to a second banquet is almost a matter of certainty. Where such a remnant of a bygone feast is found, the capture of the Cougar is an easy matter. Any carcass left in a neighborhood where Pumas are known to exist is sure to attract them, and day after day its bulk will be found to decrease until the bones only remain. By thus "baiting" a certain place and drawing the Pumas thither, the way is paved for their most certain destruction. The gun-trap is very simply constructed, and may be put in working order in a very few moments. The weapon may be a rifle or shot-gun. In the latter case it should be heavily loaded with buck-shot. The stock should be first firmly tied to some tree, or secured in a stout crotch driven into the ground, the barrel being similarly supported. The gun should be about three feet from the ground, and should be aimed at some near tree to avoid possible accident to a chance passer-by within its range. The gun should then be cocked, _but not capped_, due caution being always used, and the cap adjusted the very last thing after the trap is baited and set. Where a rifle [Page 21] is used, the cartridge should not be inserted until the last thing. It is next necessary to cut a small sapling about a foot or two in length. Its diameter should allow it to fit snugly inside the guard in front of the trigger, without springing the hammer. Its other end should now be supported by a very slight crotch, as shown in our illustration. Another sapling should next be procured, its length being sufficient to reach from the muzzle of the gun to the end of the first stick, and having a branch stub or hook on one end. The other extremity should be attached by a string to the tip of the first slick. [Illustration] Now take a portion of the carcass and draw it firmly over the hook in the long stick. Prop the latter in such a position as that the bait shall hang directly in front of the muzzle. The crotch supporting the bait stick should be firmly implanted in the ground in order to hold the bait from being drawn to either side of the muzzle. The gun-trap is now set, and its merits may be tested. Before adjusting the cap the pieces should be tried several times to insure their perfect working. A slight pull on the bait from the front will draw the short stick forward. This immediately [Page 22] acts on the trigger and causes the hammer to snap. By a few trials, the sticks can be arranged so as to spring the trigger easily, and where a hair trigger is used, a mere touch on the bait will suffice to discharge the gun. When all is found to work perfectly, the trap should be surrounded by a rude pen of sticks and branches, extending two or three feet beyond the muzzle, in order to insure an approach directly in the aim of the gun. The cap should now be placed on the nipple, after which the deadly device may be left to do its certain work. The remaining portion of the carcass should be removed, and where the locality is likely to be frequented by other hunters or trappers, it is well to put up a "danger" signal to guard against accident. If desired two or three guns may be arranged like the spokes of a wheel, all aiming near the bait. Even with one gun the victim stands but little chance, but where two or three pour their contents into his body, his death is an absolute certainty. By fastening the gun three feet above ground the load is discharged upward into the mouth of its victim, and thus directly through the brain. Where two or more guns are used, it is advisable to aim at least one in such a direction as will send its charge into the _breast_ of the animal. The Indian Panther is very commonly taken by the gun trap, and even Lions are sometimes secured by the same device, only increased in power by a larger number of guns. There are several other methods of setting the gun trap. One way consists in attaching a string to the finger piece of the trigger, passing it back through a small staple or screw eye inserted in the under side of the stock for that purpose, and then drawing the string forward and attaching it to the top of the bait stick. This latter is stuck in the ground directly in front of the muzzle and the bait secured to its extremity. When the tempting morsel is grasped, the bait stick is drawn forward and the string pulled, the result of course being the discharge of the gun. By still another method, an elastic is passed through the screw eye in the stock and over the finger piece of the trigger, thus tending continually to draw it back and spring the hammer. To set the gun a short stick is inserted behind the finger piece, thus overcoming the power of the elastic. It should be very delicately adjusted, so that a mere touch will dislodge it. Its length should be about six inches, and to its other end the bait stick should be attached and arranged as first described. Although a rather dangerous trap to be set at random it is nevertheless often utilized and has brought many a [Page 23] dreaded marauder to his doom. The bear, lynx, and other large animals are sometimes taken by the gun trap, but it is most generally set for the Puma. THE BOW TRAP. This device does duty in India and Southern Asia, where it is known as the _tiger trap_. [Illustration] It is easily constructed as follows: First cut a stout board five inches in width, two and a half feet in length and about two inches in thickness. Shave off one end to a point so that it may be driven into the ground. At the other extremity, in the middle of the board and about two inches from the edge, a hole one half an inch in diameter and three quarters of an inch in height, should be made; two auger holes, one directly above the other with the sides flatly trimmed, will answer perfectly. The arrow should next be constructed. This should be made of seasoned oak or ash, two feet in length, perfectly straight, smooth and round, and one third of an inch in [Page 24] diameter. One end should be notched for the bow string and vaned with thin feathers after the manner of ordinary arrows. The other extremity should be armed with a steel barb sharply pointed, and firmly riveted in place. Any blacksmith can forge such a tip; the shape of which is plainly seen in our engraving. The bow should consist of a piece of stout seasoned hickory, oak or ash four feet long, if such a bow is not at hand, a stout sapling may be used. The bow string may consist of cat-gut, or stout Indian twine. [Illustration] [Illustration] Before setting the trap, it is advisable to attract the game to the spot selected as already alluded to in connection with the gun trap, and particularly so when the Puma is the victim sought. In our illustration we see the trap as it appears when set, and the same precaution of aiming at some tree should be exercised as advise with the gun trap. The bow should first be secured in place directly beneath and one eighth of an inch from the edge of the hole in the board, as seen at (_a_). Two large wire staples may be used for this purpose, being passed over the bow through holes in the board and clinched on the opposite side. The bend of the bow and length of string should now be determined, one end of the latter being attached to the tip of the bow and the other end supplied with a loop. The board should then be driven into the ground to the depth of about eight inches. We will next take up the arrow. Pass the barb through the hole in the board and adjust the notch over the bow-string, draw the arrow back and release the string. If the arrow slide easily and swiftly, through the board, keeping true to its aim, the contrivance is in perfect working order and is ready to be set. This is accomplished by the very simple and ingenious mechanical arrangement, shown at (_b_). On the under side of the arrow just behind the barb, a flat notch one eighth of an inch in depth and two and a half inches in length is cut, with rounded ends, as seen in the illustration. The bait stick should consist of a sapling about three feet in length, the large end being trimmed so [Page 25] as to fit in the hole over the arrow while the notch in the latter rests in the bottom of the aperture as seen in the illustration (_b_). The trap may then be set. Draw back the arrow, until the notch rests in the hole in the board. Insert the bait stick _very lightly_ above the arrow as shown at (_b_), propping it in place at the angle seen in the main drawing. The bait for a puma should consist of a portion of some carcass, or if for other animals, any of the baits given in our section on "trapping" may be used. In order to secure the bait firmly to the bait stick, a small hole and a peg at the side of the baited end will effectually prevent its removal and the trap will thus most surely be sprung. The prop which sustains the bait stick need be only a small crotch inserted a little to one side of the trap. The bow should now be surrounded by a wide pen, allowing room for the spring of the ends. The top of the enclosure should also be guarded by a few sticks or branches laid across. Directly in front of the trap and extending from it, a double row of rough stakes three feet high should be constructed, thus insuring an approach in the direct range of the arrow. Without this precaution the bait might be approached from the side, and the arrow pass beneath the head of the animal, whereas on the other hand it is sure to take effect in the neck or breast of its victim. Of course the success of this trap depends entirely upon the strength of the bow. When a large and powerful one is used its effect is almost surely fatal. Another form of the bow trap, much used in the capture of the tiger, forms the subject of our next illustration: no bait is here used. The trap is set at the side of the beaten path of the tiger and is sprung by the animal pressing against a string in passing. The bow is large and powerful and is secured to two upright posts about eight inches apart. The string is drawn back and a blunt stick is then inserted between the bow string and the inside centre of the bow, thus holding the latter in a bent position. A stout stick, with a flattened end is next inserted between the end of the blunt stick and the inside of the bow, the [Page 26] remaining part of the stick extending downwards, as our illustration shows. To the lower end of this stick a string is attached and carried across the path in the direct range of the arrow, being secured to a stake on the opposite side. The arrow is generally barbed with a steel or flint point, and wound with thread saturated with a deadly poison. This is now rested on the top of the bow between the upright parts, and its notch caught in the bow-string. Everything is then in readiness. The tiger soon steals along his beaten track. He comes nearer and nearer the trap until at last his breast presses the string. Twang, goes the bow and the arrow is imbedded in the flesh of its victim. He writhes for a few moments, until he is released from his torments by the certain death which follows the course of the poison through his veins. [Illustration] The use of the poison is very dangerous: a mere scratch through the skin is likely to prove fatal, and the trapper is thus likely to prove his own victim. Poisoned arrows are little used by trappers; and the bow trap, when properly constructed, is sufficiently effective without the venom. THE DOWN-FALL. This is the famous harpoon trap, so commonly used in Africa for the capture of the hippopotamus. There is no reason why [Page 27] it may not be successfully employed in our own country for taking large game, or modified on a reduced scale for smaller animals. [Illustration] The hippopotamus makes his daily rounds in regular beaten pathways; and the trapper, knowing this peculiarity, turns it to advantage. This is a common habit with many animals; and these "runways" are easily detected by the matted leaves and grass and the broken twigs. Over such a beaten track the harpoon-trap is suspended. The harpoon used by the native African trappers somewhat resembles a double-barbed arrowhead, and has a reflexed prong on the shaft just behind the barbs,--a sort of combination between a spear and a fish-hook. It is a terrible weapon; and, when once launched into the flesh of its victim, its withdrawal is impossible, on account of the reflexed barb. Any sharp steel shaft will answer the purpose of the harpoon; it should be eight or ten inches in length, and filed to a keen point. We will now construct the trap. The first requisite is a straight section of the branch of some tree. This should be about four inches in diameter, and four feet in length. Into one end of this beam the harpoon should be firmly imbedded, allowing the point to project about six inches. This beam should [Page 28] then be weighted with two large stones, attached firmly by a rope, about eighteen inches above the harpoon. At about six inches from the other end of the log a notch should be cut, having its flat side uppermost, as shown plainly in our illustration. The implement is now ready. Select some favorably situated tree, whose branches extend over the pathway chosen for the trap. By the aid of a rope secured to the log, and thrown over the limb, the weighted beam may be drawn up into the tree. While thus held by a person below, the trapper should climb the tree to complete operations. For this purpose, a smaller branch about three feet in length should be cut. One end should be flattened off on both sides, so as to fit in the notch in the beam; and the part which rests on the limb, as seen in the illustration, should also be flattened to prevent turning. A piece of stout Indian twine should next be fastened to the unwhittled end of the stick, which may then be adjusted in the notch of the harpoon beam, as seen in the engraving. The string may then be thrown down, and grasped by the companion below, who holds it firmly, after which the original rope may be removed. It will be noticed that the weight of the harpoon and accompaniments rests on the short arm of the lever which passes over the limb of the tree, and the tension on the string from the long arm is thus very slight. This precaution is necessary for the perfect working of the trap. To complete the contrivance, a small peg with a rounded notch should be cut, and driven into the ground directly plumb beneath the long end of the lever. It should be inserted into the earth only sufficiently to hold the string without pulling out, and the _side_ of the notch should face the path; its height should be about a foot. Into the notch the string should be passed, being afterwards drawn across the path and secured on the opposite side at the same height. The trap is now set; and woe to the unlucky quadruped that dares make too free with that string! A very slight pressure from either side is equally liable to slip the string from the notch, or loosen the peg from the ground; and the result is the same in either case,--down comes the weighted harpoon, carrying death and destruction to its victim. For large animals, this mode of setting will be found to work perfectly. When constructed on a smaller scale, it may be slightly modified. It will be noticed that, when the string is approached from one side, it is merely slipped out of the notch,--a slight pressure being sufficient to dislodge it,--while the pressure [Page 29] from the opposite direction must be strong enough to lift the peg out of the ground bodily. This is easily done when the peg is lightly inserted; but, to _insure_ success, even with _light_ pressure from either side, an additional precaution may be used, if desired. Instead of fastening the end of the string securely to some object on the further side of the path, it is well to provide the end of the cord with a ring or loop, which should be passed over a nail or short peg driven in some tree or branch, or fastened into an upright stake, firmly embedded into the ground. The nail should point in the opposite direction from the notch in the peg, and its angle should incline slightly toward the path. It will thus be seen that an approach from one side forces the string from the notch in the peg, while an opposite pressure slides the ring from the nail. This mode of setting is especially desirable for small animals, on account of its being more sensitive. Such a trap may be successfully used for the puma, bear, and the lynx. When constructed for smaller animals, the harpoon may be dispensed with, a large stone being equally effective in its death-dealing qualities THE BEAR TRAP. This trap is constructed after the idea of the old-fashioned box or rabbit trap, and has been the means of securing many a hungry bear, or even puma, whose voracity has exceeded its cunning. The lynx and wild-cat are also among its occasional victims; and inasmuch as its prisoners are taken alive great sport is often realized before the captive is brought under control. Our illustration gives a very clear idea of the affair. The sides are built of stout young tree-trunks, cut into sections and firmly driven into the ground close together. For a large animal,--a bear, for instance,--the enclosure should be about seven feet deep, two and a half feet wide, and four feet high. The top should be built in with the sides, after the manner of the log cabin, described in page (244.) The two posts at the entrance should be first set up. On the back side of each, near the end, a deep notch should be cut for the reception of the cross piece at the top. This should likewise be notched in a similar manner on both sides of each end, so as to fit singly into the notches in the uprights on the one side, and into the second pair of uprights [Page 30] on the other. These latter should next be inserted firmly into the ground, having been previously notched on both sides of their upper ends, as described for the cross piece. They may either be fixed in place and the cross piece sprung in between them at the top, or the latter may be held in the notches of the first pair, while the second are being inserted. Continue thus until the full length of the sides are reached, when the end may be closed by an upright wall of plain logs, either hammered into the ground, after the manner of the sides, or arranged one above another in notches between the two end uprights. The sliding door is next required. This should be large enough to cover the opening, and should be made of stout board slabs, firmly secured by cross pieces. It should be made to slide smoothly into grooves cut into perpendicular logs situated on each side of the opening, or may be arranged to slip easily between the flattened side of one log on each side and the front of the pen. Either way works well. In the latter an additional upright or short board should be inserted in the ground at the edges of the sliding door, to prevent the latter from being forced to either side by the efforts of the enclosed captive. [Illustration] There are two or three ways of setting the trap, depending upon the desired game. For a bear it is arranged as in our illustration. An upright post, two feet in length, should be cut [Page 31] to an edge at one end, and wedged in between the logs at the top of the trap, near the middle. Across the top of this, a pole seven feet in length, should be rested; one end being attached by a loop, or secured in a notch in the sliding door, and the other supplied with a strong string about four feet in length, with a stick eight inches in length secured to its end. Through the centre log, in the back of the pen, and about two feet from the ground, an auger hole should be made. The bait stick with bait attached should be inserted through this hole from the inside, and the spindle caught on the outside between its projecting end and a nail driven in the adjoining upright. This principle is clearly illustrated on page 105 at (_a_), and, if desired, the method (_b_) may be used also. For a bear, the bait should consist of a piece of meat scented with burnt honey-comb. The odor of honey will tempt a bear into almost any trap, and even into such close quarters as the above he will enter without the slightest suspicion, when a feast of honey is in view. For the cougar, or puma, the best bait is a live lamb or a young pig, encaged in a small pen erected at the end of the trap. A fowl is also excellent. When thus baited, the setting of the trap is varied. The upright post at the top of the trap is inserted nearer the front, and the cross pole is stouter. The auger hole is bored in the top of the trap, through the centre of one of the logs, and about twenty inches from the back end of the trap. The spindle is dispensed with and the end of the string is provided with a large knot, which is lowered through the auger hole, and is prevented from slipping back by the insertion of a stick beneath. This stick should be about three feet in length, and of such a size at the end as will snugly fit into the auger hole. It should be inserted delicately, merely enough to hold the knot from slipping back, and so as to be easily released by a slight movement in any direction. This mode of setting is more fully detailed on page 52. As the puma steals in upon his prey he dislodges the stick, the lid falls, and he finds himself imprisoned with his intended victim. This trap is much used in India and Asia for the capture of the tiger, and the jaguar of South America is frequently entrapped by the same devices. THE PIT-FALL. The tiger is the scourge of India and Southern Asia and some sections of these countries are so terribly infested with [Page 32] the brutes that the inhabitants are kept in a continual state of terror by their depredations. Many methods are adopted by the natives for the destruction of the terrible creatures, some of which have already been described. The pit-fall is still another device by which this lurking marauder is often captured and destroyed. It sometimes consists of a mere pit covered and baited in the haunts of the tiger, or is constructed in a continuous deep ditch surrounding the habitations of the natives, and thus acting as a secure protection. The pit is about twelve feet deep and ten feet in width, and its outside edge is lined with a hedge five or six feet in height. As the fierce brute steals upon his intended prey, he nears the hedge and at one spring its highest branch is cleared. He reaches the earth only to find himself at the bottom of a deep pit, from which there is no hope of escape, and where he speedily becomes the merciless victim of a shower of deadly arrows and bullets. Happily we have no tigers in the United States, but the puma and the lynx are both fit subjects for the pit-fall. These animals cannot be said to exist in such numbers as to become a scourge and a stranger to the inhabitants of any neighborhood, and for this reason the "Moat" arrangement of the pit-fall is not required. The simple pit is often used, and when properly constructed and baited is a very _sure_ trap. The hole should be about twelve feet in depth and eight feet across, widening at the bottom. Its opening should be covered with slicks, earth and leaves, so arranged as to resemble the surroundings as much as possible, but so lightly adjusted as that they will easily give way at a slight pressure. One edge of the opening should now be closely built up with stakes firmly inserted into the ground, and so constructed as to form a small pen in the middle, in which to secure the bait, generally a live turkey, goose, or other fowl. The other three sides should also be hedged in by a single row of upright stakes three or four feet in height, and a few inches apart in order that the hungry puma may whet his appetite by glimpses between them. They should be firmly imbedded in the earth directly at the edge of the pit, and as far as possible trimmed of their branches on the inside. There will thus be a small patch of solid ground for the feet of the fowl, which should be tied by the leg in the enclosure. Our trap is now set, and if there is a puma in the neighborhood he will be sure to pay it a call and probably a _visit_. Spying his game, he uses every effort to reach it through the [Page 33] crevices between the stakes. The cries of the frightened fowl arouse and stimulate his appetite, and at last exasperated by his futile efforts to seize his victim, he springs over the fence of stakes and is lodged in the depths of the pit. The puma is very agile of movement, and unless the pit is at least twelve feet in depth there is danger of his springing out. Any projecting branch on the inside of the stakes affords a grasp for his ready paw, and any such branch, if within the reach of his leap, is sure to effect his escape. For this reason it is advisable to trim smoothly all the projections and leave no stub or knot hole by which he could gain the slightest hold. The construction of a pit-fall is a rather difficult operation on account of the digging which it necessitates. On this account it is not so much used as many other traps which are not only equally effective but much more easily constructed. The following is an example:-- THE LOG COOP TRAP. This is commonly set for bears, although a deer or a puma becomes its frequent tenant. As its name implies it consists of a coop of logs, arranged after the principle of the Coop Trap described on page 67. The logs should be about eight feet in length, notched at the ends as described for the Log Cabin, page (244). Lay two of the logs parallel about seven feet apart. Across their ends in the notches, lay two others and continue building up in "cob-house" fashion until the height of about six feet is reached. The corners may be secured as they are laid by spikes, or they may be united afterward in mass by a rope firmly twisted about them from top to bottom. Logs should now be laid across the top of the coop and firmly secured by the spikes or rope knots. There are several ways of setting the trap. A modification of that described on page 67 works very well, or an arrangement of spindle and bait stick, as in the Box Trap, page 105, may also be employed. In the latter case, the bait stick is either inserted between the logs at the back of the coop, or a hole is bored through one of them for this purpose. For this mode of setting, the coop should be constructed beneath some tree. It is set by means of a rope attached to the upper edge of one of its sides the rope being thrown over a limb of the tree and the loose end brought down and secured to the bait stick by a spindle, as described [Page 34] for the trap on page (195). The limb here acts in place of the tall end piece of the Box Trap, and by raising the coop up to such an angle as that it will be nearly poised, the setting may be made so delicate that a mere touch on the bait stick from the interior will dislodge the pieces and let fall the enclosure. The _simplest_ mode of setting the trap is that embodied in the "snare" method on page (52). The rope is here provided with a knot, which must pass easily between the logs, or through the hole at the back of the coop, the length of rope being so arranged as that the coop shall be sufficiently raised where the knot projects into the interior. The introduction of the bait stick beneath the knot will thus prevent the latter from being drawn back, and thus our trap is set. The bait stick in any case should be about two feet in length; and with this leverage but a slight touch will be required to spring the pieces. In the latter method the limb of the tree is not necessary. A stout crotched stake driven into the ground about twenty feet, at the back of the coop, will answer every purpose, and the coop may be constructed wherever desired. This is a most excellent trap for large animals. It secures the game alive, and is thus often productive of most exciting sport. For the bear, the bait should consist of honey or raw meat. Full directions for baiting all kinds of American game are given under their respective heads in another part of this book. The Coop Trap may be constructed of any dimensions, from the small example on page (67) to the size above described. There are several other inventions commonly used for the capture of large animals in various parts of the globe, which would be of little avail in this country. Such is the African Corrall, or Hopo, by which whole herds of quaggas, elands, and buffalo are often destroyed. The trap consists of two hedges in the form of the letter V, which are very high and thick at the angle. Instead of the hedges being joined at this point, they are made to form a lane about two hundred feet in length, at the extremity of which a giant pit is formed. Trunks of trees are laid across the margins to prevent the animals from escaping. The opening of this pit is then covered with light reeds and small green boughs. The hedges often extend miles in length and are equally as far apart at these extremities. The tribe of hunters make a circle, three or four miles around the country adjacent to the opening, and gradually closing up are almost sure to enclose a large body of game, which, by shouts and skilfully hurled Javelins, they drive into the narrowing [Page 35] walls of the Hopo. The affrighted animals rush headlong to the gate presented at the end of the converging hedges and here plunge pell-mell into the pit, which is soon filled with a living mass. Some escape by running over the others; and the natives, wild with excitement, spear the poor animals with mad delight, while others of the brutes are smothered and crushed by the weight of their dead and dying companions. It is a most cruel and inhuman device, and its effects are sometimes appalling. THE NET TRAP. The lion and tiger are often taken in a net, which is secured to a frame work and suspended over a tempting bait. When the latter is touched the net falls, and the victim becomes entangled in the meshes and is securely caught. So far as we know, this mode of capture is never tried in this country. For the puma, lynx and wild-cat we fancy it might work admirably. The net should be of stout cord, and should be secured to a heavy square frame work, tilted as in the coop trap, already described. There should be plenty of slack in the net, and the looseness should be drawn flat over the framework in folds. The contrivance may be set by a large figure four trap, page (107), or the device described under the coop trap, page (67). The use of bird lime, for the capture of a tiger, certainly seems odd; but it is, nevertheless, a common mode of taking the animal, in the countries where this marauder abounds. The viscid, tenacious preparation known as bird lime is described on page (97) and is familiar to most of our readers. For the capture of birds it is unfailing, when once their delicate plumage comes in contact with it. Its effect on the tiger is surprising, and many a hunter has secured his striped foe by its aid. For this purpose, the cans of the preparation are arranged on elevated boards around a bed of leaves, in which the bait is placed. A small platform is so placed that the tiger shall step upon it in reaching for the bait, which, by the aid of strings, tilts the boards and tips off the cans. The lime spills on its victim and over the bed of leaves, and the tiger, in his endeavors to free himself from the sticky substance only succeeds in spreading it, and as he rolls and tumbles on the ground he soon becomes completely smeared and covered with the dry leaves, from which it is impossible for him to extricate himself. In his frantic rage he writhes upon the ground and becomes an easy [Page 36] prey to the hunter, who is generally on hand for the fray. Steel traps are much used for the capture of large game, and are made in sizes especially adapted for the purpose. These are described under the proper head, in another portion of this work; and the various baits and modes of setting required for the different animals, are clearly set forth under their respective titles of the latter, in the section "Art of Trapping." [Illustration] [Page 37] [Illustration: SNARES OR NOOSE TRAPS] [Page 39] BOOK II. SNARES OR NOOSE TRAPS. [Illustration: T]hese devices, although properly coming under the head of "traps," differ from them in the sense in which they are generally understood. A _snare_ naturally implies an _entanglement_; and for this reason the term is applied to those contrivances which secure their victims by the aid of strings or nooses. Inventions of this kind are among the most useful and successful to the professional Trapper, and their varieties are numerous. The "Twitch-up" will be recognized as a familiar example by many of our country readers, who may have seen it during their rambles, cautiously set in the low underbrush, awaiting its prey, or perhaps holding aloft its misguided victim. Snares are among the most interesting and ingenious of the trap kind, besides being the most sure and efficacious. They possess one advantage over all other traps; they can be made in the woods, and out of the commonest material. Let the young trapper supply himself with a small, sharp hatchet, and a stout, keen edged jack-knife,--these being the only tools required. He should also provide himself with a coil of fine brass "sucker wire," or a quantity of horse-hair nooses (which will be described further on), a small ball of tough twine and a pocket full of bait, such as apples, corn, oats and the like, of course depending upon the game he intends to trap. With these, his requirements are complete, and he has the material for a score of capital snares, which will do him much excellent service if properly constructed. Perhaps the most common of the noose traps is the ordinary QUAIL SNARE, which forms the subject of our first illustration. This consists of a series of nooses fastened to a strong twine or wire. They [Page 40] may be of any number, and should either consist of fine wire, horse-hair, or fine fish-line. If of wire, common brass "sucker wire," to be found in nearly all hardware establishments and country stores, is the best. Each noose should be about four inches in diameter. To make it, a small loop should be twisted on one end of the wire, and the other passed through it, thus making a slipping loop, which will be found to work very easily. Fifteen or twenty of these nooses should be made, after which they should be fastened either to a stout string or wire, at distances of about four inches from each other, as seen in our illustration. Each end of the long string supporting the nooses should then be fastened to a wooden peg. After selecting the ground, the pegs should be driven into the earth, drawing the string tightly, as seen in our illustration. The ground around the nooses should then be sprinkled with corn, oats, and the like, and the trap is set. As a general thing, it is advisable to set it in a neighborhood where quails are known to abound; and as they run all over the ground in search of food, they are sure to come across the bait strewn for them, and equally as certain to be caught and entangled in the nooses. The writer has known as many as six quails to be thus caught at a time, on a string of only twelve nooses. Partridges and woodcock will occasionally be found entangled in the snare, and it will oft-times happen that a rabbit will be secured by the device. [Illustration] HOOP NOOSES. This is a variation from the above, the noose being attached to a barrel hoop and the latter being fastened to two stout posts, which are firmly driven into the ground. By their scattering the bait inside the hoop, and adjusting the loops, the contrivance is complete. This is a very old and approved method. In the initial (T) at the head of this section we give also [Page 41] another suggestion for a noose trap. The cross pieces are tacked to the top of the upright, and a noose suspended from each end,--the bait adjusted as there seen. We have mentioned horse-hair nooses as being desirable, and they are commonly used; but, as it takes considerable time to make them, and the wire answering the purpose fully as well, we rather recommend the wire in preference. We will give a few simple directions, however, for the making of the horse-hair nooses, in case our readers might desire to use them instead. Select long, stout hairs from the tail of any horse, (we would recommend that it be a good tempered horse), take one of the hairs and double it in the middle, hold the double between the thumb and fore-finger of the left hand, letting the two ends hang from the under side of the thumb, and keeping the hairs between the thumb and finger, about a third of an inch apart. Now proceed to twist the two hairs toward the end of the finger, letting them twist together as the loop emerges on the upper side of the thumb. A little practice will overcome what at first seems very difficult. To keep the two hairs between the fingers at the right distance of separation, and at the same time to twist them and draw the loop from between the fingers as they _are_ twisted, seems quite a complicated operation; and so it will be found at first. But when once mastered by practice, the twisting of five nooses a minute will be an easy matter. When the entire length of the hairs are twisted, the ends should be cut off even and then passed through the small loop at the folded end. The noose is then ready to be fastened to the main string of support. Horse-hair nooses are commonly used in nearly all snares as they are always to be had, and possess considerable strength. The fine brass wire is also extensively used, and the writer rather prefers it. It is very strong and slips easily, besides doing away with the trouble of twisting the loops, which to some might be a very difficult and tedious operation. We recommend the wire, and shall allude to it chiefly in the future, although the horse-hair may be substituted whenever desired. [Illustration] There is another modification of the foregoing quail-traps very commonly utilized by professional trappers of many countries. A low hedge is constructed, often hundreds of feet in length small openings are left here and there, in which the nooses are placed, as in the accompanying engraving. The bait is strewn around on both sides of the hedge, and the grouse or other game, on its discovery, are almost sure to become entangled [Page 42] sooner or later. It is a well-known fact about these birds, that they will always seek to pass _under_ an object which comes in their way rather than fly over it; and although the hedge of this trap is only a foot or more in height, the birds will almost invariably run about until they find an opening, in preference to flying over it. It is owing to this peculiarity of habit that they are so easily taken by this method. Our illustration gives only a very short section of hedge; it may be extended to any length. The writer's experience with the hedge nooses has been very satisfactory, although never using a length greater than ten feet. It is well to set the hedge in the locality where quails or partridges are _known_ to run. And in setting, it is always desirable to build the hedge so that it will stretch over some open ground, and connect with two trees or bushes. Cedar boughs are excellent for the purpose, but any close brushwood will answer very well. Strew the ground with corn, oats and the like. A small quantity only is necessary. [Illustration] There is another noose trap commonly used abroad, and very little known here. It is a _tree_ trap, and goes by the name of the "triangle snare." It is not designed for the capture of any _particular_ kind of bird, although it often will secure fine and rare specimens. It consists of a sapling of wood, bent and tied in the form of a triangle, as shown in our illustration. This may be of any size, depending altogether on the bird the young trapper fancies to secure. A noose should be suspended in the triangle from its longest point. This noose should hang as indicated in our illustration, falling low enough to leave a space of an inch or so below it at the bottom of the triangle. The bait, consisting of a piece of an apple, a berry, insect, or piece of [Page 43] meat, according to the wish of the trapper, should then be suspended in the centre of the noose, after which the contrivance should be hung in some tree to await events. As they are so easily made and can be carried with so little trouble, it is an excellent plan to set out with a dozen or so, hanging them all in different parts of the woods; as, under circumstances of so many being set, scarcely a day will pass in which the trapper will not be rewarded by some one of the snares. The writer once knew of a case where a hawk was captured by one of these simple devices. In this case it had been set expressly, and the wire was extra strong. This trap, we believe, is quite common in parts of Germany, but, as far as we know, has not been utilized to any great extent in our country. We recommend it with great confidence. For the capture of woodchucks, muskrats and house-rats, the wire noose may also be adapted to good purpose. Many a woodchuck has been secured by the aid of this simple invention. It is only necessary to arrange the loop in the opening of the burrow, securing the wire to a stout stick, firmly driven into the ground. If properly "set" the animal, on emerging from the burrow, will become entangled, and by his efforts to disengage himself will only tighten the loop and thus render escape impossible. For rats, the noose should be attached to a nail, and the wire similarly arranged over the hole. The slipping-noose thus simply adapted becomes a most effective trap, and is always sure to hold its victim when once within its grasp, as every struggle only tends to draw the noose tighter. They are quick in their action, and produce death without much pain, and for this reason are to be commended. THE "TWITCH-UP." Our next example of the snare, we imagine, is one which all our boy-readers will immediately recognize; for it would certainly seem that any country boy who does not know the "Twitch-up" must be far behind the times, and live in a locality where there are no rabbits, quail, or even boys, besides himself, to suggest it. This snare is a _universal favorite_ among nearly all country boys, and our illustration will immediately bring it to mind. Its name, "The Twitch-up," conveys perfectly its method of working. Our illustration represents the trap as it appears when set. It has many varieties, of which we will select the best. They may be divided into two classes--those with upright nooses, and those in which [Page 44] the noose is spread on the ground, the latter of which are commonly called "ground snares." We will give our attention first to the "upright" style. These are rather entitled to preference on account of the harmless death which they inflict, invariably catching by the neck. Whereas the ground nooses as frequently lift their prey into the air by their feet, and thus prolong their suffering. Twitch-ups are the most successful and sure of any snares, and that, too, without being complicated. The writer, in his younger days, was quite an expert in trapping, and he can truthfully say that he found more enjoyment and had better success with these than with any other kinds of traps he employed. [Illustration] They are generally set in thickets or woods where either rabbits or partridges are known to abound. Having arrived at his chosen trapping ground, the young trapper should first select some slender, elastic sapling; that of the hickory is the best, and is generally to be found in open woods--if not, some other kind will answer very well. It should be about five or six feet in length, (trimmed of its branches,) and in diameter need be no larger than an axe-handle or a broom-stick. When this is decided, some spot about five feet distant from the sapling should then be selected. The hatchet and knife will now come into excellent use, in cutting the sticks for the little inclosure shown [Page 45] in our drawing. This should be about eight or ten inches in diameter, and of about the same height. The sticks should be driven into the ground in a circle, leaving an open space of about six inches on one side. A stout switch as large as a man's little finger, and nearly two feet long, should then be cut and nicely sharpened at both ends. This should then be driven into the ground in the form of an arch, at the opening of the inclosure. We will now ask our readers to turn their attention to the next illustration, in order to understand what is to follow. This picture shows the method of setting the trap. [Illustration] After the arch is firmly fixed in its place, a short piece of stick should be cut, of a length corresponding to the height of the arch. To the middle of this stick the bait should be attached, being either tied to it or stuck on a plug driven into the stick, the latter being sharpened on one end. Next proceed to cut another stick, of about six inches in length; let this be flattened on one end. The wire noose should then be fastened to the opposite end. The noose in this case should be large enough to fill the opening of the arch. We will now go back to the sapling again. It should be bent down slightly, and a piece of the strong twine should be tied to its tip. Taking hold of the string, proceed to bend down the end of the sapling, in the direction of the inclosure, until it draws with a force strong enough to lift a rabbit if he were tied to the end of it. Thus holding it down with the string against the front of the inclosure, cut off the twine at the place where it crosses the top of the arch, as this will be the required length. It is now necessary to tie the end of this string to the same piece of wood and at the same place to which the noose was tied. When this is done the trap may be set as shown in the cut. The spring sapling should be bent as seen in the first illustration. The piece of wood holding the noose should be passed beneath the top of the arch, as far as it will go, with its long end pointing inside the inclosure. By now supporting the inside end with the bait stick, and carefully adjusting the noose so as to completely fill the arch, the trap will be set. [Page 46] In order to reach the bait, the rabbit or bird _must_ necessarily pass its head through the noose, after which, if the bait be scarcely _touched_, the animal's doom is sealed, and he is lifted into the air, generally suffering almost instant death. It is well known that in the case of a rabbit the neck is broken by a very slight blow, a strong snap of the finger being often sufficient. It is therefore safe to conclude that when thus suddenly caught and lifted by the noose, death must occur almost instantaneously from the same cause. It is not really necessary for success that the force of the sapling should be strong enough to lift the rabbit from the ground, as a mere strong tightening of the noose would be sufficient to cause strangulation and death. But we recommend the former method as being less painful and more rapid in its effects. If the young trapper should experience any difficulty in finding saplings of the right size, in the locality where he desires to set his traps, the difficulty may be easily mended by cutting the poles elsewhere, and carrying them to his trapping-ground, this answering the purpose equally well. They should be sharpened nicely on the large end, and firmly stuck into ground. The "Twitch-up" may be used for the capture of all varieties of game, and when set with the noose in the opening of a hollow tree, a stray coon will occasionally be entrapped. The next figure represents another method of constructing this trap, The picture explains itself. Instead of the arch, two notched sticks are driven into the ground, one on each side of the opening of the pen, The other piece should be of the shape shown in the figure, made either in one piece or in two pieces fastened together. They may all be constructed from twigs in the woods. Let the noose and draw-string now be fastened to the middle of the cross piece, and when set it will appear as in our figure. It will easily be seen that a slight pull on the bait will turn the cross piece from beneath the notches, and allow it to fly into the air. [Illustration: Method No. 2] In our next instance the same principle is employed. The [Page 47] notched pegs are here driven in the back part of the pen, about five inches apart, with their notches towards the front. A forked bait stick of the shape shown is then procured. The draw-string should be attached near the end furthest from the fork. By now inserting the ends lightly beneath the notches in the pegs, at the same time letting the bait incline near the ground, the trap will be set on a very slight lift, as the bait will dislodge the pieces. Of course the noose must be arranged in the opening of the pen, as in the previous varieties. The bait stick in both cases should be set cautiously beneath the notches, as shown at (_a_), so that the slightest turn will cause it to roll out of position. [Illustration: Method No. 3] A fourth method of snaring is shown in our next figure. In this instance the original arch is used, or else some circular opening constructed in the front of the pen. Inside, at the back part of the inclosure, a smaller arch is placed. Two sticks are then to be made similar to those mentioned in our first example of the "Twitch-up." Let the draw-string be tied to the end of one of these sticks; after which it should be passed under the inside arch, being brought out in front of it, and there supported by the bait-stick, as seen in our illustration. The noose should then be attached to the draw-string above the pen, and afterward brought down and arranged in front of the opening. The trap is then set, and will be found on trial to work admirably. [Illustration: Method No. 4] One of the simplest as well as _surest_ of "Twitch-up" traps forms the subject of our next illustration. Like the foregoing varieties it is of course to be surrounded by its pen, and supplied with a circular opening or arch at one side, in which to hang the noose. It is constructed of three twigs. A simple crotch (_a_) should be firmly inserted in the ground at [Page 48] the back part of the pen; (_b_) the bait stick, consists of a straight twig, five or six inches in length, and should be attached to the draw-string at about half an inch from the large end; (_c_) is another forked stick with unequal arms, the long one being driven into the ground near the opening of the pen and a little to one side, letting the remaining arm point directly towards the crotch-stick at the back of the pen. The noose having been attached to the draw-string, the trap may now be set. Lower the bait stick and pass the large end under the crotch at the back of the pen, catching the baited end underneath the tip of the forked stick near the pen's opening. Arrange the noose in front of the entrance, and the thing is done. A mere touch on the bait will suffice to throw the pieces asunder. It is an excellent plan to sharpen the point of the forked stick (_c_) where it comes in contact with the bait stick, in order to make the bearing more slight, and consequently more easily thrown from its balance. [Illustration: Method No. 5] THE POACHER'S' SNARE. Our next example represents one of the oldest and best snares in existence,--simple in construction, and almost infallible in its operations. It is the one in most common use among the poachers of England, hence its name. The pieces are three in number, and may be cut from pine wood, affording easy and profitable employment for the jack-knife during odd hours and rainy days, when time hangs heavily. The pieces are so simple in form and easy of construction that a sufficient number for fifty traps might be whittled in less than two hours, by any smart boy, who is at all "handy" with his jack-knife. If a few good broad shingles can be found, the work is even much easier,--mere splitting and notching being then all that is necessary. The bait stick should be about eight inches long, pointed at one end, and supplied with a notch in the other at about half an inch [Page 49] from the tip. The upright stick should be considerably shorter than the bait stick, and have a length of about ten inches, one end being nicely pointed, and the broad side of the other extremity supplied with a notch similar to the bait stick. About four inches from the blunt end, and on the narrow side of the stick, a square notch should be cut, sufficiently large to admit the bait stick loosely. The catch piece now remains. This should be about two and a-half inches in width, and bevelled off at each end into a flat edge. The shapes of the different pieces, together with their setting, will be readily understood by a look at our illustration. [Illustration] A hundred of these pieces will make a small bundle, and may be easily carried by the young trapper, together with his other necessaries, as he starts off into the woods. He will thus be supplied with parts for thirty-three traps, all ready to be set, only requiring the stakes for the pens, which may be easily cut in the woods. Having selected a flexible sapling about five feet in length, and having stripped it of its branches, proceed to adjust the pieces. Take one of the upright sticks, and insert it firmly in the ground, with its upper notch facing the sapling, and at about four feet distant from it. Bend down the "springer," and by its force determine the required length for the draw-string attaching one end to the tip of the sapling, and the other near the end of a catch piece, the latter having its bevelled side uppermost. The wire noose should then be attached to the draw-string about six inches above the catch-piece. The pen should now be constructed as previously directed. Its entrance should be on the side _furthest_ from the springer, and should be so built as that the peg in the ground shall be at the back part of the enclosure. The pen being finished, the trap may be set. Insert the bait stick with bait attached into the square notch in the side of the upright peg; or, if desired, it may be adjusted by a pivot or nail through both sticks, as seen in our illustration, always letting the baited end project toward the [Page 50] opening. Draw down the catch piece, and fit its ends into the notches in the back of the upright peg and extremity of the bait-stick. By now pulling the latter slightly, and gently withdrawing the hand, the pieces will hold themselves together, only awaiting a lift at the bait to dislodge them. Adjust the wire loop at the opening of the pen, and you may leave the trap with the utmost confidence in its ability to take care of itself, and any unlucky intruder who tries to steal its property. Most of the snares which we shall describe are constructed from rough twigs, as these are always to be found in the woods, and with a little practice are easily cut and shaped into the desired forms. If desired, however, many of them may be whittled from pine wood like the foregoing, and the pieces carried in a bundle, ready for immediate use. In either case, whether made from the rough twigs or seasoned wood, it is a good plan to have them already prepared, and thus save time at the trapping ground when time is more valuable. THE PORTABLE SNARE. This is simply a modification of the snare just described, but possesses decided advantages over it in many respects. In the first place, it requires little or no protection in the shape of an enclosure. It can be set in trees or in swamps, or in short in _any_ place where an upright elastic branch can be found or adjusted. Like the foregoing, it is to be commended for its portability, fifty or sixty of the pieces making but a small parcel, and furnishing material for a score of traps. We call it the "portable snare" partly in order to distinguish it from the one just described, but chiefly because this particular variety is generally called by that name in countries where it is most used. It is composed of three pieces, all to be cut from a shingle or thin board. Let the first be about eight inches long, and three-quarters of an inch in width. This is for the upright. An oblong mortise should be cut through this piece, one inch in length, and beginning at about an inch from the end of the stick. Three inches from the other end, and on one of the broad sides of the stick, a notch should be made, corresponding in shape to that shown in our illustration. The bait stick should be four or five inches long, one end fitting easily into the mortise, where it should be secured [Page 51] by a wire or smooth nail driven through so as to form a hinge, on which it will work easily. On the upper side of this stick, and two inches distant from the pivot, a notch should be cut, similar to that in the upright. The catch piece should be about two inches in length, and bevelled off to a fiat edge at each end. This completes the pieces. [Illustration] To set the trap, it is only necessary to find some stout sapling, after which the upright stick may be attached to it close to the ground, by the aid of two pieces of stout iron wire, twisted firmly around both. It is well to cut slight grooves at each end of the upright for the reception of the wires, in order to prevent slipping. Tie a strong piece of twine around one [Page 52] end of the catch piece, knotting it on the beveled side. Cut the string about two feet in length, and attach the other end to the tip of the sapling. Adjust the bait stick on its pivot. By now lowering the catch piece, and lodging the knotted end beneath the notch in the upright and the other end in the notch on the bait stick, the pieces will appear as in our drawing. Care should be taken to set the catch pieces as slightly as possible in the notches, in order to insure sensitiveness. At about four inches from the catch piece, the wire noose should be attached and arranged in a circle directly around the bait. By now backing up the trap with a few sticks to prevent the bait from being approached from behind, the thing is complete, and woe to the misguided creature that dares to test its efficacy. By adjusting the drawstring so far as the upper end of the catch piece, the leverage on the bait stick is so slight as to require a mere touch to overcome it; and we may safely say that, when this trap is once baited, it will stay baited, so far as animal intruders are concerned, as we never yet have seen a rabbit or bird skilful enough to remove the tempting morsel before being summarily dealt with by the noose on guard duty. For portability, however, the following has no equal. THE "SIMPLEST" SNARE. This is one of the most ingenious and effective devices used in the art of trapping; and the principle is so simple and universal in its application to traps in general as to become a matter of great value to all who are at all interested in the subject. There is scarcely a trap of any kind which could not be set with the knotted string and bait stick, at the expense of a little thought and ingenuity. The principle is easily understood by a look at our engraving, which probably represents the _simplest_ twitch-up it is possible to construct. A stout wooden peg, having a hole the size of a lead pencil near the top, is driven firmly into the [Page 53] ground. The "knot" is made on the end of the draw-string, and passed through the hole in the peg from behind, being secured in place by the insertion of the bait stick in front. The latter should be about four inches long, and should be inserted very lightly,--merely enough to prevent the knot from slipping back. The noose should be fastened to the draw-string six or seven inches from the knot, and arranged in front of the bait at the opening of the pen, which should be constructed as previously directed. The peg should be about six inches long and the hole should be made with a 1-3 inch auger. Dozens of these pegs may be carried without inconvenience, and utilized in the same number of snares, in a very short time. We have already described the so-called "portable snare;" but, for portability, there is no noose-trap to be compared with the above. We give also a few other applications of the same principle. [Illustration: Method No. 1] In the second example, a horizontal stick is used instead of the peg, the hole being made in its centre. Its ends are caught in notches in opposite sticks at the back part of the pen, and the noose arranged at the opening. [Illustration: Method No. 2] Again, by a third method (see engraving next page), these notched sticks may be driven into the ground first, and a row of twigs continued on them on both sides, thus leaving a passageway between as represented in the illustration. A noose may then be set at each opening, with the bait in the middle; so that, at whichever side it is approached, the result is the same, besides affording a chance of securing two birds at the same time. THE QUAIL SNARE. That quails are sociable in their habits, and that they run together in broods in search of their food, is a fact well known [Page 54] to all sportsmen. A most excellent opportunity is thus afforded the hunter to secure several at one shot, and the same advantage may be gained by the trapper by specially arranging for it. For this purpose there is no invention more desirable or effective than the snare we next illustrate; and on account of the companionable habits of the quail, it is just as sure to catch six birds as one. The principle on which the trap works, is the same as in the three foregoing. [Illustration: Method No. 3] Two notched pegs are first driven into the ground, about four inches apart, and the flat stick with the hole in the centre caught beneath these summits, as just described. It should be firmly secured; several nooses are next to be attached to the drawstring, and the trap set as already directed. [Illustration] The best bait consists of a "nub" of pop-corn, firmly impaled on the spindle, together with a few loose grains scattered on the ground right beneath it. The nooses should be arranged around the bait so as to touch or overlap each other, and the bait stick introduced into the hole a little more firmly than when set with one noose. The quail on reaching the trap all rush for the corn on the ground, and thus fill nearly if not all the nooses. When the supply here is exhausted, then united attacks are directed towards the "nub" on the bait stick, which soon becomes loosened: the knot is thus released and each noose will probably launch a victim in mid-air. This invention is original with the author of this work, so far as he knows; and it will be found the simplest as well as most effective quail snare in existence. Pop-corn is mentioned as bait partly on account of its being a favorite food with the quail; but particularly because the _pecking_ which it necessitates [Page 55] in order to remove the grains from the cob, is sure to spring the trap. If pop corn cannot be had, common Indian corn will answer very well. Oats or buckwheat may also be used, as the ground bait, if desired. THE BOX SNARE. This is a most unique device, and will well repay anyone who may desire to test its merits. It may be set for rabbits, coon, or feathered game, of course varying the size of the box accordingly. For ordinary purposes, it should be seven or eight inches square, leaving one end open. Place it in the position shown in the illustration and proceed to bore an auger hole in the top board, one and a half inches from the back edge. [Illustration] This is for the reception of the bait stick. Directly opposite to this and an inch from the front edge of the board a notched peg should be inserted. A gimlet hole should now be bored on a line between the auger hole and notched peg, and half an inch from the latter. A small stout screw eye should next be inserted at the rear edge of the board, and another one fastened to the back board, two inches from the bottom. With these simple preparations the box is complete. The bait stick should be about five or six inches long and supplied with a notch at the upper end. It should be of such a size as to pass easily into the auger hole, and provided with a peg inserted through it at about an inch and a half from the notched end, as shown in our illustration at (_a_). The object of this peg is to prevent the bait stick from being drawn entirely [Page 56] through the hole by the force of the pull from above. The catch piece should be only long enough to secure its ends beneath the notches in the peg at the top of the box and the projecting bait stick. It should be bevelled off at the tips as in the instances previously described, and attached to a piece of sucker wire, the point of attachment being at about an inch from the end of the stick. The wire should be about two and a half feet in length, the catch piece being fastened at about six inches from one end. To set this neat little invention it is first necessary to procure a strong and elastic switch about four feet in length, sharpen it slightly at the large end and insert it firmly in the screw eye at the back of the box, securing it in place at the top by strings through the screw eye at that place. By now attaching the short end of the wire to the tip of the sapling, inserting the bait stick from the inside of the box, and securing the catch piece in the notches, the other pieces will be in equilibrium, and the only remaining thing to be done is to pass the long end of the wire through the gimlet hole, and form it into a slipping noose which shall completely fill the opening of the box. In order to reach the bait the animal must pass his head through the noose, and it can be easily seen that the slightest pull on that tempting morsel will release the catch piece and tighten the wire around the neck of the intruder. Where the trap is small and the captured animal is large, it will sometimes happen that the box will be carried a distance of several feet before overpowering its victim; but it is sure to do it in the end if the spring powers of the sapling are strong and it is firmly secured to the box. If desired, the box may be tied to a neighboring stone or tree to prevent any such capers; but it will generally be found unnecessary, and a few minutes' search will always reveal it with its unlucky captive. We have described the box with its spring attached; but this is not a requisite, as it may be used with growing sapling when required. The same trap may be constructed of a pasteboard box and whalebone, for the capture of small birds, and used with good success. The size we have mentioned is adaptable for rabbits and animals of the same size, but is really larger than necessary for feathered game. THE DOUBLE BOX SNARE. This is another embodiment of the same principle which has already been described, viz.--the knotted string. By many it [Page 57] is considered an improvement on the box snare just mentioned, owing to the possibility of its taking two victims at the same time. It may be set for rabbits, mink, or muskrat, and will be found very efficient. [Illustration] It consists of a box about eight inches square, one foot in length, and open at both ends. In the centre of the top board a hole of the diameter of a lead pencil should be bored, and a smaller aperture also made in the middle of each end near the edge as seen in the accompanying engraving. The spring is next required. This should consist of an elastic switch or small pole, three or more feet in length. It should be inserted in a slanting auger hole, made through the middle of one of the side boards near the bottom at the angle shown at (_a_). Should the switch fit loosely it may be easily tightened by a small wedge driven in beside it. The bait stick (_b_) should be about four inches in length, and large enough to fit easily into the hole in the centre of the top board. Next procure a stout bit of cord about eight inches in length. Tie one [Page 58] end to the tip of the switch and provide the other with a large double knot. A second knot should then be made, about an inch and a half above the first. A piece of sucker wire is the next necessity. Its length should be about five feet, and its centre should be tied over the uppermost knot in the string. If the bait is now in readiness, the trap may be set. Bend down the switch until the end knot will pass through the hole in the centre of the board. When it appears in the inside of the box, it should then be secured by the insertion of the top of the bait stick, as shown at (_b_). This insertion need be only very slight, a sixteenth of an inch being all that is sufficient to prevent the knot from slipping back. The spring is thus held in the position seen in the drawing, and the loose ends of the sucker wire should then be passed downward through the small holes and arranged in nooses at both openings of the box. Our trap is now set, and the unlucky creature which attempts to move that bait from either approach, will bring its career to an untimely end. The bait stick may be so delicately adjusted as to need only the slightest touch to dislodge it. Such a fine setting is to be guarded against, however, being as likely to be sprung by a mouse as by a larger animal. The setting is easily regulated, being entirely dependent upon the slight or firm insertion of the bait stick. Among all the "modi operandi" in the construction of traps, there is scarcely one more simple than the principle embodied in this variety, and there is none more effective. The box snare already described may be set by the same method, and indeed the principle may be applied to almost any trap, from the simplest snare described on page (52) to the largest dead-fall. * * * * * GROUND SNARES. THE OLD-FASHIONED SPRINGLE. [Illustration] This is the variety of snare which has been in very common use for ages, and has always been the one solitary example of a noose trap which our "boys' books" have invariably pounced upon for illustration. For the capture of small birds it works very nicely; and as without it our list of traps would be incomplete, we will give an illustration of it as it appears when [Page 59] set and ready for its work. In constructing the affair it is first necessary to cut a flexible twig of willow or bramble about eighteen inches in length, and form it into a loop as seen at (_a_), securing the tips by a few circuits of string, and allowing the larger end to project an inch or more beyond the other. This loop, which is called the "spreader," should now be laid down flat; and on the upper side of the large end and about an inch from its tip, a notch should be cut as our illustration shows. The spring should next be procured, and should consist of a pliant, elastic switch, about four feet in length. A piece of fish line about two feet long, should now be fastened to the tip of the switch, and the loose end of the cord attached to a catch piece of the shape shown at (_b_). This catch may be about an inch and a half long, and should be whittled off to an edge on one end, the string being attached at about its centre. A slipping noose, made from strong horse hair, or piece of fine wire about two feet long, should now be fastened to the string about two inches above the catch. Having the switch thus prepared, it is ready to be inserted in the ground at the place selected for the trap. When this is done, another small flexible twig about a foot in length should cut, and being sharpened at both ends, should be inserted in the ground in the form of an arch (_c_), at about three feet distant from the spring, and having its broad side toward it. Insert the notch of the spreader exactly under the top of the arc, and note the spot where the curved end of the former touches the ground. At this point a peg (_d_) should be driven leaving a projecting portion of about two inches. The [Page 60] pieces are now ready to be adjusted. Pass the curved end of the spreader over the peg, bringing the notched end beneath the arc with the notch uppermost. Draw down the catch piece, and pass it beneath the arc from the opposite side letting the bevelled end catch in the notch in the spreader, the other end resting against the upper part of the arc. Arrange the slipping noose over the spreader as our drawing indicates, bringing it _inside_ the peg, as there shown, as otherwise it would catch upon it when the snare is sprung. Strew the bait, consisting of berries, bird-seed, or the like, _inside_ the spreader, and all is ready. Presently a little bird is seen to settle on the ground in the neighborhood of the trap; he spies the bait and hopping towards it, gradually makes bold enough to alight upon the spreader, which by his weight immediately falls, the catch is released, the switch flies up, and the unlucky bird dangles in the air by the legs. If the trapper is near he can easily release the struggling creature before it is at all injured, otherwise it will flutter itself into a speedy death. THE IMPROVED SPRINGLE. [Illustration] The accompanying cut illustrates an improvement on the last mentioned trap, whereby it can be used for the capture of larger game, and with most excellent success. In place of the "spreader" a crotched stick is used, the crotch of which catches around the peg, the other end being supplied with a notch as in the case of the spreader. On the upper side of this stick a small pasteboard platform is tacked, over which and beneath which the bait is thrown. Instead of the arc, a stout crotch stick is substituted. The noose should be at least ten inches in diameter and constructed of sucker wire. It should be arranged on the ground around the bait and inside of the peg. When the snare is set, the crotched end of the bait stick will thus rest near the earth, the notched end only being lifted in order to reach the catch piece. It is well to insert a few small sticks inside the edge of the noose in order to keep it in correct position. If properly set, the quail or partridge [Page 61] in approaching the trap will have to step _inside_ the noose in order to reach the bait, and while thus regaling itself with a choice meal of oats, berries, or other delicacies, will be sure to press upon the bait stick either by pecking, or treading upon it, and will thus set the catch piece free, only to find itself secured by a grasp from which he will never escape alive. This is a very effectual snare; but on account of its securing its victim by the legs and thus torturing them to death, it is to be deprecated. We would recommend in preference, those varieties already described as being fully as successful, and far less cruel. They effect almost instant death, either by broken necks or strangulation, and are in this regard among the most humane traps on record. THE FIGURE FOUR GROUND SNARE. [Illustration] For simplicity in construction there are few snare traps which can compare with this variety, although it is somewhat similar to those last mentioned, and like them, catches by the feet. The trap consists of three pieces. A catch piece about three inches long, a bait stick of about six inches, and a stout crotch of the proportionate size shown in our illustration, a glance at which will make the setting too clear to need description. Be careful that the bait stick is set _fine_ and rests _just beneath_ the _tip_ of the catch-piece so that a mere touch on the bait will release it. Arrange the noose as in the instance last described, and bait either as therein directed or with an apple or nubbin of corn, as our accompanying cut indicates. Always remembering that the noose should be sufficiently large to require the birds to step _inside_ of it in order to reach the bait. THE PLATFORM SNARE. [Illustration] This odd invention will be found to work capitally as a game trap, and the only extra requisite necessary consists of a slab or light board about seven inches wide, and a foot in length. Having selected the spot for the trap, proceed to cut a stiff [Page 62] switch about five feet in length, and having sharpened the larger end to a nice point, insert it firmly into the ground in a slanting direction as our drawing illustrates. Next bend down the tip of the sapling, and resting one end of the board on the ground, catch the tip of the switch against the other end, as our illustration also shows. A little experimenting will soon determine the right place for the board, after which two pegs should be driven in the ground at its edge to hold it against the pressure on the opposite end. This being done fasten a wire noose to the tip of the switch, after which the pen is the only thing required. This should be built of simple little twigs arranged around three sides of the board, leaving the front end open. To set the snare, lower the switch and raising the board slightly at the back end, catch the tip of the springer behind it, afterwards arranging the noose over the platform, and scattering the bait inside. If the trap has been constructed properly and set "fine" it will take but a very slight weight on the platform to lower it from its bearing, the weight of an ordinary bird being sufficient, and the springer thus released will fly forward either catching its victim by the neck or legs, as the case may be. It may sometimes be found necessary to cut a slight notch in the end of the springer to receive the board, but in every case it should be tried several times in order to be sure that it works sensitively. [Page 63] [Illustration: TRAPS FOR FEATHERED GAME] [Page 65] BOOK III. TRAPS FOR FEATHERED GAME. [Illustration: A]mong the following will be found the various net and cage traps commonly used in the capture of winged game, besides several other unique devices in the shape of box traps, etc., many of which are original with the author of this work and appear in the present volume for the first time in book form. Commonest among bird-catching machines, is the well known invention of THE SIEVE TRAP. This device certainly possesses one great advantage:--_it is not complicated_. Any one possessed of a sieve and a piece of string can get up the trap at two minutes' notice, and provided he has patience, and can wait for his little bird, he is almost sure to be rewarded for his pains,--if he wait long enough. This of course depends upon circumstances: when the birds are plenty and are not shy, it is a common thing to secure three or four at once in a very few minutes, while at other times an hour's patient waiting is unrewarded. The trap consists only of a sieve tilted up on edge and thus propped in position by a slender stick. To this stick a string or thread is attached and the same carried to some near place of concealment, when the trapper may retire out of sight and watch for his "little bird." The ground beneath the sieve is strewn with bread crumbs, seed or other bait, and while the unsuspecting birds are enjoying their repast, the string is pulled and they are made prisoners. The sieve may be arranged with a spindle as described for the coop trap, page (68), and may thus be left to take care of itself. Where [Page 66] the birds are plenty and easily captured, the former method answers the purpose perfectly, but when tedious waiting is likely to ensue the self-acting trap is better. THE BRICK TRAP. This is a very old invention, and has always been one of the three or four stereotyped specimens of traps selected for publication in all Boys' Books. It is probably well known to most of our readers. Take four bricks, and arrange them on the ground, as seen in our engraving, letting them rest on their _narrow_ sides. If properly arranged, they should have a space between them, nearly as large as the broad surface of the brick. A small, forked twig of the shape shown in the separate drawing (_b_) having a small piece cut away from each side of the end, should then be procured. Next cut a slender stick, about four inches in length, bluntly pointed at each end. A small plug with a flat top should now be driven into the ground, inside the trap, about three inches from either of the end bricks and projecting about two inches from the ground. The trap is then ready to be set. Lay the flat end of the forked twig over the top of the plug, with the forks pointing forward, or toward the end of the enclosure nearest the plug. The pointed stick should then be adjusted, placing one end on the flat end of the fork, over the plug, and the other beneath the fifth brick, which should be rested upon it. The drawing (_b_) clearly shows the arrangement of the pieces. The bait, consisting of berries, bird-seed, or other similar substances should then be scattered on the ground on the inside of the enclosure. When the bird flies [Page 67] to the trap he will generally alight on the forked twig, which by his weight tilts to one side and dislodges the pieces, thus letting fall the sustained brick. [Illustration] It is not intended to kill the bird, and when rightly constructed will capture it alive. Care is necessary in setting the topmost brick in such a position that it will fall aright, and completely cover the open space. This is a very simple and effectual little contrivance, and can be made with a _box_ instead of bricks, if desired. A piece of board may also be substituted for the top brick, and the enclosure beneath made larger by spreading the bricks further apart, thus making a more roomy dungeon for the captive bird. [Illustration] THE COOP TRAP. This is another excellent device for the capture of birds and large feathered game, and is used to a considerable extent by trappers throughout the country. Like the brick trap, it secures its victims without harm and furnishes the additional advantage of good ventilation for the encaged unfortunate. Any ordinary coop may be used in the construction of this trap, although the homely one we illustrate is most commonly employed on account of its simplicity and easy manufacture. It also does away with the troublesome necessity of carrying a coop to the trapping ground, as it can be made in a very few minutes with common rough hewn twigs by the clever use of the jack knife. The only remaining requisites consist of a few yards of very stout Indian twine, several small squares of brown pasteboard, a dozen tacks and a number of pieces of board five inches square, each one having a hole through its centre, as our engraving (_b_) indicates. Having these, the young trapper starts out with material sufficient for several coops, and if he is smart [Page 68] will find no difficulty in making and setting a dozen traps in a forenoon. [Illustration] In constructing the coop, the first thing to be done is to cut four stout twigs about an inch in thickness and fifteen inches in length and tie them together at the corners, letting the knot come on the inside as our illustration (_a_) explains and leaving a loose length of about two feet of string from each corner. This forms the base of the coop. Next collect from a number of twigs of about the same thickness, and from them select two more corresponding in length to the bottom pieces. Having placed the base of the coop on the ground, and collected the strings inside proceed to lay the two selected sticks across the ends of the [Page 69] uppermost two of the square, and directly above the lower two. Another pair of twigs exactly similar in size should then be cut and laid across the ends of the last two, and directly above the second set of the bottom portion, thus forming two squares of equal size, one directly over the other. The next pair of sticks should be a trifle shorter than the previous ones and should be placed a little inside the square. Let the next two be of the same size as the last and also rest a little inside of those beneath them, thus forming the commencement of the conical shape which our engraving presents. By thus continuing alternate layers of the two sticks cob-house fashion, each layer being closer than the one previous, the pyramid will be easily and quickly formed. After ten or a dozen sets have been laid in place, the arm should be introduced into the opening at the top, and the four cords drawn out, letting each one lay along its inside corner of the pyramid. Taking the strings loosely in the left hand and having the twigs in readiness, proceed to build up the sides until the opening at the top is reduced to only four or five inches across. The square board will now come into play. Pass the ends of the cords through the hole in its centre and rest the edge of the board on the top pair of sticks, taking care that it is the tip of the grain of the wood instead of its side, as otherwise it would be likely to crack from the pressure that is about to be brought upon it. Have ready a stout peg of hard wood, and laying it over the hole in the board, and between the strings, proceed to tie the latter as tightly as possible over it. By now turning the peg, the cords will be twisted and tightened and the various pieces of the coops will be drawn together with great firmness, in which state they may be secured by the aid of a tack driven in the top board against the end of the peg as shown at (_b_). Thus we have a neat and serviceable coop, which will last for many seasons. To _set_ the affair it is necessary to cut three sticks of the shapes shown in our illustration. The prop piece is a slender forked twig about ten inches in length from the tip to the base of the crotch. The spindle is another hooked twig of the same length: the bait piece is quite similar to the latter, only an inch shorter and supplied with a square notch at the tip. It is also slightly whittled off on the upper side to receive the square of pasteboard or tin, which is to hold the bait and which may be easily fastened in place by a tack. All of these twigs may be easily found in any thicket by a little practice in searching. In setting the trap, it is only necessary to raise up one side of the coop to the height of the prop stick, insert the [Page 70] short arm of the spindle through the fork and beneath the edge of the coop. While holding it thus in position, hook the crotch of the bait stick around the lower piece at the back of the coop, and pushing the end of the spindle inside the coop, catch it in the notch of the bait stick where it will hold, and the trap is ready to be baited. The bait may consist of oats, wheat, "nannie berries" or the like, and should be strewn both on the platform and over the ground directly _beneath_ and around it. If properly set, a mere peck at the corn will be sufficient to dislodge the pieces and the coop will fall over its captive. It is not an uncommon thing to find two or even three quail encaged in a trap of this kind at one fall, and after the first momentary fright is over, they seem to resign themselves to their fate and take to their confinement as naturally as if they had been brought up to it. The method of setting the coop trap above described is a great improvement on the old style of setting, and is an improvement original with the author of this work. In the old method a semi-circular hoop of rattan is used in place of the bait stick above. The ends of the rattan are fastened to one of the lower back pieces of the coop, and the hoop is just large enough to fit inside the opening of the coop. This rattan rests just above the ground, and the spindle catches against its inside edge in place of the notch in the bait stick already described, the bait being scattered inside the hoop. When the bird approaches, it steps upon the rattan, and thus pressing it downward releases the spindle and the coop falls; but experience has shown the author that it does not always secure its intruders, but as often falls upon their backs and sends them off limping to regain their lost senses. By the author's improvement it will be seen that the whole body of the bird _must_ be _beneath_ the coop before the bait sticks can be reached and that when properly set it is absolutely certain to secure its victim. The author can recommend it as infallible, and he feels certain that anyone giving both methods a fair trial will discard the old method as worthless in comparison. THE BAT FOWLING NET. With English bird-catchers this contrivance is in common use, but so far as we know it has not been utilized to any great extent in this country. It is chiefly used at night by the aid of a lantern, and large numbers of sparrows and other birds are often secured. [Page 71] [Illustration] Our illustration gives a very clear idea of the net, which may be constructed as follows: Procure two light flexible poles, about eight feet in length; to the tip of each a cord should be attached, and the same secured to the middle of the pole, having drawn down the tip to the bend, shown in our engraving. The two bent ends should now be attached together by a hinge of leather. A piece of mosquito netting is next in order, and it should be of such a size as to cover the upper bent halves of the poles, as seen in the illustration--the bottom edge being turned up into a bag, about ten inches in depth. The contrivance is now complete, and is used as follows: Three persons are generally required, and a dark night is chosen. Hay stacks, evergreens, and thick bushes offer a favorite shelter to numerous small birds, and it is here that they are sought by the bird-hunters. A breezy night is preferable, as the birds perch low, and are not so easily startled by unusual sounds. Great caution, however, is used in the approach. One party holds the light, which is generally a _dark_ lantern, another takes the net, and the third arms himself with a switch with which to beat the bushes. The net is first held upright about a foot from the bush, and the light thrown upon the back of it. The bush is then moderately beaten, and the birds affrighted and bewildered fly against the net, which is instantly closed. The bird is thus captured, and when a full roost can be discovered a large number may be taken in a single night. The lantern should be closed while not in actual use, and everything should be done as quietly as possible. The dark lantern in itself is useful without the net. The light often so bewilders the bird that it flies directly in the face of the lantern and flutters to the ground, where it may be easily taken with the hand. [Page 72] THE CLAP NET. In Asia, Africa, South America and Europe, this trap is a common resource for the capture of wild birds of various kinds. It may be called a "decoy" trap, from the fact that "call birds" are generally used in connection with it. They are placed at distances around the trap, and attract the wild birds to the spot by their cries. These birds are especially trained for the purpose, but almost any tamed bird that chirps will attract its mates from the near neighborhood, and answer the purpose very well. Sometimes the "decoys" are entirely dispensed with, and the "bird whistle" used in their stead. This will be described hereafter, and inasmuch as the training of a "decoy" would be a rather difficult matter, we rather recommend the use of the bird whistle. The skill and absolute perfection of mimicry which is often attained by bird fanciers with the use of this little whistle, is something surprising. [Illustration] No matter what the species of bird--whether crow, bobolink, thrush or sparrow, the song or call is so exactly imitated as to deceive the most experienced naturalist, and even various birds themselves. Of course this requires practice, but even a tyro may soon learn to use the whistle to good advantage. The clap net commonly used, is a large contrivance--so large that several hundred pigeons are often caught at once. It is "sprung" by the bird-hunter, who lies in ambush watching for the game. The net is generally constructed as follows, and may be made smaller if desired:-- [Page 73] Procure two pieces of strong thread netting, each about fifteen feet in length, and five feet in width. Four wooden rods one inch in thickness and five feet in length are next required. These may be constructed of pine, ash, or any other light wood, and one should be securely whipped to each end of the netting. Now by the aid of a gimlet or a red-hot iron, the size of a slate pencil, bore a hole through one end of every piece one inch from the tip, taking care that the ends selected lay on the same side of the net. The other extremities of the four poles should be supplied, each with a large screw eye. Four pegs are next in order--one of which is shown separate at (_P_). It should be about eight inches in length, and three inches in width, and an inch in thickness, and sharpened to a point at one end. The other end should be supplied with a notch two inches in depth and of such a width as will easily secure the perforated end of one of the poles already described. By the use of the gimlet or a red-hot nail, a hole should now be bored through the side of every peg across the centre of the notch for the reception of a wire pin or smooth nail. The nets may now be rolled up on the poles, and the trapper may thus easily carry them to his selected trapping ground. This should be smooth and free from stones and irregularities. Unroll the nets and spread them flatly on the ground, as seen in the illustration. Let the perforated ends of the poles be innermost, and allow a space of six feet between the inner edges of the nets. Draw the net flatly on the ground, and drive one of the notched pegs at each of the inside corners, securing the poles into the slots by the aid of the wire pins or nails. Next cut four stakes eight or ten inches long. The places for these may be seen by a look at our engraving. Each one should be inserted _five feet_ distant from the notched peg, and _exactly_ on a line with the _inside_ edge of the net--one for each corner. They should slant from the net in every case. To each one of these stakes a stay-rope should be secured, and the other end passed through the screw eye of the nearest pole, drawing the string tightly, so as to stretch the net perfectly square. Next, take a piece of cord, about twenty feet in length, and fasten it across the ends of the net into the screw eyes in the poles. This is the loop to which the draw-string is attached, and either end of the net may be chosen for this purpose. To this loop and a _little one side of the middle_, the draw-string should be fastened. If secured exactly in the middle of the loop, the two nets will _strike_ when the draw-rope is pulled, whereas [Page 74] when adjusted a little to one side, the nearest net will move a trifle faster than the other, and they will overlap neatly and without striking--completely covering the ground between them. When the trap is spread the draw-rope should extend to some near shelter where the bird-catcher may secrete himself from view. Spreading the bait on the ground between the nets, and arranging his call birds at the proper distances, he awaits his opportunity of springing his nets. At the proper minute, when the ground is dotted with his game, he pulls the draw-string, and the birds are secured. Immense numbers of wild fowl are often captured in this way. The "bird whistle," already alluded to, is often used with good effect, it being only sufficient to attract the birds to such a proximity to the net as will enable them to spy the bait, after which their capture is easily effected. THE BIRD WHISTLE. This instrument, also known as the prairie whistle, is clearly shown in our illustration. It is constructed as follows: First, procure a piece of morocco or thin leather. From it cut a circular piece one inch and a quarter in diameter. Through the centre of this disc, cut a round hole, one-third of an inch in diameter. A semi-circular piece of tin is next required. It should be of the shape of an arc, as seen in our illustration; its width across the ends being about three-quarters of an inch, and its entire length being pierced with a row of fine holes. Next procure a piece of thin sheet India rubber or gold beater's skin. Cut a strip about an inch in length by half an inch in width, and lay one of its long edges directly across the opening in the leather disc. Fold the leather in half (over the rubber), and draw the latter tightly. Next lay on the arc of tin in the position shown in the illustration, and by the aid of a fine needle and thread sew it through the holes, including both leather and rubber in the stitches. When this is done, the whistle is complete. If the gold beater's skin is not attainable, a good substitute may be found in the thin outer membrane of the leaf of a tough onion or leak, the pulp being scraped away. [Illustration] [Page 75] To use the whistle, place it against the roof of the mouth, tin side up, and with the edge of the rubber towards the front. When once wet, it will adhere to the roof of the mouth, and by skilful blowing, it can be made to send forth a most surprising variety of sounds. The quack of the duck and the song of the thrush may be made to follow each other in a single breath, and the squeal of a pig or the neigh of a horse are equally within its scope. In short, there is scarcely any animal, whether bird or quadruped, the cry of which may not be easily imitated by a skilful use of the prairie whistle, or, indeed, as it might with propriety be called, the "menagerie whistle." THE WILD GOOSE TRAP. In our northern cold regions, where the wild geese and ptarmigan flock in immense numbers, this trap is commonly utilized. It consists merely of a large net fifty feet in length, and fifteen in width, arranged on a framework, and propped in a slanting position by two poles, after the manner of the sieve trap. It is generally set on the ice; and the trapper, after attaching his strings to the props, and sprinkling his bait at the foot of the net, retires to a distance to await his chances. Tame geese are often used as decoys, and sometimes the bird whistle already described is used for the same purpose. For the capture of the ptarmigan, the bait consists of a heap of gravel. It is hard to imagine a less tempting allurement, but as the food of the birds during the winter is sapless and hard, it becomes necessary for them to swallow a considerable amount of gravel to promote digestion. The great depth of the snow renders this commodity very scarce during the winter season; and the Indians, taking advantage of this fact, succeed in capturing immense numbers of the game in nets by the use of that simple allurement. The gravel is packed on the surface of a pile of snow, placed under the centre of the net, and the draw-string is carried to some neighboring shrubbery or place of concealment, where the trapper can always get at it without being seen by the birds under the net. When everything is thus prepared, the hunters start out into the adjacent woods and willows, and drive their game toward the nets. This is generally an easy matter, and, no sooner do the birds come in sight of the heap of gravel, than they fly towards it _en masse_, and the ground beneath the net is soon covered with the hungry game. [Page 76] The hunter then goes to the end of the line, and, with a sudden pull, hauls down the stakes: the net fans over the birds, and they are prisoners. Hundreds of ptarmigan are often thus caught by a single sweep of the net. The trap is simply arranged, and may be constructed on a reduced scale for smaller birds, if desired. THE TRAP CAGE. [Illustration] Among bird-catchers generally, this is the favorite and most universal trap; and, where a _decoy_ bird is used, it is particularly successful. The cage is arranged in two compartments, [Page 77] one above the other,--the lower one being occupied by the call-birds. The making of the cage requires considerable ingenuity and much patience; and, for the benefit of those who may desire to exercise that patient ingenuity, we will subjoin a few hints, which may help them along in their efforts. For an ordinary cage, the height should be about one foot, the broad sides the same, and the top and other two sides eight inches. First cut four corner uprights. These should be three-quarters of an inch square, and one foot in length. Next cut a bottom board of pine, twelve inches by eight inches, and one inch in thickness. From each of its corners, cut a small cube of the wood, exactly three-quarters of an inch square, thus leaving four notches, which will exactly receive the ends of the uprights, as seen at (_a_). Before adjusting these pieces, the four sides of the boards should be pierced with small holes, as is also shown in the diagram (_a_). These may be punched with a brad-awl, and should be about half an inch apart, and three-eighths of an inch from the edge of the board. Each one of the uprights may then be secured in place by two long brads, one being hammered each way into each side of the notch. Next proceed to cut four more of the square sticks. Two of these should be one foot in length, and the remaining two eight inches. The corners of these should now be neatly bevelled off, so as to fit after the manner of a picture-frame. They should then be attached to [Page 78] the upper ends of the uprights by a brad through the corner of each, as seen at (_b_), the dotted lines indicating the end of the upright beneath. These sticks should likewise be pierced with holes to correspond with those in the bottom board, and running up and down in the direction of the wires. [Illustration] The middle tier of braces are next required. Two of these should be ten and a half inches in length, and the other two six and a-half, and the ends should be perfectly smooth. These should now be punched with holes corresponding with those above, after which they may be inserted between the uprights as seen in the engraving, and secured by a brad at each end. The trap door is shown separate at (_c_). The side sticks should be eight inches in length, and one-half an inch square, and the top and bottom sticks five inches in length. They should be set in _between_ the side sticks, and the lower one should be secured about half an inch above the lower ends of the uprights, as seen in the illustration. The holes should be made in the side pieces, and the wire run across from side to side, as shown. Annealed iron, or copper wire is best for this purpose. The door should now be pivoted or hinged at the top of the cage, between the long sides, in such a position as that the top end shall rest on one of the narrow upper edges of the cage. A stiff wire should be used for the hinge, being passed through the top pieces of the cage into the lower ends of the door pieces. The cage may now be wired throughout. This is an easy matter, if the holes are properly made. About thirty yards of the wire will be required: iron wire is generally used. It should be about the size of a hair-pin, and should work easily. Commence by passing it from the under side of the bottom board through one of the holes next to the corner. Pass the wire upward, through the centre braces, again upward through the top piece and across to the opposite broad side and corresponding hole. From this point it should pass downwards, through centre brace, and again through the bottom. Draw the wire tightly and passing it upward through the hole next to it, bring it over the top of the cage and around again to the bottom edge from which it started. Continue thus until the hinge of the door is reached; after which the wire should be passed up and down on the same side and thus carried around the small end of the cage until it finally meets at the door hinge on the opposite side. The two halves of the cage should now be separated by a grating of wire, as seen in the main [Page 79] illustration. This may be accomplished either by passing the wire from side to side, around the base of each upright wire, or an additional horizontal row of holes below the others may be punched for the purpose. The door through which the call-bird is introduced should next be made in the bottom section. There are two ways of doing this: one method consists in sawing a hole three inches square in the bottom board of the cage; and a cover consisting of a piece of tin is made to slide beneath the heads of four tacks, two of which are placed on each side of the opening. This form of door is perhaps the simplest of the two. The other is shown separate at (_f_), together with its mode of attachment. It consists of two side pieces of wood, about a third of an inch square, and three inches in length, and two shorter ones, two inches in length. These are arranged into a square framework by a board in each corner. Four holes are to be pierced in each side piece, at equal distances. Commencing at the top, the door should then be wired as directed for the cage. The lowest hole on each side should be left open for a separate piece of wire. The cage should now receive attention. The broad side is generally selected for the door. Find the seven centre wires and connect them across the middle by another horizontal bit of wire. This may be easily done with a pair of pincers, by compressing a loop at each end of the wire around the two which run perpendicularly at its ends. When this is performed the five intermediate wires should be cut off about a quarter of an inch below the horizontal wire, and the projecting tips looped back over the cross piece, and made fast by the pincers. The lower parts of the upright wires may now be cut off close to the board. We will now take up the door. Pass a piece of wire through the holes at the bottom, clap the door over the opening, and loop the ends of the projecting wire loosely around the upright wires at each side. This will allow the door to slide easily up and down. Another wire should now be interlaced downwards through the centre of the door, and bent into a ring at the top. Let the door rest on the bottom of the cage, and, while in this position, adjust the ring at the top around the central wire directly behind it. The door is then complete, and, if properly made, will look neat and work easily. The "trap" at the top of the cage is next in order. To complete this it is first necessary to interweave a _stiff_ wire loop, as seen at (_d_). The loop should extend on the _inside_ of the lower piece of the door and about two inches below it. The [Page 80] _spring_ power consists of a piece of stiff hoop-skirt wire, interwoven between the wires of the top of the cage, and those of the door, while the latter is shut. The force of this will be sufficient to bring down the door with a snap; and for further security a catch, such as is described in page (88), may be added if desired. The spindle is next required. This is shown at (_g_), and consists of a small perch of wood seven inches in length, and notched at each end. In setting the trap, the door should be raised as seen in the main illustration. One of the notches in the spindle should now be caught beneath the loop and the other around one of the central wires in the end of the cage. The bait, consisting of a berry, bird-seed, or what-not, may be either fastened to the spindle or placed beneath on the wires. The call-bird having been introduced, the trap may now be left to itself. If the call-bird is well trained it will not be many minutes before the birds of the neighborhood will be attracted to the spot by its cries. Ere long one less cautious than the rest will be seen to perch upon the top of the cage. He soon discovers the bait, and alighting upon the perch, throws it asunder, and in an instant the trap door closes over its captive. The cage is sometimes constructed double, having two compartments beneath for call-birds, and two traps above, in general resembling two of the single traps placed side by side. The decoy bird is not an absolute necessity to the success of the trap. Many birds are caught simply by the bait alone. The trap cage, when constructed on a larger scale, is often successfully employed in the capture of the owl. In this case it is baited with a live mouse or bird, and set during the evening in a conspicuous place. A trap working on this principle, being especially adapted to the capture of the owl, will be noticed hereafter. THE SPRING NET TRAP. Although slightly complicated in construction, our next illustration presents one of the prettiest bird traps on record, and may be made in the following manner, and by frequently referring to the picture, our explanation will be easily understood. The first step is to make or procure a low flat box, about fifteen inches long, by ten inches in width, with a depth of about two inches. Next fasten an interior box, of the same [Page 81] height, leaving a space of about three-quarters of an inch between them all round. A platform should now be made. Let it be of such a size that it will just fit in the interior box, with a very slight space all around its edge. It should then be pivoted in the upper part of this box by two small slender pins, one being driven through into its edge, at the centre of each end. Let it be sensitively poised. The next thing to be done, is to arrange the spindle and catch. The latter should consist of a tack or small bit of wood fastened on the middle of the platform, about an inch from one end, as seen both in the main illustration and in the diagram at (_b_). [Illustration] The spindle should consist of a flat piece of wood, secured with a leather hinge to the edge of the outside box, directly opposite the catch. Let it be long enough to reach and barely hold itself beneath the catch. When thus in its position, two small plugs should next be driven into the edge of the inner box, one on each side of the spindle, thus holding it in place. A glance at our illustration makes this clear. The netting and "hoop" are next in order. The hoop should consist of an iron wire of the diameter of common telegraph wire. For a box of the size we have given, a length of about twenty-eight inches will be found to answer. Before making the hoop, however, its hinges should be ready for it. Two screw eyes, or staples of bent wire should be driven into the bottom of the box between the two walls, one in the exact middle of each side. The iron wire should now be bent so as to fit round and settle into the space between the boxes, letting each end rest [Page 82] over the screws in the bottom. It will be found that there will be enough surplus wire on each end to form into a loop with the pincers. These loops should be passed through the screws or rings already inserted, and then pinched together; the hinge will thus be made, and will appear as at (_c_). If properly done, they should allow the hoop to pass freely from one end of the box to the other, and settle easily between the partitions. If this hinge should prove too complicated for our young readers, they may resort to another method, which, although not so durable, will answer very well. In this case the wire will only need to reach to the exact middle of the long sides. No surplus being necessary, a length of twenty-six inches will be exactly right. On each end a short loop of tough Indian twine should be tied. By now fastening these loops to the bottom of the box with tacks, in the place of screws, it will form a hinge which will answer the purpose of the more complicated one. [Illustration] The netting should consist of common mosquito gauze, or, if this cannot be had, any thin cloth may be substituted. It should be sewed fast to the iron wire, from hinge to hinge, and then, with the hoops resting in its groove, the netting should be drawn over the platform, and tacked to the bottom of the groove, on its remaining half. It should rest loosely over the platform to allow plenty of space for the bird. But one more addition, and the trap is finished. We have mentioned the use of elastics in other varieties: they are of equal use here, and should be attached to the hoop as seen at (_a_) in the section drawing, the remaining ends being fastened to the bottom of the groove, as there indicated. These elastics should be placed on both sides, and stretched to such a tension as will draw the hoop quickly from one side to the other. It will now be easy to set the trap. Draw the hoop back to the opposite end, tucking the netting into the groove; lower the spindle over it, resting it between the two little plugs, and securing its end beneath the catch on the platform. If the bait, [Page 83] consisting of bread-crumbs, berries, insects, or the like, be now sprinkled on the platform, the trap is ready for its feathered victim. It will easily be seen that the slightest weight on _either_ side of this poised platform will throw the catch from the end of the spindle, and release the hoop and the platform in an instant is covered by the net, capturing whatever unlucky little bird may have chanced to jump upon it. This is a very pretty little trap, and will well repay the trouble of making it. A SIMPLER NET TRAP. [Illustration] Much ingenuity has been displayed in the construction of bird traps of various kinds, but often the ingenuity has been misplaced, and the result has been so complicated as to mar its usefulness for practical purposes. The examples of net traps presented in this volume are so simple that the merest tyro can readily understand them. What can be more so than the present example, and yet it is as sure in its effect, and _surer_ than those other varieties of more complicated construction. One necessary element in a trap of any kind is, that the bearings are slight and that they spring easily. To obtain this requisite it is necessary to overcome friction as much as possible, using only a small number of pieces, and having as few joints and hinges only as are absolutely necessary. The present variety possesses advantages on this account. It is constructed somewhat on the principle of the ordinary steel trap, and also resembles in other respects the one we have just described, although much simpler. We give only a section drawing, as this will be sufficient. The long side of a flat board of about eight by sixteen inches is shown at (_a_); (_b_) indicates the loops of a bent wire, to which the netting is attached, as in the trap just described, [Page 84] the loops being fastened to the board as in the other variety; (_g_) consists of a small bit of wood an inch or so in length and half an inch in width. It should be tacked on to the middle of the one end of the board and project about a half inch above the surface. To the top of this the spindle (_c_) should be attached by a leather or staple hinge. The spindle should be of light pine, five inches in length and a quarter of an inch square, bevelled; on the under side of one end (_d_) is the catch or bait piece, and should be whittled out of a shingle or pine stick of the shape shown, the width being about a half an inch or less. One side should be supplied with a slight notch for the reception of the spindle, and the other should project out two or three inches, being covered on the top with a little platform of pasteboard, tin, or thin wood either glued or tacked in place. To attach this piece to the main board, two small wire staples may be used, one being inserted into the bottom end of the piece and the other being hooked through it, and afterward tacked to the bottom of the trap, thus forming a loop hinge. Another method is to make a hole through the lower tip of the bait piece by the aid of a red-hot wire, as seen at (_d_), afterwards inserting a pin and overlapping its ends with two staples driven into the bottom board, as shown at (_e_). In our last mentioned net trap the spring power consisted of rubber elastic, and the same may be used in this case, if desired, but by way of variety we here introduce another form of spring which may be successfully employed in the construction of traps of various kinds. It is shown at (_o_) and consists merely of a piece of tempered hoop iron, so bent as to act with an upward pressure. It should be about three inches long by half an inch wide. About three-quarters of an inch should be allowed for the two screws by which it is to be attached to the board. The rest should be bent upward and thus tempered by first heating almost to redness, and then cooling in cold water. One of these springs should be fastened to the board on each side, directly under the wire and quite near the hinge, in the position shown in the main drawing. Now draw back the net, lower the spindle and catch its extremity in the notch of the bait piece, and the trap is set as in our illustration. Sprinkle the bait on the platform, and lay the machine on the ground where birds are known to frequent; and it is only a matter of a few hours or perhaps minutes, before it will prove its efficacy. In order to prevent the bird from raising the wire and thereby escaping, it is well to fasten a little tin [Page 85] catch (_f_) at the end of the board. This will spring over the wire and hold it in its place. THE UPRIGHT NET TRAP. The following is another novelty in the way of a bird-trap, somewhat similar to the one we have just described, in its manner of working. Procure two pieces of board about a foot square. Nail one to the edge of the other, as represented in our engraving. A stout wire is the next requisite. It should be about thirty inches long, and bent either into a curve or into two corners, making three equal sides. Each end of the wire should then be bent into a very small loop for the hinge. On to this wire the netting should then be secured as in the two previous examples, after which the ends of the wire may be tied with string or hinged on wire staples into the angle of the two boards, as seen in our illustration. Allow the wire now to lie flat on the bottom board, and then proceed to tack the netting around the edges of the upright board. Two elastics should next be fastened to the wire on each side, securing their loose ends to the bottom of the trap. They should be tightly drawn so as to bring the wire down with a snap. The spindle of this trap should be about eight or nine inches long, square and slender,--the lower end being flattened, and the upper end secured to the top edge of the upright board by a hinge of leather or string. An excellent hinge may be made with a piece of leather an inch and a half long, by half an inch in width, one half of the length being tied around the end of the spindle, and the other tacked on to the upper edge of the board. The platform is given by itself at (_a_) in the same picture. It may be made of very thin wood--cigar box wood, for instance, or even thick pasteboard. It consists of three pieces. The piece which is hinged into the angle of the boards should be about three inches in length; the platform piece ought not to be more than four inches square, and the upright piece only long enough to reach the tip of the spindle when the platform is raised, as shown in our engraving. The hinge piece should be cut to an edge on that end where the leather is fastened, the opposite end being bevelled off in order that the platform may rest and be tacked or glued firmly upon it. The diagram (_a_) will make this all very clear. When the platform is all made and fastened in its place, the [Page 86] trap may be set. Draw the hoop back as far as possible, and lower the spindle over its edge, catching it behind the upright stick on the platform. If the trap is properly constructed, the pressure of the spindle on the platform will suffice to hold it up as seen in our illustration. The upright stick on the back of the platform should never be more than an inch and a half from the back of the trap. If need be, a slight notch may be made in the end of the spindle and a small tack driven into the back of the upright stick to correspond to it. By thus fitting the notch under the head of the tack, it will be sure to hold the platform in the right position. But it should be carefully tested before setting, to see that it springs easily. [Illustration] When thus set sprinkle the bait on the platform, scattering a little also on the bottom of the trap and on the ground directly around it. The little birds will soon spy the tempting morsels, and alighting on the trap are misled, and the slightest peck or pressure on the platform where the bait is most bounteously spread brings down the wire and net with a _snap_, and the little creature is secured without harm. [Illustration: Method 2.] Our next illustration shows another method of constructing the platform. It should be about three or four inches square, [Page 87] and on the middle of one of its edges the upright catch piece should be fastened. This piece, as will be seen in our engraving, should be cut spreading at the bottom so as to admit of being secured to the platform by two brads, the tip being cut to a point. The total length of this piece should not be over two and a half inches. When tacked in place, a third brad should be inserted between the other two and exactly in the centre of the side of the platform. This latter brad is to act as the pivot, or hinge, and should project about a quarter of an inch, as seen at (_a_). On the opposite edge of the platform another larger brad should be driven, having its end filed to a blunt point, as in (_b_). If the filing would be too tedious, a plug of hard wood of the required shape would answer every purpose. The upright props which support the platform should be cut of thin wood. Let one be an inch and a half long and half an inch wide, the other being an inch in length. Each should have one end whittled to a point, which will admit of its being inserted in a gimlet hole in the bottom of the trap. These gimlet holes should be made at least half an inch in depth. Make the first at about an inch or so from the back of the trap. Into this insert the shorter pieces, broadside front. Lay the pivot brad of the platform on the top of this piece and insert over it a small wire staple, as seen at (_a_). Elevate the platform evenly and determine the spot for the other gimlet hole, which should be directly beneath the point of the filed brad. Be sure that it is in the middle of the board, so that the platform may set squarely, and be perfectly parallel with the sides. Insert the remaining prop in its place, and the platform is complete. The overhanging spindle now requires a little attention. This should be whittled off on each side, bringing it to a point at the tip. On each side of the spindle a long plug should then be driven into the back piece, as our illustration shows. These should be far enough apart to allow the spindle to pass easily between them. The _setting_ of the trap is plainly shown [Page 88] in our engraving. The spindle being lowered between the plugs is caught finely on the tip of the catch-piece. The blunt point at the opposite end of the platform should have a slight hollow made for it in the prop against which it presses. If the platform be now strewn with bait, the little machine is ready. It is certainly very simple and will be found very effective. THE BOX OWL TRAP. The use of a box trap for the capture of an owl is certainly an odd idea, but we nevertheless illustrate a contrivance which has been successfully used for that purpose. The box in this case should be of the proportions shown in our engraving, and well ventilated with holes, as indicated. (This ventilation is, by-the-way, a good feature to introduce in _all_ traps.) Having made or selected a suitable box--say, fourteen or more inches wide, provided with a cover, working on a hinge--proceed to fasten on the outside of the lid a loop of stiff wire, bent in the shape shown at (_e_). This may be fastened to the cover by means of small staples, or even tacks, and should project over the edge about two inches. When this is done, the lid should be raised to the angle shown in our illustration, and the spot where the end of the wire loop touches the back of the box should be marked and a slit cut through the wood at this place, large enough for the angle of the loop to pass through. Two elastics should now be fastened to the inside of the box, being secured to the bottom at the side, and the other to the edge of the cover, as seen in the illustration. They should be sufficiently strong to draw down the cover quickly. The perch, or spindle, should consist of a light stick of wood, as shown at (_b_,) one end provided with a slight notch, and the other fastened to the inside of the front of the box by a string or leather hinge, (_c_,) keeping the notch on the _upper_ side of the stick. It will be now seen that by opening the cover, until the loop enters through the groove, and by then hooking the notch in the spindle _under_ the loop as seen at (_a_) the trap will be set, and if properly done it will be found that a very slight weight on the spindle will set it free from the loop and let the cover down with swiftness. To secure the cover in place a small tin catch should now be applied to the front edge of the box, as shown in the illustration. A piece of tin two inches in length by a half an inch in breadth will answer for this purpose. One end should be bent [Page 89] down half an inch at a pretty sharp angle, and the other attached by two tacks, to the edge of the box, in the position shown in the cut. This precaution will effectually prevent the escape of whatever bird, large or small, the trap may chance to secure. It is a necessary feature of the trap, as without it the elastics might be torn asunder and the lid thereby easily raised. [Illustration] This trap may be baited in a variety of ways. As it is particularly designed for a _bird_ trap, it is well to sprinkle the bottom of the box with berries, bird-seed, small insects, such as crickets, grasshoppers, etc. These latter are very apt to jump out, and it may be well to fasten one or two of them to the bottom with a pin through the body, just behind the head. There are many kinds of birds which live almost exclusively on insects; and as this bait is of rather a lively kind, there is scarcely any other method to retain them in their position. A bird on approaching this trap will almost irresistibly alight on the perch, and if not at _first_, it is generally sure to do so before long. If desired, a pasteboard platform may be fastened on the [Page 90] top of the perch with small tacks, and the bait scattered upon it. This will act in the same manner, and might, perhaps, be a trifle more certain. We will leave it to our readers to experiment upon. We have given this variety the name of "owl-trap," because it may be used with success in this direction. When set for this purpose, it should be baited with a live mouse, small rat or bird, either fastened to the bottom of the trap, if a bird, or set in with the trap inclosing it, if a mouse. A small bird is the preferable bait, as it may be easily fastened to the bottom of the box by a string, and as a general thing is more sure to attract the attention of the owl by its chirping. The trap should be set in an open, conspicuous spot, in the neighborhood where the owls in the night are heard to "hoot." The chances are that the box will contain an owl on the following morning. This bird is a very interesting and beautiful creature, and if our young reader could only catch one, and find rats and mice enough to keep it well fed, he would not only greatly diminish the number of rats in his neighborhood, but he would realize a great deal of enjoyment in watching and studying the habits of the bird. Should it be difficult to supply the above mentioned food, raw meat will answer equally well. The bird should either be kept in a cage or inclosure and in the latter case, its wings will require to be clipped. THE BOX BIRD TRAP. Here we have another invention somewhat resembling the foregoing. Our engraving represents the arrangement of the parts as the trap appears when set. [Illustration] The box may be of almost any shape. A large sized cigar box has been used with excellent success, and for small birds is just the thing. The cover of the box in any case should work on a hinge of some sort. The trap is easily made. The first thing to be done is to cut an upright slot, about two inches in length, through the centre of the backboard, commencing at the upper edge. To the inside centre edge of the cover a small square strap, about four inches in length, should then be secured. It should be so adjusted as that one-half shall project toward the inside of the box, as seen in the illustration, and at the same time pass easily through [Page 91] the slot beneath where the cover is closed. The lid should now be supplied with elastics as described in the foregoing. Next in order comes the bait stick. Its shape is clearly shown in our illustration, and it may be either cut in one piece or consist of two parts joined together at the angle. To the long arm the bait should be attached and the upright portion should be just long enough to suspend the cover in a position on a line with the top of the box. The trap may now be set, as seen in our illustration, and should be supplied with the necessary tin catch, described in the foregoing. THE PENDENT BOX TRAP. This invention is original with the author of this work, and when properly made and set will prove an excellent device for the capture of small birds. The general appearance of the trap, as set, is clearly shown in our illustration. A thin wooden box is the first requisite, it should be about a foot square and six inches in depth, and supplied with a close fitting cover, working on hinges. The sides should then be perforated with a few auger holes for purposes of ventilation. Two elastics are next in order, and they should be attached to the cover and box, one on each side, as shown at (_a_.) They should be drawn to a strong tension, so as to hold the cover firmly against the box. The mechanism of the trap centres in the bait stick which differs in construction from any other described in this book. It should be made about the size of a lead pencil, and eleven [Page 92] inches or so in length, depending of course upon the size of the box. It should then be divided in two pieces by a perfectly flat cut, the longer part being six inches in length. This piece should be attached to the back board of the box by a small string and a tack, as shown at (_c_), its end being bluntly pointed. Its attachment should be about five inches above the bottom board, and in the exact centre of the width of the back. [Illustration] Near the flat end of the other piece the bait consisting of a berry or other fruit, should be secured, and the further extremity of the stick should then be rounded to a blunt point. The trap is now easily set. Raise the lid and lift the long stick to the position given in the illustration. Adjust the flat end of the bait stick against that of the former, and allow the pressure of the lid to bear against the blunt point of the short stick at (_d_), as shown in the illustration, a straight dent being made in the cover to receive it, as also in the back of the box for the other piece. If properly constructed, this pressure will be sufficient to hold the sticks end to end, as our engraving represents, and the trap is [Page 93] thus set. The slightest weight on the false perch thus made will throw the parts asunder, and the cover closes with a snap. The greatest difficulties in constructing the trap will be found in the bearings of the bait sticks (_b_), the ends of which must be perfectly flat and join snugly, in order to hold themselves together. The box may now be suspended in a tree by the aid of a string at the top. The first bird that makes bold enough to alight on the perch is a sure captive, and is secured without harm. If desired, the elastic may be attached to the inside of the cover, extending to the back of the box, as seen in the initial at the head of this chapter. If the elastic in any event shows tendencies toward relaxing, the tin catch described on page 88 should be adjusted to the lower edge of the box to insure capture. THE HAWK TRAP. [Illustration] Our illustration represents a hawk in a sad plight. The memory of a recent feast has attracted it to the scene of many of [Page 94] its depredations: but the ingenious farmer has at last outwitted his feathered foe and brought its sanguinary exploits to a timely end. This trap is a "Yankee" invention and has been used with great success in many instances where the hawk has become a scourge to the poultry yard. The contrivance is clearly shown in an illustration, consisting merely of a piece of plank two feet square, set with stiff perpendicular pointed wires. This affair was set on the ground in a conspicuous place, the board covered with grass, and the nice fat Poland hen which was tied to the centre proved a morsel too tempting for the hawk to resist. Hence the "fell swoop" and the fatal consequences depicted in our illustration. The owl has also been successfully captured by the same device. THE WILD DUCK NET. Following will be found two examples of traps in very common use for the capture of wild ducks, and in the region of Chesapeake bay, immense numbers of the game are annually taken by their aid. The first is the well known net trap, so extensively used in nearly all countries, both for the capture of various kinds of fish as well as winged game. Our illustration gives a very clear idea of the construction of the net, and an elaborate description is almost superfluous. It consists of a graduated series of hoops covered by a net work. From each a converging net extends backward ending in a smaller hoop which is held in position by cords extending [Page 95] therefrom to the next larger hoop. The depth of these converging nets should extend backward about three or four feet from the large hoop; and the distance between these latter should be about five feet. The length of the net should be about twenty feet, terminating in a "pound" or netted enclosure, as seen in the illustration. The trap may be set on shore or in the water as seen. "Decoy" birds are generally used, being enclosed in the pound. [Illustration] When set on land the bait consisting of corn or other grain should be spread about the entrance and through the length of the net. It is remarkable that a duck which so easily finds its way within the netted enclosure, should be powerless to make its escape, but such seems to be the fact, and even a single hoop with its reflex net, has been known to secure a number of the game. THE HOOK TRAP [Illustration] Our second example is one which we are almost tempted to exclude on account of its cruelty, but as our volume is especially devoted to traps of all kinds and as this is a variety in very common use, we feel bound to give it a passing notice. Our illustration fully conveys its painful mode of capture, and a beach at low water is generally the scene of the slaughter. A long stout cord is first stretched across the sand and secured [Page 96] to a peg at each end. To this shorter lines are attached at intervals, each one being supplied with a fish hook baited with a piece of the tender rootstock of a certain water reed, of which the ducks are very fond. The main cord and lines are then imbedded in the sand, the various baits only appearing on the surface, and the success of the device is equal to its cruelty. THE "FOOL'S CAP" TRAP. Of all oddities of the trap kind, there is, perhaps, no one more novel and comical than the "Fool's Cap" crow-trap, which forms the subject of our present illustration. Crows are by no means easy of capture in any form of trap, and they are generally as coy and as shrewd in their approach to a trap as they are bold in their familiarity and disrespect for the sombre scarecrows in the com field. But this simple device will often mislead the smartest and shrewdest crow, and make a perfect _fool_ of him, for it is hard to imagine a more ridiculous sight than is furnished by the strange antics and evolutions of a crow thus embarrassed with his head imbedded in a cap which he finds impossible to remove, and which he in vain endeavors to shake off by all sorts of gymnastic performance. The secret of the little contrivance is easily told. The cap consists of a little cone of stiff paper, about three or four inches in diameter at the opening. This is imbedded in the ground, up to its edge, and a few grains of corn are dropped into it. The inside edge of the opening is then smeared with _bird-lime_, [Page 97] a substance of which we shall speak hereafter. [Illustration] The crow, on endeavoring to reach the corn, sinks his bill so deep in the cone as to bring the gummy substance in contact with the feathers of his head and neck, to which it adheres in spite of all possible efforts on the part of the bird to throw it off. The cones may be made of a brownish-colored paper if they are to be placed in the earth, but of white paper when inserted in the snow. It is an excellent plan to insert a few of these cones in the fresh corn hills at planting season, as the crows are always on the watch at this time, and will be sure to partake of the tempting morsels, not dreaming of the result. The writer has often heard of this ingenious device, and has read of its being successfully employed in many instances, but he has never yet had an opportunity of testing it himself. He will leave it for his readers to experiment upon for themselves. BIRD LIME. This substance so called to which we have above alluded, and which is sold in our bird marts under that name, is a viscid, sticky preparation, closely resembling a very thick and gummy varnish. It is astonishingly "sticky," and the slightest quantity between the fingers will hold them together with remarkable tenacity. What its effect must be on the feathers of a bird can easily be imagined. [Illustration] This preparation is put up in boxes of different sizes, and may be had from any of the taxidermists or bird-fanciers in any of [Page 98] our large towns or cities. Should a _home made_ article be required, an excellent substitute may be prepared from the inner bark of the "slippery elm." This should be gathered in the spring or early summer, cut into very small pieces or scraped into threads, and boiled in water sufficient to cover them until the pieces are soft and easily mashed. By this time the water will be pretty much boiled down, and the whole mass should then be poured into a mortar and beaten up, adding at the same time a few grains of wheat. When done, the paste thus made may be put into an earthen vessel and kept. When required to be used, it should be melted or softened over the fire, adding goose grease or linseed oil, instead of water. When of the proper consistency it may be spread upon sticks or twigs prepared for it, and which should afterwards be placed in the locality selected for the capture of the birds. An excellent bird-lime may be made also from plain linseed-oil, by boiling it down until it becomes thick and gummy. Thick varnish either plain or mixed with oil, but always free from alcohol, also answers the purpose very well. The limed twigs may be either set in trees or placed on poles and stuck in the ground. If any of our readers chance to become possessed of an owl, they may look forward to grand success with their limed twigs. It is a well known fact in natural history that the _owl_ is the universal enemy of nearly all our smaller birds. And when, as often happens, a swarm of various birds are seen flying frantically from limb to limb, seeming to centre on a particular tree, and filling the air with their loud chirping, it may be safely concluded that some sleepy owl has been surprised in his day-dozing, and is being severely pecked and punished for his nightly depredations. Profiting from this fact, the bird catcher often utilizes the owl with great success. Fastening the bird in the crotch of some tree, he adjusts the limed twigs on an sides, even covering the neighboring branches with the gummy substance. No sooner is the owl spied by _one_ bird than the cry is set up, and a _score_ of foes are soon at hand, ready for battle. One by one they alight on the beguiling twigs, and one by one find themselves held fast. The more they flutter the more powerless they become, and the more securely are they held. In this way many valuable and rare birds are often captured. [Page 99] THE HUMMING BIRD TRAP. One of the most ingenious uses to which bird lime is said to have been applied with success, is in the capture of humming-birds. The lime in this instance is made simply by chewing a few grains of wheat in the mouth until a gum is formed. It is said that by spreading this on the inside opening of the long white lily or trumpet-creeper blossom, the capture of a humming-bird is almost certain, and he will never be able to leave the flower after once fairly having entered the opening. There can be no doubt but that this is perfectly practicable, and we recommend it to our readers. The object in making the bird-lime from wheat consists in the fact that this is more easily removed from the feathers than the other kinds. We would not wish our readers to infer from this that a humming-bird might be captured or kept alive, for of all birds, they are the most fragile and delicate, and would die of _fright_, if from nothing else. They are chiefly used for ornamental purposes, and may be caught in a variety of ways. A few silk nooses hung about the flowers where the birds are seen to frequent, will sometimes succeed in ensnaring their tiny forms. The blow-gun is often used with good success, and the concussion from a gun loaded simply with powder, and aimed in the direction of the bird, will often stun it so that it will fall to the ground. If a strong stream of water be forced upon the little creature, as it is fluttering from flower to flower, the result is the same, as the feathers become so wet that it cannot fly. [Illustration] [Page 101] [Illustration: MISCELLANEOUS TRAPS] [Page 103] BOOK IV. MISCELLANEOUS TRAPS. THE COMMON BOX TRAP. [Illustration: T]he following chapter includes a variety of traps which have not been covered by any of the previous titles. Several novelties are contained in the list, and also a number of well known inventions. There is probably no more familiar example of the trap kind than that of the common wooden box-trap, better known, perhaps, by our country boys as the rabbit-trap. A glance at our illustration, will readily bring it to mind, and easily explain its working to those not particularly acquainted with it. These traps may be made of any size, but, being usually employed in catching rabbits, require to be made quite large. They should be made of hard seasoned wood--oak or chestnut is the best--and of slabs about an inch in thickness. The pieces may be of the following dimensions: let the bottom board be 20+7 in.; side board, 20+9 in.; lid board 19+7 in., and the end piece of lid 7 in. square. The tall end piece should be about 16 inches high by 7 broad. Let this be sharpened on the upper end, as seen in the engraving, and furnished with a slight groove on the summit, for the reception of the cord. Now to put the pieces together. Nail the two sides to the edge of the bottom board, and fit in between them the high end piece, securing that also, with nails through the bottom and side boards. Next nail the lid board on to the small, square end piece, and fit the lid thus made neatly into its place. To make the hinge for the lid, two small holes should be bored through the sides of the trap, about four inches from the tall end, and half an inch from the upper edge of each board. Let [Page 104] small nails now be driven through these holes into the edge of the lid, and it will be found to work freely upon them. [Illustration] The principal part of the trap is now made, but what remains to be done is of great importance. The "spindle" is a necessary feature in nearly all traps, and the box-trap is useless without it. In this case it should consist merely of a round stick of about the thickness of a lead pencil, and we will say, 7 or 8 in. in length. One end should be pointed and the other should have a small notch cut in it, as seen in the separate drawing of the stick. The spindle being ready, we must have some place to put it. Another hole should be bored through the middle of the high end piece, and about 4 in. from the bottom. This hole should be large enough to allow the spindle to pass easily through it. If our directions have been carefully followed, the result will now show a complete, closefitting trap. In setting the trap there are two methods commonly employed, as shown at _a_ and _b_. The string, in either case, must be fastened to the end of the lid. In the first instance (_a_) the lid is raised and made fast by the brace, holding itself beneath the tip of the projecting spindle, and a nail or plug driven into the wood by the side of the hole. [Page 105] Of course, when the spindle is drawn or moved from the inside the brace will be let loose and the lid will drop. In the other method (_b_) the spindle is longer, and projects several inches on the outside of the hole. The brace is also longer, and catches itself in the notch on the end of the spindle, and another slight notch in the board, a few inches above the hole. [Illustration] When the bait is touched from the inside, the brace easily flies out and the lid falls, securing its victim. Either way is sure to succeed, but if there is any preference it is for the former (_a_). It is a wise plan to have a few holes through the trap in different places, to allow for ventilation, and it may be found necessary to line the cracks with tin, as sometimes the enclosed creature might otherwise gnaw through and make its escape. If there is danger of the lid not closing tightly when sprung, a stone may be fastened upon it to insure that result. This trap is usually set for rabbits, and these dimensions are especially calculated with that idea. Rabbits abound in all our woods and thickets, and may be attracted by various baits. An apple is most generally used. The box-trap may be made of smaller dimensions, and set in trees for squirrels with very good success. There is still another well known form of this trap represented in the tail piece at the end of this section. The box is first constructed of the shape already given, only having the lid piece [Page 106] nailed firmly in the top of the box. The tall end piece is also done away with. The whole thing thus representing a simple oblong box with one end open. Two slender cleats should be nailed on each side of this opening, on the interior of the box, to form a groove into which a square end board may easily slide up and down, the top board being slightly sawn away to receive it. An upright stick should then be erected on the top centre of the box, in the tip of which a straight stick should be pivoted, working easily therein, like the arms of a balance. To one end of this balance, the end board should be adjusted by two screw eyes, and to the other the string with spindle attached. By now lowering the spindle to its place, the further end of the balance will be raised and with it the end board, and on the release of the spindle the board will fall. This plan is quite commonly adopted but we rather prefer the former. But as each has its advantages we present them both. ANOTHER BOX TRAP. This works after the manner of the ordinary wire rat-trap; our illustration explains itself. [Illustration] The box should be of the shape there shown, with one of its end pieces arranged on hinges so as to fall freely. An elastic should be fastened from the inside of this end to the inner surface of the top of the box, to insure its closing. If desired an elastic may be adjusted at the side as shown in the cut and a catch piece of stout tin should be attached to the bottom of the trap to secure the lid when it falls. A small hole should then be bored in the top, near the further end of the trap, and [Page 107] the spindle, having a notch on its upper end, passed through the hole thus made. The top of the spindle is shown at (_a_). It should be held in its place by a small plug or pin through it, below the surface of the box. A slender stick, long enough to reach and catch beneath the notch in the spindle should now be fastened to the lid and the trap is complete. It may be baited with cheese, bread, and the like, and if set for squirrels, an apple answers every purpose. When constructed on a larger and heavier scale it may be used for the capture of rabbits and animals of a similar size, but for this purpose the previous variety is preferable. THE FIGURE FOUR TRAP. [Illustration] One of the most useful as well as the most ancient inventions in the way of traps is the common _Figure Four Trap_, which forms the subject of our next illustration. It is a very ingenious contrivance, and the mechanism, consists merely of three sticks. It possesses great advantages in the fact that it may be used in a variety of ways, and a number of the machines may be carried by the young trapper with very little inconvenience. Our illustration shows the trap already set, only awaiting for a slight touch at the bait to bring the heavy stone to the ground. A box may be substituted for the stone, and the animal may thus be [Page 108] captured alive. The three sticks are represented separate at _a_. _b_. and _c_. Of course, there is no regular size for them, as this would greatly depend upon the purpose for which they are designed to be used. If for rabbits, the following proportions will answer very well. The sticks should all be square, and about half an inch in thickness. The bait-stick, (_a_) should be about nine or ten inches in length, one end being pointed and the other furnished with a notch, as indicated. The upright stick, (_b_) should be a little shorter, one end being whittled to a rather sharp edge. At about three or four inches from the other end, and on the side next to that whittled, a square notch should be cut. This should be about a third of an inch in depth and half an inch in width, being so cut as exactly to receive the bait-stick without holding it fast. The remaining stick (_c_) should have a length of about seven or eight inches, one end being whittled, as in the last, to an edge, and the other end furnished with a notch on the same side of the stick. [Illustration] When these are finished, the trap may be set in the following manner: Place the upright stick, (_b_) with its pointed end uppermost. Rest the notch of the slanting stick, (_c_) on the summit of the upright stick, placing the stone upon its end, and holding the stick in position with the hand. By now hooking the notch in the bait-stick on the sharpened edge of the slanting stick and fitting it into the square notch in the upright, it may easily be made to catch and hold itself in position. The bait should always project beneath the stone. In case a box is used instead of a stone, the trap may be set either inside of it or beneath its edge. Where the ground is very soft, it would be well to rest the upright stick on a chip or small flat stone, as otherwise it is apt to sink into the earth by degrees and spring by itself. When properly made, it is a very sure and sensitive trap, and the bait, generally an apple, or "nub" of corn is seldom more than touched when the stone falls. [Page 109] THE "DOUBLE ENDER." [Illustration] This is what we used to call it in New England and it was a great favorite among the boys who were fond of rabbit catching. It was constructed of four boards two feet in length by nine inches in breath secured with nails at their edges, so as to form a long square box. Each end was supplied with a heavy lid working on two hinges. To each of these lids a light strip of wood was fastened, the length of each being sufficient to reach nearly to the middle of the top of the box, as seen in the illustration. At this point a small auger hole was then made downward through the board. A couple of inches of string was next tied to the tip of each stick and supplied with a large knot at the end. The trap was then set on the simple principle of which there are so many examples throughout the pages of this work. The knots were lowered through the auger hole and the insertion of the bait stick inside the box held them in place. The edge of the bottom board on each end of the trap should be supplied with a tin catch such as is described on page 88 in order to hold the lid in place after it has fallen. No matter from which end the bait is approached it is no sooner touched than both ends fall and "_bunny_" is prisoner. Like many other of our four-footed game, the rabbit manifests a peculiar liking for salt and may be regularly attracted to a given spot by its aid. A salted cotton string is sometimes extended several yards from the trap for the purpose of leading them to it, but this seems a needless precaution, as the rabbit is seldom behind hand in discerning a tempting bait when it is within his reach. [Page 110] THE SELF SETTING TRAP. One of the oldest known principles ever embodied in the form of a trap is that which forms the subject of the accompanying illustration. It is very simple in construction, sure in its action; and as its name implies, resets itself after each intruder has been captured. [Illustration] It is well adapted for Rabbits and Coons and when made on a small scale, may be successfully employed in taking rats and mice. It is also extensively used in the capture of the Mink and Muskrat, being set beneath the water, near the haunts of the animals and weighted by a large stone. Of course the size of the box will be governed by the dimensions of the game for which it is to be set. Its general proportions should resemble those of the illustration, both ends being open. A small gate, consisting of a square piece of wood supplied with a few stiff wires is then pivoted inside each opening, so as to work freely and fall easily when raised. The bait is fastened inside at the centre of the box. The animal, in quest of the bait, finds an easy entrance, as the wires lift at a slight pressure, but the exit after the gate has closed is so difficult that escape is almost beyond the question. The wires should be so stiff as to preclude the possibility of them being bent by struggles of the imprisoned creature in his [Page 111] efforts to escape, and to insure further strength it is advisable to connect the lower ends of the wires by a cross piece of finer wire, twisted about each. The simultaneous capture of two rabbits in a trap of this kind is a common occurrence. THE DEAD-FALL. In strolling through the woods and on the banks of streams in the country, it is not an uncommon thing to stumble against a contrivance resembling in general appearance our next illustration. Throughout New England, the "dead-fall," as this is called, has always been a most popular favorite among trappers, young and old; and there is really no better rough and ready trap for large game. To entrap a fox by any device is no easy matter; but the writer remembers one case where Reynard was outwitted, and the heavy log of the "dead-fall" put a speedy end to his existence. The trap was set in a locality where the fox had made himself a nuisance by repeated nocturnal invasions among the poultry, and the bait was cleverly calculated to decoy him. A live duck was tied within the pen, and the morsel proved too tempting for him to resist. Thrusting his head beneath the suspended log, in order to reach his prey, he thus threw down the slender framework of support; and the log, falling across his neck, put him to death. [Illustration] Our illustration gives a very correct idea of the general construction of the "dead-fall," although differing slightly in its mode of setting from that usually employed. [Page 112] A pen of rough sticks is first constructed, having an open front. A log about seven or eight feet in length, and five or six inches in diameter, should then be procured. An ordinary fence rail will answer the purpose very well, although the log is preferable. Its large end should be laid across the front of the pen, and two stout sticks driven into the ground outside of it, leaving room for it to rise and fall easily between them and the pen, a second shorter log being placed on the ground beneath it, as described for the bear-trap, page (17). A look at our illustration fully explains the _setting_ of the parts. A forked twig, about a foot in length, answers for the bait-stick. The lower end should be pointed, and the fork, with its bait, should incline toward the ground, when set. The upper end should be supplied with a notch, square side down, and directly above the branch which holds the bait. Another straight stick, about fourteen inches in length, should then be cut. Make it quite flat on each end. A small thin stone, chip of wood, or the like, is the only remaining article required. Now proceed to raise the log, as shown in the drawing, place one end of the straight stick beneath it, resting its tip on the flat top of the upright stick on the outside of the log. The baitstick should now be placed in position inside the inclosure, resting the pointed end on the chip, and securing the notch above, as seen in the illustration, beneath the tip of the flat stick. When this is done, the trap is set, but, there are a few little hints in regard to setting it finely,--that is, surely,--which will be necessary. It is very important to avoid bringing too much of the weight of the log on the flat stick, as this would of course bear heavily on the bait-stick, and render considerable force necessary to spring the trap. The leverage at the point where the log rests on the flat stick should be very slight, and the log should be so placed that the upright shall sustain nearly all the weight. By this method, very little pressure is brought to bear on the bait-stick, and a very slight twitch will throw it out of poise. The fork of the bait-stick should point to the side of the inclosure, as, in this case, when the bait is seized by the unlucky intruder, the very turning of the fork forces the notch from beneath the horizontal stick, and throws the parts asunder. If the trap is set for muskrats, minks, skunks, or animals of similar size, the weight of the log will generally be found sufficient to effect their death; but, if desired, a heavy stone [Page 113] may be rested against it, or the raised end weighted with other logs (see p. 18), to make sure. When set for a coon or fox, this precaution is necessary. To guard against the cunning which some animals possess, it is frequently necessary to cover the top of the pen with cross-sticks, as there are numerous cases on record where the intended victims have climbed over the side of the inclosure, and taken the bait from the inside, thus keeping clear of the suspended log, and springing the trap without harm to themselves. A few sticks or branches laid across the top of the inclosure will prevent any such capers; and the crafty animals will either have to take the bait at the risk of their lives, or leave it alone. For trapping the muskrat, the bait may consist of carrots, turnips, apples, and the like. For the mink, a bird's head, or the head of a fowl, is the customary bait; and the skunk may usually be taken with sweet apples, meats, or some portion of a dead fowl. In the case of the fox, which we have mentioned, the setting of the trap was somewhat varied; and in case our readers might desire to try a similar experiment, we will devote a few lines to a description of it. In this instance, the flat stick which supported the log was not more than eight inches in length; and instead of the bait-stick, a slight framework of slender branches was substituted. This frame or lattice-work was just large enough to fill the opening of the pen, and its upper end supported the flat stick. The duck was fastened to the back part of the pen, which was also closed over the top. The quacking of the fowl attracted the fox; and as he thrust his head through the lattice to reach his prey, the frame was thrown out of balance and Reynard paid the price of his greed and folly. There is another mode of adjusting the pieces of the dead-fall, commonly employed by professional trappers, whereby the trap is sprung by the foot of the animal in quest of the bait. This construction is shown correctly in the accompanying cut, which gives the front view, the pen being made as before. The stout crotch represented at (_a_) is rested on the summit of a strong peg, driven into the ground beneath the _outside edge_ of the suspended log; (_b_) is the treacherous stick which seals the doom of any animal that dares rest his foot upon it. This piece should be long enough to stretch across and overlap the guard-pegs at each side of the opening. To set the trap, rest the short crotch of (_a_) on the top of the peg, and lower the log upon it, keeping the leverage slight, as directed in our last example, letting much of the weight come on the [Page 114] top of the peg. The long arm of the crotch should be pressed inward from the front, and one end of the stick (_b_) should then be caught between its extreme tip, and the upright peg about ten inches above the ground. By now fastening the bait to a peg at the back part of the pen, the affair is in working order, and will be found perfectly reliable. The ground log (_d_) being rested in place as seen in the illustration. To make assurance doubly sure, it is well to cut a slight notch in the upright stick at (_c_) for the reception of the foot-piece (_b_). By this precaution the stick, when lowered, is bound to sink at the right end, thus ensuring success. [Illustration] The Figure-Four Trap, already described in another part of this book, is also well adapted to the dead-fall, and is much used. It should be made of stout pieces and erected at the opening of the pen, with the bait pointing toward the interior, the heavy log being poised on its summit. THE GARROTE. There is another variety of trap, somewhat resembling the dead-fall, but which seizes its prey in a little different manner. [Page 115] This trap, which we will call the _Garrote_, is truly represented by our illustration. A pen is first constructed, similar to that of the dead-fall. At the opening of the pen, two arches are fastened in the ground. They should be about an inch apart. A stout forked stick should then be cut, and firmly fixed in the earth at the side of the arches, and about three feet distant. [Illustration] Our main illustration gives the general appearance of the trap, but we also subjoin an additional cut, showing the "setting" or arrangement of the pieces. They are three in number, and consist: First, of a notched peg, which is driven into the ground at the back part of the pen, and a little to one side. Second, of a forked twig, the branch of which should point downward with the bait attached to its end. The third stick being the little hooked piece catching beneath the arches. The first of these is too simple to need description. The second should be about eight inches long; a notch should be cut in each end. The upper one being on the side from which the branch projects, and the other on the _opposite_ side of the stick, and at the other end, as is made plain by our illustration. The third stick may consist merely of a hooked crotch of some twig, as this is always to be found. Indeed, nearly _all_ the parts of this trap may be found in any woods; and, with the exception of a jack-knife, bait, and string, the trapper need not trouble himself to carry any materials whatever. When the three pieces are thus made the trap only awaits the "Garrote." This should be made from a stiff pole, about six feet in length, having a heavy stone tied to its large end, and a loop of the shape of the letter U, or a slipping noose, made of stout cord or wire, fastened [Page 116] at the smaller end. To arrange the pieces for their destructive work, the pole should be bent down so that the loop shall fall between the arches. The "crotch stick" should then be hooked beneath the front of the arch, letting its arm point inward. After this the bait stick should be placed in its position, with the bait pointing downward, letting one end catch beneath the notch in the ground-peg, and the other over the tip of the crotch stick. This done, and the trap is set. [Illustration] Like the dead-fall, the bait stick should point toward the side of the pen, as the turning involved in pulling it toward the front is positively _sure_ to slip it loose from its catches. Be careful to see that the loop is nicely arranged between the arches, and that the top of the pen is covered with a few twigs. If these directions are carefully followed, and if the young trapper has selected a good trapping ground, it will not be a matter of many days before he will discover the upper portion of the arches occupied by some rabbit, muskrat, or other unlucky creature, either standing on its hind legs, or lifted clean off the ground. Coons are frequently secured by this trap, although, as a general thing, they don't show much enthusiasm over traps of any kind, and seem to prefer to get their food elsewhere, rather than take it off the end of a bait stick. THE BOW TRAP. This most excellent and unique machine is an invention of the author's, and possesses great advantages, both on account of its durability and of the speedy death which it inflicts. [Illustration] Procure a board about two feet in length, by five or six in width, and commencing at about nine inches from one end, cut a hole four or more inches square. This may readily be done with a narrow saw, by first boring a series of gimlet holes in which to insert it. There will now be nine inches of board on one side of the hole and eleven on the other. The shorter end constituting the top of the trap. On the upper edge of the hole [Page 117] a row of stout tin teeth should be firmly tacked, as seen in the illustration. On the other side of the cavity, and three inches from it a small auger hole (the size of a lead pencil), should be bored. After which it should be sand-papered and polished on the interior, by rubbing with some smooth, hard tool, inserted inside. A round plug of wood should next be prepared. Let it be about half an inch in length, being afterwards bevelled nearly the whole length of one side, as shown at (_b_), leaving a little over an eighth of an inch of the wood unwhittled. This little piece of wood is the most important part, of the trap, and should be made very carefully. The remaining end of the board below the auger hole should now be whittled off to a point, in order that it may be driven into the ground. The next requisites consist of two pieces of wood, which are seen at the sides of the square hole, in our illustration, and also seen at (_c_), side view. These [Page 118] pieces should be about six inches in length and about an inch square. A thin piece being cut off from one side of each, to the distance of four inches, and ending in a square notch. The other end should be rounded off, as is also there plainly indicated. Before adjusting the pieces in place, two tin catches should be fastened to the board, one on each side of the hole. This catch is shown at (_d_), and consists merely of a piece of tin, half an inch in width, and three-quarters of an inch in length, tacked to the wood, and having its end raised, as indicated. Its object is to hold the bow-string from being pulled down after once passing it. The upper edge of these catch-pieces should be about an inch and a half from the top of the hole, and, if desired, two or three of them may be arranged one above the other, so that wherever the string may stop against the neck of the inmate it will be sure to hold. The catches being in place, proceed to adjust the pieces of wood, letting the notch be on a line with the top of the pole, or a little above it. Each piece should be fastened with two screws to make secure. We will now give our attention to the bait stick. This should be about six inches in length, and square, as our illustration shows. There are two ways of attaching the bait-stick to the board, both shown at (_e_) and (_f_). The former consists merely of a screw eye inserted into the end of the stick, afterwards hinged to the board by a wire staple. The point for the hinge, in this case, should be about an inch below the auger hole. In the other method (_f_), the bait stick should be a half inch longer, and the spot for the hinge a quarter inch lower. At about a quarter of an inch from the square end of the bait stick a small hole should be made by the use of a hot wire. An oblong mortice should next be cut in the board, so as to receive this end of the stick easily. A stout bit of wire should then be inserted in the little hole in the stick, and laying this across the centre of the mortice, it should be thus secured by two staples, as the drawing shows. This forms a very neat and simple hinge. To determine the place for the catch, insert the flat end of the little plug fairly into the auger-hole above the hinge. Draw up the bait stick, and at the point where it comes in contact with the point of the plug, cut a square notch, as shown in (_b_). Everything now awaits the bow. This should be of hickory or other stout wood; it is well to have it seasoned, although a stout sapling will answer the purpose very well. It should be fastened to the top of the board by two heavy staples, or nails driven on each side of it. The string should be _heavy_ Indian twine. Our [Page 119] illustration shows the trap, as it appears when ready for business. The plug is inserted, as already described, with the bevelled face downward, and square end in the hole. Draw down the bow-string and pass it beneath the plug, at the same time catching the tip of the latter in the notch of the bait stick. If properly constructed the string will thus rest on the slight uncut portion of the under side of the peg, and the trap is thus set. If the bait is pushed when approached, the notch is forced off from the plug, and the string flies up with a _twang!_ securing the neck of its victim, and producing almost instant death. If the bait is _pulled_, the bait stick thus forces the plug into the hole in the board, and thus slides the cord on to the bevel, which immediately releases it, and the bow is sprung. So that no matter whether the bait is pushed or drawn towards the front, the trap is equally sure to spring. In setting this curious machine, it is only necessary to insert it into the ground, and surround the bait with a slight pen, in order that it may not be approached from behind. By now laying a stone or a pile of sticks in front of the affair, so that the bait may be more readily reached, the thing is ready. Care is required in setting to arrange the pieces delicately. The plug should be _very slightly_ inserted into the auger hole, and the notch in the bait stick should be as small as possible, and hold. All this is made clear in our illustration (_b_). By observing these little niceties the trap becomes very sure and sensitive. Bait with small apple, nub of corn, or the like. THE MOLE TRAP. If there is anyone subject upon which the ingenuity of the farmers has been taxed, it is on the invention of a mole trap which would effectually clear their premises of these blind burrowing vermin. Many patented devices of this character are on the market, and many odd pictured ideas on the subject have gone the rounds of the illustrated press, but they all sink into insignificance when tested beside the trap we here present. It has no equal among mole traps, and it can be made with the utmost ease and without cost. The principle on which it works is the same as the Fish Trap on page 120. Construct a hollow wooden tube about five inches in diameter, and eight inches in length. A section of a small tree, neatly excavated with a large auger is just the thing. Through [Page 120] the centre of one of the sides a small hole the size of a lead pencil should be bored, this being the upper side. About half an inch distant from each end a smaller hole should be made for the passage of the noose. The spring should consist either of a stout steel rod, whalebone or stiff sapling, a foot or more in length, inserted downward through holes in the side of the tube after the manner of the Fish Trap already alluded to. No bait is required. A simple stick the size of the central hole at one end, and an inch in width at the other being sufficient. The trap is set as described in the other instances, and as the introduction of the spindle-stick is sometimes attended with difficulty owing to its position inside the trap, the bottom of the latter is sometimes cut away for two or three inches to facilitate the operation. The trap is then to be imbedded within the burrow of the mole. Find a fresh tunnel and carefully remove the sod above it. Insert the trap and replace the turf. The first mole that starts on his rounds through that burrow is a sure prisoner, no matter from which side he may approach. Immense numbers of these troublesome vermin have been taken in a single season by a dozen such traps, and they possess great advantages over all other mole traps on account of their simplicity and unfailing success. A FISH TRAP. Our list of traps would be incomplete without a Fish Trap, and although we have mentioned some contrivances in this line under our article on "Fishing" we here present one which is both new and novel. [Illustration] Its mode of construction is exactly similar to the Double Box Snare, page (57). A section of stove-pipe one foot in length should first be obtained. Through the iron at a point equidistant from the ends, a hole should be made with some smooth, sharp pointed instrument, the latter being forced _outward_ from the _inside_ of the pipe, thus causing the ragged edge of the hole to appear on the outside, as seen in our illustration. The diameter of the aperture [Page 121] should be about that of a lead pencil. Considering this as the _upper side_ of the pipe, proceed to pierce two more hole's _downward_ through the side of the circumference, for the admission of a stout stick or steel rod. This is fully explained in our illustration. The further arrangement of bait stick and nooses is exactly identical with that described on page (57). It may be set for suckers, pickerel, and fish of like size, the bait stick being inserted with sufficient firmness to withstand the attacks of smaller fish. The bait should be firmly tied to the stick, or the latter supplied with two hooks at the end on which it should be firmly impaled. To set the trap, select a locality abounding in fish. Place a stone inside the bottom of the pipe, insert the bait stick and arrange the nooses. By now quietly grasping the curve of the switch the trap may be easily lowered to the bottom. The bait soon attracts a multitude of small fishes; these in turn attract the pickerel to the spot, and before many minutes the trap is sprung and may be raised from the water with its prisoner. This odd device is an invention of the author's, and it is as successful as it is unique. [Illustration: Maternal advice.] [Page 123] [Illustration: HOUSEHOLD TRAPS] [Page 125] BOOK V. HOUSEHOLD TRAPS. [Illustration: F]or the most effectual domestic trap on record see our page title to this section. There are several others also which have done good service in many households, and for the sake of pestered housekeepers generally, we devote a corner of our volume for their especial benefit. Foremost in the list of domestic pests the rat stands pre-eminent, and his proverbial shrewdness and cunning render his capture often a very difficult, if not an impossible task. We subjoin, however, a few hints and suggestions of practical value, together with some perfected ideas in the shape of traps, by which the average rat may be easily outwitted and led to his destruction. First on the list is THE BARREL TRAP. This most ingenious device possesses great advantages in its capabilities of securing an almost unlimited number of the vermin in quick succession. It also takes care of itself, requires no re-baiting or setting after once put in working order, and is sure death to its prisoners. A water-tight barrel is the first thing required. Into this pour water to the depth of a foot. Next dampen a piece of very thick paper, and stretch it over the top of the barrel, tying it securely below the upper hoops. When the paper dries it will become thoroughly flat and tightened. Its surface should then be strewn with bits of cheese, etc., and the barrel so placed [Page 126] that the rats may jump upon it from some neighboring surface. As soon as the bait is gone, a fresh supply should be spread on the paper and the same operation repeated for several days, until the rats get accustomed to visit the place for their regular rations, fearlessly and without suspicion. This is "half the battle," and the capture of the greedy victims of misplaced confidence is now an easy matter. The bait should again be spread as before and a few pieces of the cheese should be attached to the paper with gum. It is a good plan to smear parts of the paper with gum arabic, sprinkling the bait upon it. When dry, cut a cross in the middle of the paper, as seen in the illustration, and leave the barrel to take care of itself and the rats. The first one comes along, spies the tempting morsels, and with his accustomed confidence, jumps upon the paper. He suddenly finds himself in the water at the bottom of the barrel, and the paper above has closed and is ready to practice its deception on the next comer. There is not long to wait. A second victim soon tumbles in to keep company with the first. A third and a fourth soon follow, and a dozen or more [Page 127] are sometimes thus entrapped in a very short space of time. It is a most excellent and simple trap, and if properly managed, will most effectually curtail the number of rats in any pestered neighborhood. [Illustration] By some, it is considered an improvement to place in the bottom of the barrel a large stone, which shall project above the water sufficiently to offer a foothold for one rat. The first victim, of course, takes possession of this retreat and on the precipitate arrival of the second a contest ensues for its occupancy. The hubbub which follows is said to attract all the rats in the neighborhood to the spot, and many are thus captured. We can hardly recommend the addition of the stone as being an improvement. The rat is a most notoriously shrewd and cunning animal, and the despairing cries of his comrades must rather tend to excite his caution and suspicion. By the first method the drowning is soon accomplished and the rat utters no sound whereby to attract and warn his fellows. This contrivance has been thoroughly tested and has proved its efficacy in many households by completely ridding the premises of the vermin. Another excellent form of Barrel Trap is that embodying the principle described in page (131). A circular platform should be first constructed and hinged in the opening of the barrel This may be done by driving a couple of small nails through the sides of the barrel into a couple of staples inserted near the opposite edges of the platform. The latter should be delicately weighted, as described on the above mentioned page, and previously to setting, should be baited in a stationary position for several days to gain the confidence of the rats. The bait should at last be secured to the platform with gum, and the bottom of the barrel of course filled with water, as already described. This trap possesses the same advantages as the foregoing. It is _self-setting_, and unfailing in its action. Another method consists in half-filling the barrel with oats, and allowing the rats to enjoy their repast there for several days. When thus attracted to the spot, remove the oats, and pour the same bulk of water into the barrel, sprinkling the surface thickly with the grain. The delusion is almost perfect, as will be effectually proven when the first rat visits the spot for his accustomed free lunch. Down he goes with a splash, is soon drowned, and sinks to the bottom. The next shares the same fate, and several more are likely to be added to the list of misguided victims. [Page 128] Many of the devices described throughout this work may be adapted for domestic use to good purpose. The box-trap page 103, box-snare, page 55, figure-four, page 107, are all suitable for the capture of the rat; also, the examples given on pages 106, 109, 110, and 129. The steel-trap is often used, but should always be concealed from view. It is a good plan to set it in a pan covered with meal, and placed in the haunts of the rats. The trap may also be set at the mouth of the rats' hole, and covered with a piece of dark-colored cloth or paper. The runways between boxes, boards, and the like offer excellent situations for the trap, which should be covered, as before directed. Without one precaution, however, the trap may be set in vain. Much of the so-called shrewdness of the rat is nothing more than an instinctive caution, through the acute sense of smell which the animal possesses; and a trap which has secured one victim will seldom extend its list, unless all traces of its first occupant are thoroughly eradicated. This may be accomplished by smoking the trap over burning paper, hens' feathers or chips, taking care to avoid a heat so extreme as to affect the temper of the steel springs. All rat-traps should be treated the same way, in order to insure success, and the position and localities of setting should be frequently changed. THE BOX DEAD-FALL. [Illustration] This trap is an old invention, simplified by the author, and for the capture of rats and mice will prove very effectual. It consists of a box, constructed of four slabs of 3-4 inch boarding, and open at both ends. The two side boards should be 10 x 18 inches; top and bottom boards, 6 x 18 inches. For the centre of the latter, a square piece should be removed by the aid of the saw. The width of this piece should be four inches, and the length eight inches. Before nailing the boards together, the holes thus left in the bottom board should be supplied with a treadle platform, working on central side pivots. The board for this treadle should be much thinner and lighter than the rest of the trap, and should fit loosely in place, its surface being slightly below the level of the bottom board. This is shown in the interior of the trap. The pivots should be inserted in the exact centre of the sides, through holes made in the edge of the bottom board. These holes may be bored with a gimlet or burned with a red-hot wire. The pivots may [Page 129] consist of stout brass or iron wire; and the end of one should be flattened with the hammer, as seen in (_a_). This pivot should project an inch from the wood, and should be _firmly_ inserted in the treadle-piece. The platform being thus arranged, proceed to fasten the boards together, as shown in the illustration, the top and bottom boards overlapping the others. We will now give our attention to the stick shown at (_b_). This should be whittled from a piece of hard wood, its length being three inches, and its upper end pointed as seen. The lower end should be pierced with a crevice, which should then be forced over the flattened extremity of the point (_a_) as shown at (_c_), pointed end uppermost. The weight (_d_) is next in order. This should consist of a heavy oak plank two inches in thickness, and of such other dimensions as will allow it to fit loosely in the box, and fall from top to bottom therein without catching between two sides. A stout staple should be driven in the centre of its upper face, and from this a stout string should be passed upward through a hole in the centre of the box. We are now ready for the spindle (_e_). This should be about three inches in length, and bluntly pointed [Page 130] at each end, a notch being made to secure it at a point five inches above the pivot (_c_). To set the trap, raise the weight, as seen in the illustration; draw down the string to the point (_e_), and attach it to the spindle one-half an inch from its upper end, which should then be inserted in the notch, the lower end being caught against the extremity of the pivot stick. The parts are now adjusted, and even in the present state the trap is almost sure to spring at the slightest touch on the treadle-piece. An additional precaution is advisable, however. Two small wooden pegs (_f_) should be driven, one on each side of the spindle, thus preventing any side-movement of the latter. It will now be readily seen that the slightest weight on either end of the treadle-piece within the trap must tilt it to one side, thus throwing the pivot-piece from its bearing on the spindle; and the latter being released, lets fall the weight with crushing effect upon the back of its hapless victim. The trap is very effective, and is easily constructed. The bait should be rested in the centre of the treadle platform. Built on a larger scale, this device may be successfully adapted to the capture of the mink, martien, and many other varieties of game. THE BOARD-FLAP. [Illustration] [Page 131] For the capture of mice this is both a simple and effective contrivance, and it may be enlarged so as to be of good service for larger animals. Procure two boards, one foot square and one inch thick, and secure them together by two hinges, as in the illustration. Assuming one as the upper board, proceed to bore a gimlet hole three inches from the hinges. This is for the reception of the bait stick, and should be cut away on the inside, as seen in the section (_a_), thus allowing a free play for the stick. Directly beneath this aperture, and in the lower board, a large auger hole should be made. A stout bit of iron wire, ten inches in length, is now required. This should be inserted perpendicularly in the further end of the lower slab, being bent into a curve which shall slide easily through a gimlet hole in the edge of the upper board. This portion is very important, and should be carefully constructed. The bait stick should be not more than three inches in length, supplied with a notch in its upper end, and secured in the aperture in the board by the aid of a pivot and staples, as is clearly shown in our drawing. The spindle is next in order. It should consist of a light piece of pine eight and a half inches in length, and brought to an edge at each end. A tack should now be driven at the further edge of the upper board on a line with the aperture through which the wire passes. Our illustration represents the trap as it appears when set. The upper band is raised to the full limit of the wire. One end of the spindle is now adjusted beneath the head of the tack, and the other in the notch in the bait stick. The wire thus supports the suspended board by sustaining the spindle, which is held in equilibrium. A slight touch on the bait stick soon destroys this equilibrium: a flap ensues, and a dead mouse is the result. The object of the auger hole in the lower board consists in affording a receptacle for the bait when the boards come together, as otherwise it would defeat its object, by offering an obstruction to the fall of the board, and thus allow its little mouse to escape. It is, therefore, an essential part of the trap, and should be carefully tested before being finally set. THE BOX PIT-FALL. We now come to a variety of trap which differs in its construction from any previously described. It secures its victims alive, and without harm, and, when well made, is very successful. [Page 132] It may be set for squirrels, chipmunks, rats, mice, and the like, and on a large scale for muskrats and mink. [Illustration] The trap is very easily made, and is represented in section in our illustration, showing the height and interior of the box. For ordinary purposes the box should be about twelve or fourteen inches square, with a depth of about eighteen inches. A platform consisting of a piece of tin should then be procured. This should be just large enough to fit nicely to the outline of the interior of the box without catching. On two opposite sides of this piece of tin, and at the middle of each of those sides, a small strip of the same material should be wired, or soldered in the form of a loop, as shown in the separate diagram at (_b_). These loops should be only large enough to admit the end of a shingle-nail. A scratch should now be made across the tin from loop to loop, and on the centre of this scratch another and larger strip of tin should be fastened in a similar manner as shown in our diagram, at (_a_), this being for the balance weight. The [Page 133] latter may consist of a small stone, piece of lead, or the like, and should be suspended by means of a wire bent around it, and secured in a hole in the tin by a bend or knot in the other extremity. Further explanations are almost superfluous, as our main illustration fully explains itself. [Illustration] After the weight is attached, the platform should be secured in its place, about five inches from the top of the box. To accomplish this and form the hinges, two shingle-nails should be driven through the side of the box into the tin loops prepared for them. To do this nicely requires some considerable accuracy and care, and it should be so done that the platform will swing with perfect freedom and ease, the weight below bringing it to a horizontal poise after a few vibrations. Care should be taken that the weight is not too heavy, as, in such a case, the platform will not be sensitive on its balance, and, consequently, would not work so quickly and surely. The weight should be _just heavy enough_ to restore the platform to its perfect poise, and no more. This can be easily regulated by experiment. The bait should then be strewn on both sides of the platform, when the trap is set, and the luckless animal, jumping after the bait, feels his footing give way, and suddenly finds himself in the bottom of a dark box, from which it is impossible for him to escape except by gnawing his way out. To prevent this, the interior of the box may be lined with tin. By _fastening_ the bait--a small lump or piece--on each side of the tin, the trap will continually reset itself, and, in this way, two or three individuals may be taken, one after the other. Muskrats are frequently caught in this trap, it being generally buried in the ground so that its top is on a level with the surface. In this case it is necessary to arrange the platform lower down in the box, and the latter should be of much larger dimensions than the one we have described. [Page 134] For ordinary purposes the box should either be set in the ground or placed near some neighboring object which will afford easy access to it. No less than a dozen rats have been caught in a trap of this kind in a single night. CAGE TRAP. [Illustration] The common cage trap is well known to most of our readers, and for the capture of rats and mice, it is one of the most efficacious devices in existence. The construction of one of these traps is quite a difficult operation, and we would hesitate before advising our inventive reader to exercise his patience and ingenuity in the manufacture of an article which can be bought for such a small price, and which, after all, is only a mouse trap. If it were a device for the capture of the _mink_ or _otter_, it might then be well worth the trouble, and would be likely to repay the time and labor expended upon it. We imagine that few would care to exercise their skill over a trap of such complicated structure, while our pages are filled with other simpler and equally effective examples. For the benefit, however, of such as are of an inventive turn of mind, we subjoin an illustration of the trap to serve as a guide. The principle upon which it works is very simple. The bait is [Page 135] strewn inside the cage, and the rats or mice find their only access to it through the hole at the top. The wires here converge at the bottom, and are pointed at the ends. The passage downwards is an easy matter, but to _escape_ through the same opening is impossible, as the pointed ends of the wires effectually prevent the ascent. It is a notable fact, however, that the efforts to escape through this opening are very seldom made. The mode of entering seems to be absolutely forgotten by the captive animals, and they rush frantically about the cage, prying between all the wires in their wild endeavors, never seeming to notice the central opening by which they entered. This is easily explained by the fact that the open grating admits the light from all sides, and the enclosed victims are thus attracted to no one spot in particular, and naturally rush to the extreme edges of the trap, in the hope of finding an exit. If a thick cloth be placed over the cage, leaving the opening at the top uncovered, the confined creatures are soon attracted by the light, and lose no time in rushing towards it, where their endeavors to ascend are effectually checked by the pointed wires. Profiting by this experiment, the author once improvised a simple trap on the same principle, which proved very effectual. We will call it THE JAR TRAP. In place of the wire cage, a glass preserve-jar was substituted. A few bits of cheese were then dropped inside, and the top of a funnel inserted into the opening above. This completed the trap, and it was set on the floor near the flour barrel. On the following morning the jar was occupied by a little mouse, and each successive night for a week added one to the list of victims. A stiff piece of tin, bent into the required shape, may be substituted for the funnel top, or even a very heavy piece of pasteboard might answer. BOWL TRAPS. Very effective extempore traps may be set up in a few minutes by the use of a few bowls. There are two methods commonly employed. One consists of the bowl and a knife-blade. An ordinary tableknife is used and a piece of cheese is firmly forced on to the end of the blade, the bowl is then balanced on the edge, allowing the bait to project about an inch and a half beneath the bowl. The odor of cheese will attract a mouse almost anywhere, and he soon finds [Page 136] his way to the tempting morsel in this case. A very slight nibble is sufficient to tilt the blade and the bowl falls over its prisoner. In the second method a thimble is used in place of the knife. The cheese is forced into its interior, and the open end of the thimble inserted far beneath the bowl, allowing about half its length to project outward. The mouse is thus obliged to pass under the bowl in order to reach the bait, and in his efforts to grasp the morsel, the thimble is dislodged and the captive secured beneath the vessel. Where a small thimble is used, it becomes necessary to place a bit of pasteboard or flat chip beneath it, in order to raise it sufficiently to afford an easy passage for the mouse. Both of these devices are said to work excellently. FLY PAPER. A sheet of common paper, smeared with a mixture composed of molasses one part, and bird-lime six parts (see page 97), will be found to attract large numbers of flies and hold them prisoners upon its surface. Spruce gum, warmed on the fire, and mixed with a little linseed oil, is also excellent. For a genuine fly trap, the following stands unrivalled. FLY TRAP. Take a tumbler, and half-fill it with strong soap suds. Cut a circle of stiff paper which will exactly fit into the top of the glass. In the centre of the paper cut a hole half an inch in diameter, or, better still, a slice of bread may be placed on the glass. Smear one side of the disc with molasses, and insert it in the tumbler with this side downward. Swarms of flies soon surround it, and one by one find their way downward through the hole. Once below the paper, and their doom is sealed. For a short time the molasses absorbs their attention, and they, in turn, absorb the molasses. In their efforts to escape, they one by one precipitate themselves in the soap suds below, where they speedily perish. The tumbler is soon half-filled with the dead insects, and where a number of the traps are set in a single room, the apartment is soon ridden of the pests. [Illustration: STEEL TRAPS AND THE ART OF TRAPPING.] [Page 137] BOOK VI. STEEL TRAPS AND THE ART OF TRAPPING. [Illustration: P]assing from our full and extended illustrated list of extempore, or "rough and ready" examples of the trap kind, we will now turn our attention to the consideration of that well-known implement, the trade _steel_ trap. Although the foregoing varieties often serve to good purpose, the Steel Trap is the principal device used by professional trappers, and possesses great advantages over all other traps. It is portable, sets easily and quickly, either on land or beneath the water; can be concealed with ease; secures its victims without injury to their fur, and by the application of the spring or sliding pole (hereafter described) will most effectually prevent the captive from making his escape by self-amputation, besides placing him beyond the reach of destruction by other animals. The author has known trappers who have plied their vocation largely by the aid of the various hand made traps, described in the earlier pages of this book, and with good success. But in the regular _business_ of systematic trapping, their extensive use is not common. The experience of modern trappers generally, warrants the assertion that for practical utility, from every point of view, the steel trap stands unrivalled. These traps are made of all sizes, from that suitable for the capture of the house rat, to the immense and wieldy machine adapted to the grizzly, and known as the "bear tamer." They may be bought at almost any hardware shop, although a large portion of the traps ordinarily sold are defective. They should be selected with care, and the springs always tested [Page 138] before purchase. Besides the temper of the spring, there are also other necessary qualities in a steel trap, which we subjoin in order that the amateur may know how to judge and select his weapons judiciously. [Illustration] REQUISITES OF A GOOD STEEL TRAP. 1. _The jaws should not be too thin nor sharp cornered_. In the cheaper class of steel traps the jaws approach to the thinness of sheet-iron, and the result is that the thin edges often sever the leg of their would-be captive in a single stroke. At other times the leg is so deeply cut as to easily enable the animal to gnaw or twist it off. This is the common mode of escape, with many animals. 2. _The pan should not be too large_. This is a very common fault with many steel traps and often defeats its very object. Where the pan is small, the foot of the animal in pressing it, will be directly in the centre of the snap of the jaw, and he is thus firmly secured far up on the leg. On the other hand, a large pan nearly filling the space between the jaws as the trap is set, may be sprung by a touch on its extreme edge, and the animal's toe is thus likely to get slightly pinched, if indeed the paw is not thrown off altogether by the forcible snap of the jaw. 3. _The springs should be strong, scientifically tempered, and proportioned_. The strength of a perfectly tempered spring will always remain the same, whether in winter or summer, never losing its elasticity. The best of tempering, however, is useless in a spring badly formed or clumsily tapered. 4. The jaws should be so curved as to give the bow of the spring a proper sweep to work upon. The jaws should lie _flat_ when open, and should always work easily on their hinges. 5. Every trap should be furnished with a strong chain with ring and swivel attached, and in every case the swivel should turn easily. The celebrated "Newhouse Trap" embodies all the above requisites, and has deservedly won a reputation for excellence second to no other in this or any other country. They are made in eight sizes, as follows: [Illustration: No. 0.] This is the smallest size and is known as the RAT TRAP. It has a single spring, and the jaws spread three and a half inches when set. [Page 139] [Illustration] [Page 141] [Illustration: No. 1.] This size is called the MUSKRAT TRAP, and the jaws spread four inches. It is especially designed for the capture of the mink, marten, and animals of similar size. [Illustration: No. 2.] This is known in the trade as the MINK TRAP, and the jaws spread nearly five inches. It is adapted for the fox, raccoon, or fisher. [Illustration: No. 2-1/2.] This size is called the FOX TRAP. The spread of the jaws is the same as in the foregoing, but the trap is provided with two springs, and consequently has double the power. It is strong enough for the otter, and is generally used for the capture of the fox and fisher. [Illustration: No. 3.] No.3 goes by the name of the OTTER TRAP. The jaws spread five and a half inches, and the powerful double springs do excellent service in the capture of the beaver, fox, badger, opossum, wild cat, and animals of like size. [Illustration: No. 4.] Commonly called the BEAVER TRAP. Jaws spread six and a half inches. This size is especially adapted to the wolf, lynx or wolverine. It may also be set for deer, and extra sets of jaws are made expressly for this purpose, being easily inserted in the place of the ordinary jaws, when desired. [Page 142] [Illustration: No. 6.] This is known as the "GREAT BEAR TAMER," and is a most formidable weapon. The jaws spread sixteen inches, and the weight of the machine is forty-two pounds. It is extensively used in the capture of the moose and grizzly bear, and is the largest and most powerful steel trap made in this or any other country. The springs possess most tremendous power, and require to be set by a lever, as the weight of an ordinary man has not the slightest effect upon them. This lever may be easily applied, as follows: Have at hand four stout straps, supplied with buckles. These should always be carried by the trapper, where the larger double-spring traps are used. To adjust the lever, cut four heavy sticks about three feet long. Take two of them and secure their ends together, side by side, with one of the straps. Now insert the spring of the trap between them, near the strap. Bear down heavily on the other extremity of the lever, and the spring will be found to yield easily, after which the remaining ends of the levers should be secured by a second strap. The other spring should now be treated in the same way, after which the jaws should be spread and the pan adjusted. The removal of the straps and levers is now an easy matter, after which [Page 143] the trap is set. The stoutest spring is easily made to yield by such treatment. [Illustration: No. 5.] The SMALL BEAR TRAP. The jaws of this size spread nearly a foot, and the weight of the trap is seventeen pounds. It is used in the capture of the black bear, puma, and animals of similar size. All of the foregoing are supplied with swivels and chains. HINTS ON BAITING THE STEEL TRAP. [Illustration] There is a very common and erroneous idea current among amateur sportsmen and others in regard to the baiting of the steel trap; viz., that the pan of the trap is intended for the _bait_. This was the old custom in the traps of bygone times, but no modern trap is intended to be so misused, and would indeed often defeat its object in such a case, wherein it will be easily [Page 144] seen. The object of the professional trapper is the acquisition of furs; and a prime fur skin should be without break or bruise, from nose to tail. A trap set as above described, would of course catch its victim by the head or neck, and the fur would be more or less injured at the very spot where it should be particularly free from blemish. The true object of the steel trap is, that it shall take the animal by the _leg_, thus injuring the skin only in a part where it is totally valueless. We give, then, this imperative rule--_Never bait a steel trap on the pan_. The pan is intended for the _foot_ of the game, and in order to insure capture by this means, the bait should be so placed as that the attention of the animal will be _drawn away_ from the trap; the latter being in such a position as will cause the victim to _step in it_ when reaching for the tempting allurement. There are several ways of doing this, one of which we here illustrate. A pen of stakes, in the shape of the letter V, is first constructed. The trap is then set in the angle, and the bait attached to the end stake directly over it. Another method is shown in the picture on our title-page to this section, the bait being suspended on a stick above the trap. There are various other methods on the same principle, which will be described hereafter, under the titles of the various game. THE SPRING POLE. [Illustration] This is nearly always used in connection with the steel trap, in the capture of the smaller land animals. It not only lifts the creature into the air, and thus prevents its becoming a prey to other animals, but it also guards against the escape of the victim by the amputation of its own leg. This is a very common mode of release with many kinds of game--notably the mink, marten, and muskrat; and for the successful trapping of these, as well as many other animals, the spring and sliding pole are absolute necessities. It is a simple contrivance, consisting merely of a pole inserted in the ground near the trap. The pole is then bent down, and the trap chain secured to its end. A small, notched peg is next driven into the ground and the top of the pole caught in it, and thus held in a bent position. When the animal is caught, its struggles release the pole, and the latter, flying up with a jerk, [Page 145] lifts the trap and its occupant high in the air, out of the reach of marauders, and beyond the power of escape by self-amputation. Even in the capture of large game the spring pole often serves to good purpose. The struggles of a heavy animal are often so violent as to break a stout trap or chain; and the force of the spring pole, although not sufficient to raise the animal from its feet, often succeeds in easing the strain, and often thus saves a trap from being broken to pieces. The power of the pole must of course be proportionate to the weight of the desired game. THE SLIDING POLE. [Illustration] The first impulse with almost every aquatic animal when caught in a trap, is to plunge headlong into deep water. With the smaller animals, such as the mink and muskrat, this is all that is desired by the trapper, as the weight of the trap with the chain is sufficient to drown its victim. But with larger animals, the beaver and otter for instance, an additional precaution, in the shape of the "sliding pole," is necessary. This consists of a pole about ten feet long, smoothly trimmed of its branches, excepting at the tip, where a few stubs should be left. Insert this end obliquely into the bed of the stream, where the water is [Page 146] deep, and secure the large end to the bank by means of a hooked stick, as seen in our illustration. The ring of the chain should be large enough to slide easily down the entire length of the pole. When the trap is set, the ring should be slipped on the large end of the pole, and held in place by resting a stick against it. The animal, when caught, plunges off into deep water, and guided by the pole, is led to the bottom of the river. The ring slides down to the bed of the stream, and there holds its victim until drowned. THE CLOG. A trap which is set for heavy game should never be secured to a stake. Many of the larger and more powerful animals when caught in a trap thus secured, are apt either to pull or twist their legs off, or break both trap and chain to pieces. To guard against this, the chain should be weighted with a pole or small log, of a size proportionate to the dimensions of the game, its weight being merely sufficient to offer a serious incumbrance to the animal, without positively checking its movements. This impediment is called the "clog," and is usually attached to the ring of the trap chain by its larger end, the ring being slipped over the latter, and secured in place by a wedge. A look at our frontispiece will give a clear idea of both clog and attachment. [Page 147] THE GRAPPLING IRON. [Illustration] This answers the same purpose as the above, and is often used instead. It is manufactured in connection with the larger steel traps, and is attached to the chain by a swivel joint. Its general shape is shown in an engraving, and it offers a serious resistance to the victim, who endeavors to run away with it. THE SEASON FOR TRAPPING. The business of trapping for profit must be confined to the season between the first of October and the beginning of May, as furs of all kinds are worthless when taken during the other months of the year. The reason for this is obvious. A "_prime fur_" must be "_thick_" and "_full_," and as all our fur-bearing animals shed their heavy winter coats as warm weather approaches, it necessarily follows that the capture at this season would be unprofitable. As the autumn approaches the new growth appears, and the fur becomes thick and glossy. By the middle of October most furs are in their prime, but the heart of winter is the best time for general trapping. [Page 148] The furs of the mink, muskrat, fisher, marten and beaver are not in their perfect prime until this season. And _all_ other furs are _sure_ to be in good condition at this time. THE ART OF TRAPPING. From time immemorial, and in every nation of the world, the art of trapping has been more or less practised. By some as a means of supplying their wants in the shape of daily food, and by others for the purpose of merchandise or profit. To be a clever and successful trapper, much more is required than is generally supposed. The mere fact of a person's being able to set a trap cleverly and judiciously forms but a small part of his proficiency; and unless he enters deeper into the subject and learns something of the nature and habits of the animals he intends to catch, his traps will be set in vain, or at best meet with but indifferent success. The study of natural history here becomes a matter of necessity as well as pleasure and profit. And unless the trapper thoroughly acquaints himself with the habits of his various game, the sagacity and cunning of his intended victim will often outwit his most shrewd endeavors, much to his chagrin. The sense of smell, so largely developed in many animals, becomes one of the trappers most serious obstacles, and seems at times to amount almost to positive _reason_, so perfectly do the creatures baffle the most ingenious attempts of man in his efforts to capture them. A little insight into the ways of these artful animals, however, and a little experience with their odd tricks soon enables one to cope with them successfully and overcome their whims. For the benefit of the amateur who has not had the opportunity of studying for himself, the peculiarities of the various game, the author appends a comprehensive chapter on "Practical Natural History," in which will be found full accounts of the peculiar habits and leading characteristics of all the various animals commonly sought by the trapper, together with detailed directions for trapping each variety, supplemented with a faithful portrait of the animal in nearly every instance. A careful reading of the above mentioned chapter will do much towards acquainting the novice with the ways of the sly creatures, which he hopes to victimize, and will thus prepare him to contend with them successfully. In the art of trapping the bait is often entirely dispensed with, the traps being set and carefully concealed in the _runways_ of the various animals. These by-paths are easily detected by an [Page 149] experienced trapper, and are indicated either by footprints or other evidences of the animal, together with the matted leaves and broken twigs and grasses. Natural channels, such as hollow logs or crevices between rocks or fallen trees, offer excellent situations for steel traps, and a good trapper is always on the _qui vive_ for such chance advantages, thus often saving much of the time and labor which would otherwise be spent in the building of artificial enclosures, etc. The most effective baits used in the art of trapping are those which are used to attract the animal through its sense of smell, as distinct from that of its mere appetite for food. These baits are known in the profession as "medicine," or scent baits and possess the most remarkable power of attracting the various animals from great distances, and leading them almost irresistibly to any desired spot. Such is the barks tone or castoreum, of such value in the capture of the beaver, and the oil of anise, so commonly used for the trapping of animals in general. These various substances will presently be considered under their proper heading. Many detailed and specific directions on the subject of trapping will be found in the long chapter following; and, in closing our preliminary remarks, we would add just one more word of general caution, which the young trapper should always bear in mind. In all cases avoid handling the trap with the bare hand. Many an amateur has set and _reset_ his traps in vain, and retired from the field of trapping in disgust, from the mere want of observing this rule. Animals of keen scent are quick in detecting the slightest odors, and that left by the touch of a human hand often suffices to drive the creature away from a trap which, under other circumstances, would have been its certain destruction. To be sure the various scent baits already alluded to, will in a measure overcome human traces, but not always effectually, and in order to insure success no precautions so simple should be neglected. A pair of clean buckskin gloves are valuable requisites to the trapper, and should always be "on hand" when setting or transporting traps. "MEDICINES," OR SCENT BAITS. These form one of the most important requisites of the trapper's art. A trap baited simply with the food of the [Page 150] required animal, may and often will be successful, but with the addition of the trapper's "medicine" judicially applied, success is almost a certainty. These scent baits are of various kinds, some being almost universal in their usefulness, while others are attractive only to some particular species of animal. We give a few of the recipes of the most valued preparations used by trappers throughout the land. The application and use of each is fully described in its proper place hereafter. CASTOREUM. This substance, commonly known as "_Barkstone_," by trappers and fur dealers, is obtained from the beaver, and is a remarkable aid in the capture of that animal. It is an acrid secretion of a powerful musky odor, found in two glands beneath the root of the tail of the beaver. These glands are about two inches in length. They are cut out and the contents are squeezed into a small bottle. When fresh the substance is of a yellowish-red color, changing to a light-brown when dried. Both male and female animals yield the castoreum, but that of the male is generally considered the best. Castoreum is a commercial drug, and in many beaver countries it is quite an article of trade. There are other sacs lying directly behind the castor glands which contain a strong oil of rancid smell. This should not be confounded with the Castoreum. CASTOREUM COMPOSITION. The Barkstone is used both pure and in combination with other substances, the following prescription being much used: Into the contents of about ten of the castor bags, mix two ground nutmegs, thirty or forty cloves, also powdered, one drop essence of peppermint, and about two thimblefuls of ground cinnamon. Into this stir as much whisky as will give the whole the consistency of paste, after which the preparation should be bottled and kept carefully corked. At the expiration of a few days the odor increases ten-fold in power and is ready for use. A bottle, if thus prepared, will retain its strength for nearly a half year, provided it is kept closely corked. A few drops of either the pure castoreum or the combination spread upon the bait or in the neighborhood of the trap, as described under the chapter on the Beaver, will entice that animal from a great distance. [Page 151] MUSK. This substance is a secretion obtained from several different animals, notably the otter and muskrat. The glands which contain it are located similarly to the castor glands of the beaver, and the musk should be discharged into a vial, as previously described. The musk of the female muskrat is said to be the most powerful, and is chiefly used by trappers in the capture of that animal, the otter being chiefly attracted by its own musk. ASSAFOETIDA. This foul smelling production seems to have a specially attractive fragrance to many animals, and for general use is much esteemed by trappers. It is a vegetable drug from Persia and the East Indies, and is imported in the form of concrete juice, of a brown color. OIL OF RHODIUM. This is a vegetable oil obtained from a species of rose, and is quite costly. Its power of attracting animals is surprising, and it is in very common use among trappers. FISH OIL. This is especially useful in the capture of the majority of the fur tribe, and particularly the water animals. The oil may be bought ready for use, or prepared with little trouble. The common method consists in cutting up fish of any kind, especially eels, into small bits, putting them in a bottle, and setting the latter in the full exposure to the sun. It should thus be left for about two weeks, at the end of which time a rancid oil will have formed. A few drops of this oil will entice many animals from surprising distances, often drawing their attention to a bait which otherwise they might never have scented. OIL OF SKUNK. This, the _ne plus ultra_, or quintessence of diabolical stench, yields the tempting savor which irresistibly attracts many animals to their final doom. It is contained in a pouch beneath the insertion of the tail of the animal, and is spread abroad by the [Page 152] creature with lavish extravagance when circumstances demand, or we might say when occasion permits. It may be taken from the animal and bottled as already described in other instances, chloride of lime being used to eradicate the stench from the hands. OIL OF AMBER. This substance is frequently referred to in the following pages, and is a vegetable product of the amber gum of commerce. The Oil of Ambergris is also sometimes used by trappers, and is likewise known as Amber Oil. The two are thus often confounded, although the former is supposed to be most generally used. OIL OF ANISE. This is strongly recommended by many trappers as a most excellent "universal medicine." It is a vegetable product, and is obtainable at any drug store. SWEET FENNEL. This plant is commonly cultivated all over the United States, and the seeds are often powdered and used as a scent bait. The Oil of Fennel is preferable, however, and may be had at almost any drug store. CUMMIN. This is another plant, somewhat resembling the former, and, like it, cultivated for its seeds. It has an aromatic taste, and its strong pungent odor renders it of great value to the trapper. The seeds may be powdered and thus used, or the oil of the plant may be easily procured. The latter is preferable. FENUGREEK. Like the two foregoing this plant is valuable for its seeds, which are used for medicinal purposes. The oil or bruised seeds may be used. LAVENDER. This is another aromatic plant, the oil of which, either pure or diluted with alcohol, is much used in the trapper's art. [Page 153] COMPOUND. For ordinary use, a mixture of Assafoetida, Musk, Oil of Anise, and Fish Oil, together with a few drops of the Oil of Rhodium, is especially recommended by our most skilled trappers. This preparation contains the various substances which are known to attract the different fur bearing animals, and its use often insures success where anyone of the simple substances would be ineffectual. THE TRAIL. The object of the "trail" consists in offering a leading scent which, when followed, will bring the animal to the various traps, and when properly made will be the means of drawing large numbers of game from all quarters and from great distances, whereas without it the traps might remain undiscovered. Trails are sometimes made to connect a line of traps, as when set along the banks of streams for mink, etc., at other times, as in trapping the fox, for instance, they should extend from the trap on all sides, like the spokes of a wheel from the hub, thus covering considerable area, and rendering success more certain than it would be without this precaution. The combination "medicine" just described is excellent for the purposes of a trail for minks, otter, muskrat, and many other animals. Soak a piece of meat, or piece of wood in the preparation, and drag it along the ground between the traps. A dead fish smeared with the fluid will also answer the same purpose. The soles of the boots may also be smeared with the "medicine" and the trail thus accomplished. Trails of various kinds are considered under their respective and appropriate heads in the chapters on animals, all of which will be found useful and effective. HOW TO TRAP. In the following pages will be found full and ample directions for the trapping of all our leading game, together with detailed descriptions of peculiar habits of each species. The various articles contain careful descriptions, whereby the species may be readily recognized, and, in nearly every case, are accompanied by faithful illustrations. We add also valuable directions for the best manner of removing the skin of each animal, this being a matter of considerable importance, as affecting their pecuniary value. [Page 154] THE FOX. Foremost in the list of animals noted for their sly craft, and the hero of a host of fables and well-authenticated stories, in which artful cunning gains the advantage over human intelligence, Reynard, the fox, reigns supreme. There is scarcely a professional trapper in the land who has not, in his day, been hoodwinked by the wily strategy of this sly creature, whose extreme cunning renders him the most difficult of all animals to trap. The fox belongs to the Dog family, and there are six varieties inhabiting the United States. The red species is the most common and is too well known to need a description here. The Cross Fox considerably resembles the above, only being much darker in color, the red hair being thickly speckled with black. This species varies considerably in color in different individuals, often much resembling the red variety, and again approaching nearer in color to the Black or Silver Fox. This variation, together with the name of the animal, has given rise among trappers to the wide-spread belief of the animal being a cross between the two species which it so nearly resembles. It seems to be a permanent variety, however, the term cross being applied, we believe, on account of a dark marking on the back, between the shoulders of the animal, suggestive of that title. The Silver or Black Fox is the most beautiful and most rare of the genus, and yields the most valuable fur produced in this country. Its color is black, with the exception of the tip of the tail, which is white. The Prairie Fox is the largest of the species. It inhabits the Western Prairies, and in color resembles the common red variety, only being a trifle yellower. The Kit, or Swift Fox, is smaller than the Red, and abounds in the Western States. The Gray Fox is a Southern variety, and is very beautiful. It is less daring and cunning than the Common Fox, and seldom approaches a farm-yard, where it is in close proximity to a dwelling. The general habits and characteristics of all the foxes are similar. For natural cunning they take the lead of all other animals. They are all built for speed, and their senses of smell and hearing are acutely developed. Their food consists of wild fowl of all kinds, rabbits, squirrels, birds and their eggs, together with many kinds of ripe fruits, "sour grapes" not included. They live in burrows, often usurped, or crevices between rocks; and their [Page 155] young, from three to nine in number, are brought forth in March. We are strongly tempted to narrate a few remarkable instances of the animal's cunning, but we forbear for want of space. Our reader must take it for granted that when he attempts to trap a fox, he will be likely to find more than his match in the superior craftiness of that animal. If the trap is overturned and the bait gone, or if repeatedly sprung and found empty, he must not be surprised or discouraged, for he is experiencing only what all other trappers have experienced before him. There are instances on record where this knowing creature has sprung the trap by dropping a stick upon the pan, afterwards removing the suspended bait to enjoy it at his leisure. His movements are as lithe and subtile as those of a snake, and when "cornered" there is no telling what caper that cunning instinct and subtlety of body will not lead him to perform. When pursued by hounds he has been known to lead them a long chase at full speed up to the crest of a hill: here he leaps a shrub, swiftly as an arrow, and landing on the ground on the opposite declivity quickly returns beneath the brushwood and crouches down closely upon the ground. Presently the hounds come along in full cry, and blazing scent they dart over the shrub in full pursuit, dash down the hillside, never stopping until at the bottom of the hill they find they are off the trail. As soon as the hounds are passed, sly Reynard cautiously takes to his legs: creeping adroitly back over the brow of the hill, he runs for a considerable distance on his back trail, and at last, after taking a series of long jumps therefrom returns to his covert at leisure. Page after page might be filled to the glory of this creature's cunning, but enough has been said to give the young trapper an insight into the character of the animal he hopes to victimize, and prepare him for a trial of skill which, without this knowledge, would be a most one-sided affair. We would not advise our young amateur to calculate very confidently on securing a fox at the first attempt, but we can truthfully vouch that if the creature can be _caught at all_, it can be done by following the directions we now give. One of the most essential things in the trapping of this, as well as nearly all animals, is that the trap should be _perfectly clean and free from rust_. The steel trap No.2, page 141 is the best for animals of the size of the Fox. The trap should be washed in weak lye, being afterwards well greased and finally smoked over burning hen's feathers. [Page 156] All this and even more precaution is necessary. No matter how strongly scented the trap may be, with the smoke, or other substances, a mere touch of the bare hand will leave a _human scent_ which the fox perceives as soon as the other, and this is enough to deaden his enthusiasm over the most tempting bait. On this account, it is necessary always to handle the trap with buckskin gloves, never allowing the bare hand to come in contact with it, on any account, after once prepared for setting. Before arranging the trap for its work, it is necessary to construct what is called a "bed." There are several methods of doing this; but from all we can learn from the most experienced trappers, the following is the most successful. The bed should be made on flat ground, using any of the following substances: Buckwheat chaff, which is the best, oat, wheat, or hay chaff, or in lieu of these, moss or wood ashes. Let the bed be three feet in diameter, and an inch and a half in depth. To insure success it is the best plan to bait the bed itself for several days with scraps of beef or cheese strewn upon, and near it. If the fox once visits the place, discovers the tempting morsels and enjoys a good meal unmolested, he will be sure to revisit the spot so long as he finds a "free lunch" awaiting him. When he is found to come regularly and take the bait, he is as good as caught, provided our instructions are carefully followed. Take the trap, previously prepared as already described, chain it securely to a small log of wood about two feet long. Dig a hole in the earth in the centre of the bed, large enough to receive the trap, with its log, and chain. Set the traps, supporting the pan by pushing some of the chaff beneath it. Now lay a piece of paper over the pan and sprinkle the chaff over it evenly and smoothly, until every trace of the trap and its appendages is obliterated. Endeavor to make the bed look as it has previously done, and bait it with the same materials. Avoid treading much about the bed and step in the same tracks as far as possible. Touch nothing with the naked hands. Cover up all the footprints as much as possible, and leave the trap to take care of itself and any intruder. If our directions have been accurately followed, and due care has been exercised on the part of the young trapper, there is every probability that the next morning will reward him with his fox. But if a day or two elapse without success, it is well to resort to the "scent baits" described on page 149. Take the trap out of the bed, and with a feather smear it with melted beeswax, or rub it with a little Oil of Rhodium, Assafoetida, or Musk. Oil of Amber, and Lavender water are also used for the same [Page 157] purpose by many professional trappers. These are not always necessary but are often used as a last resort, and will most always insure success. Another method of baiting is shown in our page illustration opposite, and consists in suspending the bait by a stick in such a position that the fox will be obliged to step upon the trap in order to reach it. The bed should be baited in this way several times before the trap is set. This method is very commonly employed. Another still, is to bury the dead body of a rabbit or bird in loose earth, covering the whole with chaff. Sprinkle a few drops of Musk, or Oil of Amber over the bed. After the fox has taken the bait, the place should be rebaited and the trap inserted in the mound and covered with the chaff, being scented as before. Some trappers employ the following method with good results: The trap is set, in a spring or at the edge of a small shallow brook and attached by a chain to a stake in the bank, the chain being under water. There should be only about an inch and a half of water over the trap, and its distance from the shore should be about a foot and a half, or even less. In order to induce the fox to place his foot in the trap it is necessary to cut a sod of grass, just the size of the inside of the jaws of the trap, and place it over the pan, so that it will project above the water and offer a tempting foot rest for the animal while he reaches for the bait which rests in the water just beyond. To accomplish this device without springing the trap by the weight of the sod, it is necessary to brace up the pan from beneath with a small perpendicular stick, sufficiently to neutralize the pressure from above. The bait may be a dead rabbit or bird thrown on the water outside of the trap and about a foot from it, being secured by a string and peg. If the fox spies the bait he will be almost sure to step upon the sod to reach it, and thus get caught. If none of these methods are successful, the young trapper may at least content himself with the idea that the particular fox he is after is an _old fellow_ and is "not to be caught with chaff" or any thing else,--for if these devices will not secure him _nothing_ will. If he is a young and comparatively unsophisticated specimen, he will fall an easy victim to any of the foregoing stratagems. Although steel traps are generally used in the capture of foxes, a cleverly constructed and baited dead-fall such as is described on page 113 will often do capital service in that direction. By [Page 158] arranging and baiting the trap as therein described, even a fox is _likely to become_ its prey. To skin the fox the pelt should be first ripped down each hind leg to the vent. The skin being cut loose around this point, the bone of the tail should next be removed. This may be done by holding a split stick tightly over the bone after which the latter may be easily pulled out of the skin. The hide should then be drawn back, and carefully removed, working with caution around the legs, and particularly so about the eyes, ears, and lips when these points are reached. The skin should be stretched as described on page 273. THE WOLF. The United States are blessed with several species of this animal. The Grey Wolf, which is the largest, and the smaller, Prairie Wolf or Coyote, being the most commonly known. There are also the White Wolf, Black Wolf and the Texan or Red Wolf. In outward form they all bear a considerable resemblance to each other, and their habits are generally similar in the different varieties. Wolves are fierce and dangerous animals, and are very powerful of limb and fleet of foot. They are extremely cowardly in character, and will seldom attack man or animal except when by their greater numbers they would be sure of victory. Wolves are found in almost every quarter of the globe. Mountain and plain, field, jungle and prairie are alike infested with them, and they hunt in united bands, feeding upon almost any animal which by their combined attacks they can overpower. Their inroads upon herds and sheep folds are sometimes horrifying, and a single wolf has been known to kill as many as forty sheep in a single night, seemingly from mere blood-thirsty desire. In the early colonization of America, wolves ran wild over the country in immense numbers, and were a source of great danger; but now, owing to wide-spread civilization, they have disappeared from the more settled localities and are chiefly found in Western wilds and prairie lands. The Grey Wolf is the largest and most formidable representative of the Dog tribe on this continent. Its general appearance is truthfully given in our drawing. Its length, exclusive of the tail, is about four feet, the length of the tail being about a foot and a half. Its color varies from yellowish grey to almost [Page 159] white in the northern countries, in which latitude the animal is sometimes found of an enormous size, measuring nearly seven feet in length. The fur is coarse and shaggy about the neck and haunches, and the tail is bushy. They abound in the region east of the Rocky Mountains and northward, and travel in packs of hundreds in search of prey. Bisons, wild horses, deer and even bears fall victims to their united fierceness, and human beings, too, often fall a prey to their ferocious attacks. [Illustration] The Coyote, or Common Prairie Wolf, also known as the Burrowing Wolf, as its name implies inhabits the Western plains and prairies. They are much smaller than the Grey Wolf, and not so dangerous. They travel in bands and unitedly attack whatever animal they desire to kill. Their homes are made in burrows which they excavate in the ground. The Texan Wolf inhabits the latitude of Texas and southward. It is of a tawny red color and nearly as large as the grey species, possessing the same savage nature. In April or May the female wolf retires to her burrow or den, and her young, from six to ten in number, are brought forth. The wolf is almost as sly and cunning as the fox, and the same caution is required in trapping the animal. They are extremely keen scented, and the mere touch of a human hand on the trap is often enough to preclude the possibility of capture. A mere footprint, or the scent of tobacco juice, they look upon with great suspicion, [Page 160] and the presence of either will often prevent success. The same directions given in regard to trapping the fox are equally adapted for the wolf. The trap (size No, 4, page 141) should be smoked or smeared with beeswax or blood, and set in a bed of ashes or other material as therein described, covering with moss, chaff, leaves or some other light substance. The clog should be fully twice as heavy as that used for the fox. Some trappers rub the traps with "brake leaves," sweet fern, or even skunk's cabbage. Gloves should always be worn in handling the traps, and all tracks should be obliterated as much as if a fox were the object sought to be secured. A common way of securing the wolf consists in setting the trap in a spring or puddle of water, throwing the dead body of some large animal in the water beyond the trap in such a position that the wolf will be obliged to tread upon the trap, in order to reach the bait. This method is described both under the head of the Fox and the Bear. Another plan is to fasten the bait between two trees which are very close together, setting a trap on each side and carefully concealing them as already directed, and securing each to a clog of about twenty pounds in weight. The enclosure described on page 144 is also successful. There are various scent or trail baits used in trapping the wolf. Oil of Assafoetida is by many trappers considered the best, but Oil of Rhodium, powdered fennel, fenugreek and Cummin Oil are also much used. It is well to smear a little of the first mentioned oil near the traps, using any one of the other substances, or indeed a mixture of them all, for the trail. This may be made by smearing the preparation on the sole of the boots and walking in the direction of the traps, or by dragging from one trap to another a piece of meat scented with the substance, as described under the head of Mink. The wolf is an adept at feigning death, playing "'possum" with a skill which would do credit to that veritable animal itself. A large dead-fall, constructed of logs, page 17, when skilfully scented and baited, will often allure a wolf into its clutches, and a very strong twitch-up, with a noose formed of heavy wire, or a strip of stout calf hide, will successfully capture the crafty creature. In skinning the wolf the hide may be removed either by, first ripping up the belly, or in a circular piece, as described connection with the fox, both methods being much used. The board and hoop stretchers [Page 161] used in preparing the skin are described on pages 273 and 275. THE PUMA. The puma, commonly known also as the panther or cougar, is the largest American representative of the Cat tribe, and for this reason is often dignified by the name of the "American Lion." It is found more or less abundantly throughout the United States; and although not generally considered a dangerous foe to mankind, it has often been known in the wild districts to steal upon the traveller unawares, and in many instances human beings have fallen a prey to the powerful claws and teeth of this powerful animal. The life of the puma is mostly in the trees. Crouching upon the branches it watches for, or steals, cat-like, upon its prey. Should a solitary animal pass within reach, the puma will not hesitate in pouncing upon the unfortunate creature; but if a herd of animals, or party of men, should be travelling together, the caution of the brute asserts itself, and he will often dog their footsteps for a great distance, in hopes of securing a straggler. Birds are struck down by a single blow of the puma's ready paw, and so quick are his movements that even though a bird has risen on the wing, he can often make one of his wonderful bounds, and with a light, quick stroke, arrest the winged prey before it has time to soar beyond reach. The puma is a good angler. Sitting by the water's edge he watches for his victims, and no sooner does an unfortunate fish swim within reach, than the nimble paw is outstretched, and it is swept out of the water on dry land, and eagerly devoured. A puma has been known to follow the track of travellers for days together, only daring to show itself at rare intervals, and never endeavoring to make an attack except through stealth. The animal will often approach cautiously upon a traveller until sufficiently near to make its fatal spring; but if the pursued party suddenly turn round and face the crawling creature, the beast becomes discomfited at once, and will retreat from the gaze which seems to it a positive terror. So long as a puma can be kept in sight, no danger need be feared from the animal but it will improve every opportunity of springing unobservedly upon a heedless passer by. The total length of the puma is six feet and a half, of which the tail occupies a little over two feet. Its color is of a uniform light tawny tint, fading into light grey on the under parts, and the tip of the tail [Page 162] is black. The puma is one of the few members of the Cat tribe, which are without the usual spots or stripes so observable in the tiger and leopard. The lion has the same uniformity of color, and it is perhaps partly on that account that the panther is so often known as the American lion. In infancy the young pumas possess decided tiger-like markings, and leopard-like spots, but these disappear altogether as the animal increases in size. The cougar has learned by experience a wholesome fear of man, and as civilization has extended throughout our country, the animals have been forced to retire from the neighborhood of human habitations and hide themselves in thick, uncultivated forest lands. [Illustration] Sometimes, however, the animal, urged by fierce hunger, will venture on a marauding expedition for several miles, and although not an object of personal dread to the inhabitants, he often becomes a pestilent neighbor to the farmer, committing great ravages among his flocks and herds, and making sad havoc in his poultry yard. It is not the fortune of every puma, however, to reside in the neighborhood of such easy prey as pigs, sheep and poultry, and the greater number of these animals are forced to depend for their [Page 163] subsistence on their own success in chasing or surprising the various animals on which they feed. When a puma is treed by hunters, it is said to show great skill in selecting a spot wherein it shall be best concealed from the gazers below, and will even draw the neighboring branches about its body to hide itself from the aim of the hunter's rifle. While thus lying upon the branches the beast is almost invisible from below, as its fur, when seen, harmonizes so well with the the bark which covers the boughs, that the one can scarcely be distinguished from the other. The puma loves to hide in the branches of trees, and from this eminence to launch itself upon the doomed animal that may pass within its reach. It may, therefore, be easily imagined how treacherous a foe the creature may be when ranging at will among the countless trees and jungles of our American forests. Although so stealthy and sly a creature the cougar possesses very little cunning and is easily trapped. The Gun trap, page 20, is commonly and successfully employed in South America in the capture of the jaguar, as our title illustration, page 15, represents, and it may also be used with the same success in trapping the puma. The Bow trap, page 23, and the dead-fall described in the early part of the book, will all be found to work admirably in the destruction of this treacherous beast. The animal may be entrapped alive, should any of our young trappers dare to try the experiment. There are two ways of accomplishing this. The first is by the aid of a huge coop of logs, as described on page 30 or 33, and the other by the Pit-fall, as exemplified on page 31. Huge twitch-ups may also be constructed, using very strong wire. The bait may consist of a fowl, sheep's head, or the heart of any animal. Fresh meat of any kind will answer the purpose, and in the case of the Pit-fall a live fowl is preferable to a dead one as it will attract the puma by its motions, or by its cackling, and thus induce him to _spring_ upon his prey, which will precipitate him to the bottom of the pit and thus effect his capture. They are commonly taken with the steel trap. The puma seldom leaves the vicinity of the carcass of an animal it has killed until it is all devoured. When such a carcass can be found the capture of the beast is easily effected. Set the trap, size No. 5, page 143, near the remains, and cover the carcass with leaves. The next visit of the animal will find him _more attached_ to the place than ever,--so much so that he will be unable to "_tear himself away_." [Page 164] The skin of the puma is properly removed by first cutting up the belly as described under the Beaver, using great care about the head and face. Use the hoop stretcher, page 275. THE CANADIAN LYNX. The lynx represents another of the Cat tribe, and as its name implies is a native of the regions north of the United States, although sometimes found in upper Maine and on the lower borders of the great lakes. It is commonly known throughout Canada as the Peshoo, or "Le Chat." Our illustration is a truthful representation of the animal. Its total length exceeds three feet, and its tail is a mere stub. The fur is thick, and the hairs are long, the general color being grey, sprinkled with black. The legs are generally darker than the body, and the ears are often edged with white. The limbs and muscles are very powerful, the paws are very large for the size of the animal, and are furnished with strong white claws, which are imbedded in the fur of the feet when not in use, they are shown in our illustration. The ears of the lynx form a distinct feature, by which the animal could be easily identified; they are long and tipped with stiff projecting hairs, giving the creature a very odd appearance. The peshoo can not be said to be a very dangerous animal, unless it is attacked, when it becomes a most ferocious antagonist. The writer knew of a gentleman who was pounced upon and very nearly killed by one of these infuriated creatures, and there are many like instances on record. The principal food of the lynx consists of the smaller quadrupeds, the American hare being its favorite article of diet. It is a good swimmer, and a most agile climber, chasing its prey among the branches with great stealth and dexterity. Like the wolf, fox, and many other flesh eating-animals, the lynx does not content itself with the creatures which fall by the stroke of its own talons, or the grip of its own teeth, but will follow the trail of the puma, in its nocturnal quest after prey, and thankfully partake of the feast which remains after its predecessor has satisfied its appetite. [Illustration] While running at full speed, the lynx presents a most ludicrous appearance, owing to its peculiar manner of leaping. It progresses in successive bounds, with its back slightly arched, and all the feet striking the ground nearly at the same instant. Powerful as the animal is, it is easily killed by a blow on the [Page 165] back, a slight stick being a sufficient weapon wherewith to destroy the creature. For this reason the "Dead-fall" is particularly adapted for its capture, and is very successful, as the animal possesses very little cunning, and will enter an enclosure of any kind without the slightest compunction, when a tempting bait is in view. The dead-fall should of course be constructed on a large scale, and it is a good plan to have the enclosure deep, and the bait as far back as will necessitate the animal being well under the suspended log in order to reach it. The bait may consist of a dead quadruped or of fresh meat of any kind. The Gun trap, page 20, and the Bow trap, page 23, will also be found efficient, and a very powerful twitch-up, constructed from a stout pole and extra strong wire will also serve to good purpose. The lynx is not so prolific as many of the feline tribe, the number of its young seldom exceeding two, and this only once a year. The fur of the animal is valuable for the purposes to which the feline skin is generally adapted, and commands a fair price in the market. Those who hunt or trap the lynx will do well to choose the winter months for the time of their operations, as during the cold season the animal possesses a thicker and warmer fur than it offers in the summer months. When the steel trap is used, it should be of size No. 4, page [Page 166] 141, set at the opening of a pen of stakes, the bait being placed at the back of the enclosure in such a position, as that the animal will be obliged to step upon the pan of the trap in order to reach it. Any of the devices described under "Hints on Baiting" will be found successful. The skin of the animal may be removed as directed in the case of the fox, being drawn off the body whole, or it may be removed after the manner of the beaver, and similarly stretched. THE WILD CAT. This animal is one of the most wide-spread species of the Cat tribe, being found not only in America, but throughout nearly the whole of Europe as well as in Northern Asia. In many parts of the United States, where the wild cat was wont to flourish, it has become exterminated, owing to civilization and the destruction of forest lands. Many naturalists are of the opinion that the wild cat is the original progenitor of our domestic cat, but there is much difference of opinion in regard to the subject. Although they bear great resemblance to each other, there are several points of distinction between the two; one of the most decided differences being in the comparative length of the tails. The tail of the wild cat is little more than half the length of that of the domestic cat, and much more bushy. The color of the wild animal is much more uniform than in the great raft of "domestic" mongrel specimens which make night hideous with their discordant yowls, although we sometimes see a high bred individual which, if his tail was cut off at half its length, might easily pass as an example of the wild variety. The ground tint of the fur in the wild cat is yellowish grey, diversified with dark streaks over the body and limbs, much after the appearance of the so-called "tiger cat." A row of dark streaks and spots extends along the spine, and the tail is thick, short and bushy, tipped with black and encircled with a number of rings of a dark hue. In some individuals the markings are less distinct, and they are sometimes altogether wanting, but in the typical wild cat they are quite prominent. The fur is rather long and thick, particularly so during the winter season, and always in the colder northern regions. The amount of havoc which these creatures often occasion is surprising, and their nocturnal inroads, in poultry yards and [Page 167] sheep folds, render them most hated pests to farmers in the countries where these animals abound. They seem to have a special appetite for the _heads_ of fowls, and will often decapitate a half dozen in a single night, leaving the bodies in otherwise good condition to tell the story of their midnight murders. The home of the wild cat is made in some cleft of rock, or in the hollow of some aged tree, from which the creature issues in the dark hours and starts upon its marauding excursions. Its family numbers from three to six, and the female parent is smaller than the male, the total length of the latter being three feet. [Illustration] Inhabiting the most lonely and inaccessible ranges of rock and mountain, the wild cat is seldom seen during the daytime. At night, like its domestic relative, he prowls far and wide, walking with the same stealthy step and hunting his game in the same tiger-like manner. He is by no means a difficult animal to trap, being easily deceived and taking a bait without any hesitation. The wild cat haunts the shores of lakes and rivers, and it is here that the traps may be set for them. Having caught and killed one of the colony, the rest of them can be easily taken if the body of the dead victim be left near their hunting ground and surrounded with the traps carefully set and concealed beneath leaves moss or the like. [Page 168] Every wild cat that is in the neighborhood will be certain to visit the body, and if the traps are rightly arranged many will be caught. The trap No. 3, page 141 is generally used. We would caution the young trapper in his approach to an entrapped wild cat, as the strength and ferocity of this animal under such circumstances, or when otherwise "hard pressed," is perfectly amazing. When caught in a trap they spring with terrible fury at any one who approaches them, not waiting to be assailed, and when cornered or hemmed in by a hunter they will often turn upon their pursuer, and springing at his face will attack him with most consummate fury, often inflicting serious and sometimes fatal wounds. When hunted and attacked by dogs, the wild cat is a most desperate and untiring fighter, and extremely difficult to kill, for which reason it has been truthfully said that "if a tame cat has nine lives, a _wild cat_ must have a dozen." The twitch-up, erected on a large scale, is utilized to a considerable extent in England in the capture of these animals; and these, together with steel traps and dead-falls, are about the only machines used for their capture. We would suggest the garrote, bow and gun trap also as being very effective. The bait may consist of the head of a fowl or a piece of rabbit or fowl flesh: or, indeed, flesh of almost any kind will answer, particularly of the bird kind. In skinning the wild cat the same directions given under the head of the Fox may be followed, or the pelt may be ripped up the belly and spread on a hoop stretcher, page 275. THE BEAR. There are several species of the Bear tribe which inhabit our continent, the most prominent of which are the Grizzly, and the Musquaw or common Black Bear. There is no other animal of this country which is more widely and deservedly dreaded than the grizzly bear. There are other creatures, the puma and wild cat, for instance, which are dangerous when cornered or wounded, but they are not given to open and deliberate attack upon human beings. The grizzly, however, or "Ephraim," as he is commonly termed by trappers, often displays a most unpleasant readiness to attack and pursue a man, even in the face of fire arms. In many localities, however, where hunting has been pursued to considerable extent, these animals have learned from experience a wholesome fear of man, and are not so ready to assume the offensive, but a "_wounded_" grizzly is one of the [Page 169] most horrible antagonists of which it is possible to conceive, rushing upon its victim with terrible fury, and dealing most tearing and heavy blows with its huge claws. In length this formidable animal often exceeds eight feet, and its color varies from yellowish to brownish black, and some specimens are found of a dirty grey color. The legs are usually darker than the rest of the body, and the face is generally of a lighter tint. The fore limbs of the animal are immensely powerful; and the foot of a full-grown individual is fully eighteen inches long, and armed with claws five inches in length. The grizzly inhabits the Rocky Mountain regions and northward, being found in considerable numbers in the western part of British America. Its hair is thick and coarse, except in the young animal, which possesses a beautiful fur. All other creatures seem to stand in fear of this formidable beast. Even the huge bison, or buffalo, of the Western Prairies sometimes falls a victim to the grizzly bear, and the very imprint of a bear's foot upon the soil is a warning which not even a hungry wolf will disregard. Its food consists of whatever animal it can seize, whether human or otherwise. He also devours green corn, nuts, and fruits of all kinds. In his earlier years he is a good climber, and will ascend a tree with an agility which is surprisingly inconsistent with the unwieldy proportions of his body. The average weight of a full-grown grizzly is over eight hundred pounds, and the girth around the body is about eight feet. The Black bear, or Musquaw, which we illustrate is common throughout nearly all the half settled-districts of North America. But as the fur and fat are articles of great commercial value, the hunters and trappers have exercised their craft with such skill and determination that the animals are gradually decreasing in numbers. The total length of the black bear is seldom more than six feet, and its fur is smooth and glossy in appearance. The color of the animal is rightly conveyed by its name, the cheeks only partaking of a reddish fawn color. It possesses little of that fierceness which characterizes the grizzly, being naturally a very quiet and retiring creature, keeping itself aloof from mankind, and never venturing near his habitations except when excited by the pangs of fierce hunger. When pursued or cornered it becomes a dangerous antagonist; and its furious rage often results in fearful catastrophes to both man and beast. Nothing but a rifle ball in the right spot will [Page 170] check the creature, when wrought up to this pitch of fury, and an additional wound only serves to increase its terrible ferocity. Bear-chasing is an extremely dangerous sport; and there are few bear-hunters in the land, however skilful, but what can show scars from the claws or teeth of some exasperated bruin. [Illustration] The food of the black bear is mostly of a vegetable character, animal diet not being indulged in unless pressed by hunger. At such times it seems to especially prefer a young pig as the most desirable delicacy; and even full-grown hogs, it is said, are sometimes lifted from their pens and carried off in his deadly embrace. Honey is his especial delight; and he will climb trees with great agility in order to reach a nest of bees, there being few obstacles which his ready claws and teeth will not remove where that dainty is in view. He is also very fond of acorns, berries, and fruits of all kinds. The young of the bear are produced in January or February, and are from one to four in number. They are very small and covered with grey hair, which coat they retain until they are one year of age. The flesh of the bear is held in high esteem among hunters, and when properly prepared is greatly esteemed by epicures. The fat of the animal is much used under the title of "Bear [Page 171] grease," and is believed to be an infallible hair rejuvenator, and therefore becomes a valuable article of commerce. The bear generally hibernates during the winter, choosing some comfortable residence which it has prepared in the course of the summer, or perhaps betaking itself to the hollow of some tree. Sometimes, in case of early snow, the track of the bears may be distinguished, and if followed will probably lead to their dens, in which they can be secured with logs until it is desired to kill them. The black bear has a habit of treading in a beaten track, which is easily detected by the eye of an experienced hunter or trapper, and turned to good account in trapping the animal. There are various modes of accomplishing this result. The bear Dead-fall, described on page 17, is, perhaps, the most commonly used, and the Pit-fall, page 31, and "Giant Coop" trap are also excellent. The Gun trap and stone dead-fall, page 20, we also confidently recommend. When a steel trap is used it requires the largest size, especially made for the purpose. It should be supplied with a short and very strong chain firmly secured to a very heavy clog or grappling-iron page 147. If secured to a tree or other stationary object, the captured animal is likely to gnaw or tear his foot away, if, indeed, he does not break the trap altogether by the quick tightening of the chain. The clog should be only heavy enough to be an _impediment_, and may consist of a log or heavy stone. The grappling-iron, however, is more often used in connection with the bear trap. It is a common method in trapping the bear to construct a pen of upright branches, laying the trap at its opening, and covering it with leaves. The bait is then placed at the back in such a position that the animal, on reaching for it, will be sure to put his foot in the trap. An experienced trapper soon discovers natural openings between rocks or trees, which may be easily modified, and by the addition of a few logs so improved upon as to answer his purpose as well as a more elaborate enclosure, with much less trouble. Any arrangement whereby the bear will be obliged to tread upon the trap in order to secure the bait, is, of course, all that is required. The bait may be hung on the edge of a rock five feet from the ground, and the trap set on a smaller rock beneath it. He will thus be almost sure to rest his forefoot on the latter rock in order to reach the bait, and will thus be captured. Another way is to set the trap in a spring of water or swampy [Page 172] spot. Lay a lump of moss over the pan, suspending the bait beyond the trap. The moss will offer a natural foot-rest, and the offending paw will be secured. Bears possess but little cunning, and will enter any nook or corner without the slightest compunction when in quest of food. They are especially fond of sweets, and, as we have said, are strongly attracted by honey, being able to scent it from a great distance. On this account it is always used, when possible, by trappers in connection with other baits. These may consist of a fowl, fruit, or flesh of any kind, and the honey should be smeared over it. Skunk cabbage is said to be an excellent bait for the bear; and in all cases a free use of the Oil of Anise page 152, sprinkling it about the traps, is also advisable. Should the device fail, it is well to make a trail (see page 153) in several directions from the trap, and extending for several rods. A piece of wood, wet with Oil of Anise, will answer for the purpose. The general method of skinning the bear consists in first cutting from the front of the lower jaw down the belly to the vent, after which the hide may be easily removed. The hoop-stretcher page 275, will then come into good use in the drying and preparing of the skin for market. THE RACCOON. Although allied to the Bear family, this animal possesses much in common with the fox, as regards its general disposition and character. It has the same slyness and cunning, the same stealthy tread, besides an additional mischievousness and greed. It is too common to need any description here, being found plentifully throughout nearly the whole United States. The bushy tail, with its dark rings, will be sufficient to identify the animal in any community. Raccoon hunts form the subject of many very exciting and laughable stories, and a "coon chase," to this day is a favorite sport all over the country. The raccoon, or "coon," as he is popularly styled, is generally hunted by moonlight. An experienced dog is usually set on the trail and the fugitive soon seeks refuge in a tree, when its destruction is almost certain. Hence the term "treed coon," as applied to an individual when in a dangerous predicament. Besides possessing many of the peculiarities of the fox, the "coon" has the additional accomplishment of being a most agile and expert climber, holding so firmly to the limb by its sharp claws as to defy all attempts to shake it off. [Page 173] The home of the raccoon is generally in a hollow tree; the young are brought forth in May, and are from four to six in number. In captivity this animal makes a very cunning and interesting pet, being easily tamed to follow its master, and when dainties are in view becomes a most adroit pickpocket. Its food is extensive in variety, thus making it quite an easy matter to keep the creature in confinement. Nuts and fruits of all kinds it eagerly devours, as well as bread, cake and potatoes. It manifests no hesitation at a meal of rabbit, rat, squirrel, or bird, and rather likes it for a change, and when he can partake of a dessert of honey or molasses his enjoyment knows no bounds. Frogs, fresh water clams, green corn, and a host of other delicacies come within the range of his diet, and he may sometimes be seen digging from the sand the eggs of the soft-shelled turtle, which he greedily sucks. We cordially recommend the coon as a pet. He becomes very docile, and is full of cunning ways, and if the young ones can be traced to their hiding-place in some hollow tree, and secured, if not _too_ young, we could warrant our readers a great deal of real sport and pleasure in rearing the little animals and watching their ways. In cold climates the raccoon lies dormant in the winter, only venturing out on occasional mild days; but in the Southern States he is active throughout the year, prowling about by day and by night in search of his food, inserting his little sharp nose into every corner, and feeling with his slender paws between stones for spiders and bugs of all kinds. He spies the innocent frog with his head just out of the water, and pouncing upon him, he despatches him without a moment's warning. There seems to be no limits to his rapacity, for he is always eating and always hungry. The print of the raccoon's paw in the mud or snow is easily recognized, much resembling the impression made by the foot of a babe. The best season for trapping the coon is late in the fall, winter, and early spring, or from and between the months of October and April. During this time the pelts are in excellent condition. Early in the spring when the snow is disappearing, the coons come out of their hiding places to start on their foraging tours; and at this time are particularly susceptible to a tempting bait, and they may be successfully trapped in the following manner:-- Take a steel trap and set it on the edge of some pool, or stream where the coons are known to frequent: let it be an inch [Page 174] or so under the water, and carefully chained to a clog. The bait may consist of a fish, frog, or head of a fowl, scented with Oil of Anise, and suspended over the traps about two feet higher, by the aid of a sapling secured in the ground. (See title page at the head of this section.) The object of this is to induce the animal to jump for it, when he will land with his foot in the trap. Another method is to construct a V shaped pen set the trap near the entrance, and, fastening the bait in the angle, cover the trap loosely with leaves, and scent the bait as before with the anise. The trap should be at such a distance from the bait that the animal, in order to reach it, will be obliged to tread upon the pan, which he will be sure to do, his greed overcoming his discretion. Any arrangement whereby the animal will be obliged to tread upon the trap in order to reach the bait will be successful. [Illustration] The beaten track of the coons may often be discovered in soft ground, and a trap carefully concealed therein will soon secure its victim. Another method is to set the trap near the coon tracks, spreading a few drops of anise on the pan and covering the whole with leaves. The coon, attracted by the scent, will feel around in the leaves for [Page 175] the bait, and thus "put his foot in it." In the South they construct a coon trap from a hollow log, either having the ends supplied with lids, which fall just like the Rat trap page 100 as the animal passes through, or else constructed with nooses, similar to the Box-snare, page 56. Box traps of a style similar to that described on page 103 are also excellent, and a strong twitch-up, of any of the various kinds we have described, will be found to work admirably. Many of the suggestions in trapping the mink, page 190, will be found equally, serviceable in regard to the coon. The skin of this animal should be removed as recommended for the fox, and similarly stretched. It may also be skinned by first ripping up the belly, and spread on a hoop stretcher. page 275. THE BADGER. The American Badger is mostly confined to the Northwestern parts of the United States, and it is a curious little animal. In size its body is slightly smaller than the fox. Its general color is grey, approaching to black on the head and legs. There is a white streak extending from the tip of the animal's long nose over the top of the head and fading off near the shoulders. The cheeks are also white, and a broad and definitely marked black line extends from the snout back around the eyes ending at the neck. The grey of this animal is produced from the mixture of the varied tints of its fur, each hair presenting a succession of shades. At the root it is of a deep grey; this fades into a tawny yellow, and is followed by a black, the hair being finally tipped with white. The fur is much used in the manufacture of fine paint brushes, a good "Badger blender" being a most useful accessory in the painter's art. The badger is slow and clumsy in its actions, except when engaged in digging, his capacities in this direction being so great as to enable him to sink himself into the ground with marvellous rapidity. The nest of the animal is made in the burrow, and the young are three or four in number. His diet is as variable and extensive as that of the coon, and consists of anything in any way eatable. Snails, worms, rats, mice and moles, seem to have a particular attraction for him; and he seems to take especial delight in unearthing the stores of the wild bees, devouring honey, wax and grubs together, and caring as little for the stings of the [Page 176] angry bees as he would of the bills of so many mosquitoes, the thick coating of fur forming a perfect protection against his winged antagonists. The badger is very susceptible to human influence, and can be effectually tamed with but little trouble. Although his general appearance would not indicate it, he is a sly and cunning animal, and not easily captured in a trap of any kind. He has been known to set at defiance all the traps that were set for him, and to devour the baits without suffering for his audacity. He will sometimes overturn a trap and spring it from the under side, before attempting to remove the bait. Although not quite as crafty as the fox, it is necessary to use much of the same caution in trapping the badger, as a bare trap seldom wins more than a look of contempt from the wary animal. [Illustration] The usual mode of catching the creature is to set the trap size No. 3 at the mouth of its burrow, carefully covering it with loose earth and securing it by a chain to a stake. Any of the methods used in trapping the fox will also be found to work admirably. The dead-fall or garrote will also do good service. Bait with a rat, mouse, or with whatever else the animal is especially fond, and scent with Oil of Anise or Musk. In early spring, while the ground is still hard, badgers are easily captured by flooding their burrows. After being satisfied that the animal is in its hole, proceed to pour in pailful after pailful of water at the entrance. [Page 177] He will not long be able to stand this sort of thing, and he may be secured as he makes his exit at the opening of the burrow. The skin should be removed whole, as in the case of the fox, or as described for the beaver, and stretched as therein indicated. THE BEAVER. The Beaver of North America has now a world-wide reputation for its wonderful instinct and sagacity. The general appearance of this animal is that of a very large muskrat with a broad flattened tail, and the habits of both these animals are in many respects alike. The beaver is an amphibious creature and social in its habits of living, large numbers congregating together and forming little villages, and erecting their dome-like huts like little Esquimaux. The muskrat has this same propensity, but the habitation of the beaver is on a much more extensive scale. These huts or "Beaver lodges," are generally made in rivers and brooks; although sometimes in lakes or large ponds. They are chiefly composed of branches, moss, grass and mud, and are large enough to accommodate a family of five or six. The form of the "lodges" is dome-like, and it varies considerably in size. The foundation is made on the bottom of the river, and the hut is built up like a mound, often twenty feet in diameter and projecting several feet above the surface of the water. The walls of this structure are often five or six feet thick, and the roofs are all finished off with a thick layer of mud laid on with marvellous smoothness. These huts form the winter habitations of the beavers, and as this compost of mud, grass and branches becomes congealed into a solid mass by the severe frosts of our northern winter, it can easily be seen that they afford a safe shelter against any intruder and particularly the wolverine, which is a most deadly enemy to the beaver. So hard does this frozen mass become as to defy even the edges of iron tools, and the breaking open of the "Beaver houses" is at no time an easy task. Beavers work almost entirely in the dark; and a pond which is calm and placid in the day time will be found in the night to be full of life and motion, and the squealing and splashing in the water will bear evidence of their industry. Lest the beavers should not have a sufficient depth of water at all seasons, they are in the habit of constructing veritable dams to ensure that result. These dams display a wonderful amount of reason and skill, and, together with the huts, have won for the beaver a reputation [Page 178] for engineering skill which the creature truly deserves. In constructing these ingenious dams the beavers, by the aid of their powerful teeth, gnaw down trees sometimes of large size, and after cutting them into smaller pieces float them on the water to the spot selected for the embankment. In swift streams this embankment is built so as to arch against the current, thus securing additional strength, and evincing an instinct on the part of the animal which amounts almost to reason. In cutting down the trees the beaver gnaws a circular cut around the trunk, cutting deepest on the side toward the water, thus causing the trunk to fall into the stream. The first step in constructing the embankment is to lay the logs down cautiously in the required line of the dam, afterwards weighting them with heavy stones, which the beavers by their united efforts roll upon them. The foundation of the embankment is often ten feet in width, and is built up by continued heaping of branches, stones and mud, until it forms a barrier of immense strength and resisting power. In many cases, through a lapse of years, and through a [Page 179] consequent accumulation of floating leaves, twigs, and seeds of plants, these embankments become thickly covered with vegetation, and, in many cases in the Hudson Bay country, have even been known to nurture trees of considerable dimensions. The broad flat tail of the animal serves a most excellent purpose, in carrying the mud to the dams or huts, and in matting and smoothing it into a solidity. [Illustration] The entrances to the various huts are all beneath the water, and they all open into one common ditch, which is purposely dug in the bed of the river, and is too deep to be entirely frozen. In the summer time the huts are vacated, and the beavers make their abode in burrows on the banks of the stream, which serve as a secure retreat at all times, and particularly in winter when their houses are molested. The Indians of the Northwest are aware of this fact, and turn it to good account in the capture of the animals. When the beaver's village is in a small creek, or brook, it is first necessary to stake the water across both above and below the huts. The next thing is to ascertain the exact spots of the burrows in the banks, and when we consider the river is covered with ice, this seems a rather difficult problem. But this is where the Indian shows his skill. He starts upon the ice, provided with an ice chisel secured to a long, stout handle. With this he strikes upon the ice, following the edge of the stream. The sound of the blow determines to his practiced ear the direct spot opposite the opening of the burrows, and at this point a hole a foot in diameter is made through the ice. Following the edge of the bank he continues his search, and in like manner cuts the holes through the ice until all the retreats are discovered. While the expert Indians are thus engaged, the "squaws" are occupied in the more laborious work of breaking open the houses, and the beavers, alarmed at the invasion of their sanctums, make for the banks, and the ready huntsmen stationed at the various holes, watch for their victims beneath the openings, until a violent motion or discoloration of the water betrays their passage beneath. The entrance to the holes in the bank are then instantly closed with stakes and the beaver is made prisoner in his burrow. When the depth of the burrow will admit, the arm of the hunter is introduced, and the animal pulled out, but otherwise a long hook lashed to a pole is employed for this purpose. Scores of beavers are sometimes taken in this way in a few hours. Spearing is also often successfully resorted to, and when the ice is thin [Page 180] and transparent the beavers may be clearly observed as they come to the surface, beneath the ice, for air. The general color of the animal is reddish brown, this tint being imparted principally by the long hairs of the fur. There is an inner and softer down of a grey color, which lies next the skin, and which is the valuable growth of the fur. The total length of the animal is about three feet and a half, the flat, paddle-shaped, scale-covered tail being about a foot in length. The young are brought forth in April or May, from three to seven at a litter, and take to the water when a month old. The first four years in the beaver's life is spent under the "maternal roof," after which period they shift for themselves. To trap the beaver successfully, requires the utmost caution, as the senses of the animal are so keen, and he is so sagacious withal, that he will detect the recent presence of the trapper from the slightest evidences. The traps should be washed clean and soaked in ley, before using, and thereafter handled with gloves, as a mere touch of the finger will leave a scent which the acute sense of the beaver will easily perceive. All footprints should be carefully obliterated by throwing water upon them, and some trappers say that the mere act of spitting on the ground in the neighborhood of the traps has been known to thwart success. Almost the only bait used in trapping the beaver is the preparation called "barkstone" by the trappers, or "castoreum" in commerce. This substance is fully described on page 150 under the head of "Scent Baits." To the barkstone the trapper is mostly indebted for his success, and the effect of its odor on the beaver is something surprising. Our best trappers inform us that these animals will scent this odor for a great distance, and will fairly "squeal with delight," not being easy until the savory bait is discovered, which almost invariably results in capture. Taking advantage of this curious propensity, the trapper always carries a supply of castoreum in a closed vessel. There are various ways of trapping the beaver, of which we shall present the best. An examination of the river bank will easily disclose the feeding place of the beavers, as evinced by the absence of the bark on the branches and trunks of trees. At this spot, in about four inches of water, set your trap, which should be a Newhouse No. 4. Weight the end of the chain with a stone as large as your head, and, if possible, rest it on the edge of some rock projecting into deep water, having a smaller rope or chain leading from the stone to the shore. A small twig, the size of your little [Page 181] finger, should then be stripped of its bark, and after chewing or mashing one end, it should be dipped in the castoreum. Insert this stick in the mud, between the jaws of the trap, letting it project about six inches above the water. The beaver is soon attracted by the odor of the bait, and in reaching for it, his foot is caught in the trap. In his fright he will immediately jump for deep water, thus dislodging the stone, which will sink him to the bottom, and thus drown him. The smaller chain or rope will serve as a guide to the trap, and the victim may be drawn to the surface. Another plan is to set the trap in about a foot of water, chaining it fast to a stout pole securely driven in the mud further out in the stream, and near deep water. Bait as before. The trap being thus fastened will prevent the efforts of the animal to drag it ashore, where he would be certain to amputate his leg and walk off. There is another method, which is said to work excellently. The chain is secured to a very heavy stone, and sunk in deep water, and the trap set and baited near shore, in about a foot of water. This accomplishes the same purpose as the pole first described, and is even surer, as the animal will sometimes use his teeth in severing the wood, and thereby make his escape. In the case of the stone a duplicate rope or chain will be required to lift it in case of capture. The trap may be set at the entrance to the holes in the banks, two or three inches under water, implanting the stick with the castoreum bait directly over the pan, a few inches above the water. If the water should be deep near this spot, it is an excellent plan to weight the end of the chain with a large stone with a "leader" from it also, as already described. Insert two or three sticks in the bank beneath the water, and rest the stone upon them. When the beaver is caught he will turn a somersault into deep water, at the same time dislodging the stone, which will sink him. No sooner is a break ascertained in the dam than all the beavers unite in fixing it, and this peculiarity of habit may be turned to account in trapping them. Make a slight break in the dam, five inches across, beneath the water. On the under side of the break, and of course, on the inside of the dam, the trap should be set. The beavers will soon discover the leak and the capture of at least _one_ is certain. The trap may be also set where the beavers are wont to crawl on shore, being placed several inches below the water in such a position that they will step on it when in the act of ascending the banks. Where the weighted stone is not used, the sliding pole page 145 [Page 182] should always be employed, as it is necessary to drown the animal, to prevent amputation and escape. The food of the beaver consists chiefly of the bark of various trees, together with aquatic plants. The fur is valuable only in the late fall, winter, and early spring. In skinning the beaver, a slit is made from the under jaw to the vent, after which it is easily removed. It should be tacked to a flat board, fur side in, or stretched by means of a hoop, as described on page 275. THE MUSKRAT. The muskrat, or musquash, is very much like a beaver on a small scale, and is so well-known throughout the United States that a detailed description or illustration will hardly be necessary. Reduce the size of the beaver to one foot in length, and add a long flattened tail, instead of the spatula-shaped appendage of this animal, and we will have a pretty good specimen of a muskrat. The body has that same thick-set appearance, and the gnawing teeth are very large and powerful. Like the beaver, the muskrat builds its dome-like huts in ponds or swamps, which it frequents; and although not as large as those of the beaver they are constructed in the same manner and of the same materials. Muskrats are mostly nocturnal in their habits; they are tireless swimmers, and in the winter travel great distances beneath the ice; all of which peculiarities are like the beaver. Their food is quite variable, consisting of grass and roots, oats, corn and other grain, apples and nuts, and even tomatoes, turnips, carrots, mussels and clams, whenever these can be found. The muskrat is a native of all of the Eastern, Western, and Middle States and also the Southern States, with the exception of Georgia, Alabama and Florida. They are also found in Canada and the Arctic regions, and in the North-west. They are hunted and captured as a means of support to the native tribes of Indians who sell or trade the furs to Eastern dealers. The fur somewhat resembles that of the mink in texture, although not as fine, and the color varies from dark brown above to grey beneath. It is in its best condition during the winter, especially in March. The animal possesses a musky smell, from which it takes its name. It is said by many that the flesh of the animal, when carefully prepared, becomes quite palatable food. Their houses are so nearly like those of the beaver that a [Page 183] second description is scarcely necessary. They are often five or six feet in height, and the entrances are all under water. Dozens of these huts may often be seen in ponds and marshes, and sometimes they exist in such numbers as to give the appearance of a veritable Esquimaux village. These houses are used only in the winter season. In general the muskrat lives in burrows, which it excavates in the banks of ponds or streams, bringing forth its young, from three to nine in number, in the nest, which it forms at the end of the tunnel. They are very prolific, producing three litters a year. Like the beaver, otter and mink, the muskrat can travel long distances under the ice with only one supply of fresh air, and its method is certainly very interesting. Before plunging beneath the ice the animal fills its lungs with air, and when under the water it swims until it can no longer hold its breath. It then rises up beneath the ice, empties its lungs, the air remaining in bubbles beneath the ice. In a short time this air absorbs sufficient oxygen from the water and ice as to be life-sustaining, when the animal again inhales it and proceeds on its journey. It is by this means that the beaver, muskrat and mink are enabled to travel such great distances beneath unbroken ice, and it is certainly a very novel and interesting method. Where the ice is thin and transparent these animals are sometimes captured through the means of this habit. A heavy stroke on the frozen hut will drive its occupants to the water, and their course may easily be followed through the ice. If one of them is tracked, he will presently be seen to stop at the surface of the water for fresh oxygen, as already described. The bubbles will soon appear, and if the hunter immediately strikes with an axe or heavy stick directly on the spot, the submerged animal will be literally driven away from its breath, and will of course drown in a very few minutes. A short search will soon reveal the dead creature, after which he may be taken out through a hole cut in the ice. Otter and mink are sometimes taken in the same way. In many localities great numbers of muskrats are also captured by spearing, either through the ice or through the walls of their houses. In the latter case, two are often taken at once. This method is quite uncertain and unreliable, as the walls of the hut are often so firmly frozen as to defy the thrust of the hardest steel, and a fruitless attempt will drive the inmates from their house at once. The spear generally used consists of a single shaft of steel about eighteen inches in length and half an inch in diameter, barbed at the point, and is feruled to a [Page 184] solid handle five feet long. In spearing through the hut the south side is generally selected, as being more exposed to the heat of the sun. Great caution is necessary, as the slightest noise will drive out the inmates. The spear should be thrust in a slanting direction, a few inches above the surface of the ice. Where many houses exist it is well to destroy all but one. Into this the whole tribe will centre, and by successive spearing they may all be captured. When the spear has been thrust into the house, it must be thus left until a hole is cut with a hatchet, through which to remove the game. Spearing through the ice is a better method, but for general service there is no means of capture more desirable than by trapping. The steel trap No. 1 or 2 is the size particularly adapted for the muskrat, and may be set in various ways. The most common method is to set the trap under two inches of water on the projecting logs or stones on the border of the streams where the "signs" of the animal indicate its recent presence. The trap should of course be secured by a chain, ringed to a sliding pole, page 145, which will lead the animal into deep water when captured, and thus effect its speedy death by drowning. In this case bait is not necessary. If their feeding grounds can be discovered, or if their tracks indicate any particular spot where they crawl ashore at the water's edge, at this point a trap may be set with good success. In this instance it is well also to set it under water, baiting with a piece of turnip, parsnip, apple, or the like, suspended a few inches above the pan of the trap. Late in the fall, when collecting their building material, they often form large beds of dried grasses and sticks, and a trap set in these beds and covered with some loose substance, such as grass, chaff, or the like, will often secure the animal. The trap, in this case should be attached to a spring-pole, page 145 as the muskrat is a wonderful adept at self-amputation, when its escape depends upon it. The trap is sometimes set in the interior of the house, and may be accomplished by first breaking an opening in the wall, near the ice, the trap being inserted and set, afterwards covering it with the loose grass and moss, which is generally abundant in the interior of these huts. When this is done, the chain should be secured to a stick on the outside, and the hole repaired. No spring or sliding-pole is necessary in this method, as the animal when caught will immediately run for the water, and the weight of the trap will sink and drown its prisoner. Scent baits are sometimes used in trapping the muskrat, the [Page 185] musk taken from the female animal being particularly valued. The Oils of Rhodium and Amber, page 151 are also successfully employed by many trappers; a few drops of either in the neighborhood of the trap, or directly upon it, being sufficient. Although steel traps are most generally used, there are several other devices which are equally if not even _more_ desirable. Chief among these is the barrel trap, commonly and successfully employed in many parts of New England, where these animals often exist in such numbers as to render their destruction a matter of necessity. The above trap consists merely of an old barrel, sunk to its upper edge in the river bank, and about half filled with water. On the surface of the water a few light pieces of wood are floated, over which the bait, consisting of carrot, sweet apple, or turnip, is placed. A trail is then made by dragging a piece of scented meat from the barrel in various directions, and a few pieces of the bait are also strewn along these trails. The muskrats will thus be led to the barrel, and will be certain to jump in after the tempting morsels, and their escape is impossible. No less than a dozen muskrats have been thus caught in a single barrer in one night, and a few of these traps have been known almost to exterminate the musquashes in localities where they had previously existed in such numbers as to become a pestilence to the neighborhood. A barrel trap constructed on the principle described on page 131 is also equally effective, although rather more complicated in construction. The Twitch-up is often used, and possesses the advantage of a trap and spring-pole combined. Box traps, page 103, are also to be recommended. The skin of the muskrat may be removed in the same manner as hereinafter described for the otter, with the exception of the tail. This is considered the best method. It may also be taken off flat by ripping from the under jaw to the vent, and peeling around the eyes and mouth, letting the skin of the legs come off whole, without cutting. Another common method consists in cutting off the feet, and then ripping with a knife from the front of the lower jaw down the neck and belly to a point a little beyond the forelegs. The lips, eyes, and ears are then carefully skinned, and the hide is stripped backwards from the body. In the latter method the bow-stretcher, page 274, is used. [Page 186] THE OTTER. The fur of this animal is of such exquisite softness and beauty as to be in great demand for commercial purposes, bringing a very high price in the fur market. [Illustration] The otter cannot be said to be a common animal, although it is found throughout the United States and Canada, being rather more plentiful in the cold northern localities than in the southern latitudes. It is an amphibious animal, and can remain for a long time beneath the water. In size it is larger than a cat, and it possesses a tapering tail some eighteen inches in length. Its fur is of a rich brown color, and the hair is of two kinds, the one a close, fine, and exquisitely soft down, which lies next the skin, and which serves to protect the animal from the extremes of heat and cold, and the other composed of long shining coarser hairs, which permit the animal to glide easily through the water. In producing the beautiful otter furs of fashion these long hairs are plucked out, leaving only the softer down next the hide. The food of the otter mostly consists of fish, for the pursuit of which he has been admirably endowed by nature. His body is lithe and supple, and his feet are furnished with a broad web, which connects the toes, and is of infinite service in propelling the animal through [Page 187] the water when in search of his finny prey. His long, broad and flat tail serves as a most effectual rudder, and the joints of his powerful legs are so flexible as to permit of their being turned in almost any direction. The habitation of the otter is made in the banks of the river which it frequents, or sometimes in a hollow log or crevice beneath rocks. The animal generally prefers to adopt and occupy a natural hollow or deserted excavation, rather than to dig a burrow for itself. The nest is composed of dry rushes, grasses and sticks, and the young, three or four in number, are produced in early spring. The _track_ which the otter makes in the mud or snow is easily distinguished from that of any other animal, on account of the "seal" or impression which is made by a certain ball on the sole of the foot. Otter hunting is a favorite sport in England, and indeed in the northern parts of our own country. Hounds are used to pursue the animal, and on account of the powerfully scented secretion with which the creature is furnished by nature, its track is readily followed. When attacked, the otter is a fierce and terrible fighter, biting and snapping with most deadly energy and never yielding as long as life remains in the body. The bite of an angry otter is extremely severe, and for this reason we would caution the amateur trapper on handling the animal should one be taken alive. Although so fierce and savage when attacked, the otter is easily tamed when taken young, and can be taught to catch fish for the service of its master, rather than for the gratification of its own palate. In the winter when the snow is on the ground, the otter navigates by sliding, and when on the ice he may often be seen to run a few steps and then throw himself on his belly and slide the distance of several feet. They are very fond of playing in the snow, and make most glorious use of any steep snow-covered bank, sloping toward the river. Ascending to the top of such an incline they throw themselves on the slippery surface and thus slide swiftly into the water. This pastime is often continued for hours, and is taken advantage of in trapping the playful creatures. A short search will reveal the place where they crawl from the water on to the bank, and at this spot, which will generally be shallow, a steel trap should be set on the bed of the river, about four inches under water. The trap should be secured by a stout chain, the latter being ringed to a sliding pole, page 145, which will lead the animal when caught into deep [Page 188] water. If deep water is not near at hand, the spring pole, page 144, may be used, the object of either being to prevent the animal from gnawing off its leg and thus making its escape. The trap may also be placed at the top or the slide, two or three feet back of the slope, a place being hollowed out to receive it and the whole covered with snow. To make success more certain a log may be laid on each side of the trap, thus forming an avenue in which the animal will be sure to run before throwing itself on the slope. Care should be taken to handle nothing with the bare hands, as the otter is very keen scented and shy. Anoint the trap with a few drops of fish oil or otter musk, see page 151. If none of these are handy, ordinary musk will answer very well. The trap may also be set and weighted with a heavy stone and chain, as described for trapping the beaver. Another method still is to find some log in the stream having one end projecting above water. Sprinkle some musk on this projecting end and set the trap on the log in three or four inches of water, securing it firmly by a chain, also beneath the water. A rock which projects over the stream may also be utilized in the same way as seen in the page title at the opening of this section. Smear the musk on the edge which juts into the water, and secure the trap by the chain as before. When the animal is caught he will fall or jump into the water, and the weight of the trap and chain will sink him. In every case it is necessary to obliterate every sign of human presence by throwing water over every foot print, and over everything with which the naked hands have come in contact. Where the traps are thus set in the water it should be done while wading or in a boat. In the winter when the ponds and rivers are frozen over the otters make holes through the ice at which they come up to devour their prey. Where the water is a foot deep beneath any of these holes the trap may be set in the bottom, the chain being secured to a heavy stone. When the otter endeavors to emerge from the hole he will press his foot on the trap and will thus be caught. If the water is deep beneath the hole the trap may be baited with a small fish attached to the pan, and then carefully lowered with its chain and stone to the bottom. For this purpose the Newhouse, No. 3, is best adapted, as the otter is in this case caught by the head. The beaten track of the animal may often be discovered in the snow in the winter time, and a trap carefully sunk in such a furrow and covered so as to resemble its surroundings, will be likely to secure the first otter that endeavors to pass over it. A trap set at the mouth of the otter's burrow and carefully covered [Page 189] is also often successful, using the sliding pole, page 145, to lead him into deep water. Every trapper has his pet theories and methods of trapping all the different animals, and the otter has its full share. We have given several of the _best_ methods; and anyone of them will secure the desired result of capture, and all of them have stood the test of time and experience. The skin of the otter should be removed whole, and the operation may be performed in the following manner: Slit down the hind legs to the vent; cut the skin loose around the vent, and slit up the entire length of the tail, freeing it from the bone. With the aid of the knife the skin should now be peeled off, drawing it backward and carefully cutting around the mouth and eyes before taking it from the head. With the fur thus inside, the skin is ready for the stretcher as described on page 273, and the tail should be spread out and tacked around the edges. THE MINK. This animal, as will be seen by our illustration, has a long, slender body, something like the weasel, to which scientific family it belongs. It inhabits the greater part of North America, and is also found abundantly in Northern Europe. The color of its fur varies considerably in different individuals, the general tint being a rich, dark brown. The chin and throat are light colored, sometimes white, and this spot varies considerably in size in different individuals, sometimes extending down on the throat to a considerable distance. The total length of the animal is from thirteen to sixteen inches, its size being variable. The fur of the mink is excellent in quality, and has for many years been one of the "fancy furs" of fashion, a good prime skin often bringing from ten to twelve dollars. The introduction of the fur seal, however, and the universal demand for this as well as otter fur, has somewhat thrown the mink into comparative shade, although extra fine skins will still command high prices. The mink is an aquatic animal, inhabiting small rivers and streams, and living somewhat after the manner of the otter. It has a most wide range of diet, and will eat almost anything which is at all eatable. Fishes, frogs, and muskrats are his especial delight, and he will occasionally succeed in pouncing upon a snipe or wild duck, which he will greedily devour. Crawfish, [Page 190] snails, and water insects of all kinds also come within the range of his diet, and he sometimes makes a stray visit to some neighboring poultry yard to satisfy the craving of his abnormal hunger. A meal off from his own offspring often answers the same purpose; and a young chicken in the egg he considers the ne plus ultra of delicacies. The voracity of this animal is its leading characteristic, and is so largely in excess of its cunning or sagacity that it will often run headlong into a naked trap. Its sense of smell is exceedingly well developed, and through this faculty it is often enabled to track its prey with ease and certainty. The mink lives in burrows, in steep banks, or between rocks or the roots of trees, and the young, five or six in number, are brought forth in May. [Illustration] The chief occupation of the mink consists in perpetual search for something to eat, and, when so engaged, he may be seen running along the bank of the stream, peering into every nook and corner, and literally "leaving no stone unturned" in its eager search. Taking advantage of this habit, it becomes an easy matter to trap the greedy animal. Set your trap, a Newhouse No. 2, in an inch of water near the edge of the stream, and directly in front of a steep bank or rock, on which you can place your bait. The bait may be a frog, fish, or head of a [Page 191] bird, suspended about eighteen inches above the water, and should be so situated that in order to reach it, the mink will be obliged to tread upon the trap. The trap may also be set in the water and the bait suspended eighteen inches above it, by the aid of a switch planted in the mud near the trap. It is a good plan to scent the bait with an equal mixture of sweet oil and peppermint, with a little honey added. If there is deep water near, the sliding pole, page 145, should be used, and if not, the "spring pole" in every case, in order to prevent the captured mink from becoming a prey to larger animals, and also to guard against his escape by amputation, which he would otherwise most certainly accomplish. The trap may be set on the land, near the water's edge, baiting as just described, and lightly covered with leaves or dirt. Any arrangement of the trap whereby the animal is obliged to tread upon it in order to secure the bait, will be found effectual. The trap may be set at the foot of a tree, and the bait fastened to the trunk, eighteen inches above it. A pen, such as is described on page 144, may be constructed, and the trap and bait arranged as there directed. Minks have their regular beaten paths, and often visit certain hollow logs in their runways. In these logs they leave unmistakable signs of their presence, and a trap set in such a place is sure of success. Some trappers set a number of traps along the stream at intervals of several rods, connecting them by a trail, see page 153, the mink being thus led directly and almost certainly to his destruction. This trail is made by smearing a piece of wood with the "medicine" described at page 153, and dragging it on the line of the traps. Any mink which crosses this trail will follow it to the first trap, when he will, in all probability, be captured. A dead muskrat, crow, fish, or a piece of fresh meat dragged along the line answers the same purpose. The beaten tracks of the mink may often be discovered, and a trap set in such a track and covered with leaves, dirt or the like, will often be successful. Minks may also be easily caught in the dead-fall. Garrote trap or a twitch-up, baiting with fish, muskrat, flesh, or the head of a bird, of which the animal is especially fond. A liberal use of the "medicine" is also desirable. The fur of the mink is in its best condition in the late autumn, winter, and early spring, and the animal should be skinned as described for the fox. [Page 192] THE PINE MARTEN. This animal belongs to the tribe of "weasels," and is closely allied to the celebrated sable, which it greatly resembles. The pine marten is so called because it inhabits the northern climates where pine forests abound, and spends much of its life in the trees in search of its prey. Its general appearance is truly represented in our illustration, its fur being of a rich brown color, with a lighter or white patch on the throat. Its total length, including the tail, is about twenty-eight or thirty inches, of which the tail represents ten inches. It is mostly confined to the forests in the far north, and is comparatively rare further south than the latitude of Maine and the lakes. The fur of the pine marten is of considerable value, particularly if the animal be killed in the winter. A really fine skin is but little inferior to the celebrated sable, and is hardly distinguishable from it. The hair is long and glossy, and the under fur is beautifully soft and very thick. The dark colored skins are the most valuable. Although so nearly like the sable, the same comparison does not exist in regard to their proportionate market values, the marten fur bringing a much lower price. [Illustration] The marten is a shy and wary animal, withdrawing itself as far as possible from the sight of man, and building its habitation in the tops of trees, often seizing on the ready nest of some squirrel or bird, and adapting it to its purposes. [Page 193] It is a night prowler, and in the dark hours it traverses the trunks and branches of the trees in search of its prey. It moves with wonderful stealth and activity, and is enabled by its rapid and silent approach to steal unnoticed on many an unfortunate bird or squirrel, seizing it in its deadly grip before the startled creature can think to escape. Coming across a bird's nest, it makes sad havoc with the eggs or young, often adding the parent bird to his list of victims. Rabbits, partridges, and mice also fall into the marten's "bill of fare," and the list is often further increased by a visit to a poultry yard, when the animal murders and eats all it can and kills the rest for sport. In pouncing upon its prey, the marten invariably seizes its victim by the throat, often dispatching the luckless creature with a single bite. The martens generally are said to be very susceptible to human influence when taken young, and are very lively in a state of domestication. They are among the most graceful of animals, and in place of the disagreeable scent which renders many of their tribe offensive, this creature possesses an odor which is quite agreeable, and for this reason is often called the sweet marten in contradistinction to the foul marten or pole cat of Britain, which is like unto our skunk in the disgusting stench which it exhales. The dead-fall and Garrote traps are very successful in trapping the martin. They should be set several rods apart, in the forest or on the banks of streams, and a trail established by dragging a dead or roasted crow, entrails of a bird, or fresh meat from one trap to another, as described in relation to the mink, page 190. The twitch-up may also be used, and possesses the additional advantage of acting as a spring pole, thus holding the captured victim out of reach of larger animals, to which it might otherwise become a prey. Any of the varieties described under the title of "twitch-up" will answer the purpose, and a little experimenting will soon prove which one will be the most successful for this particular animal. The bait may consist of a bird's or fowl's head, fish, liver, or any fresh meat or entrails. The common box trap, page 103, or the box snare, page 56, may also be used to good purpose, but the former will need to be carefully watched lest the enclosed prisoner gnaw his way out and thus escape. When the steel trap is employed, it should be of the size of Newhouse, No. 2-1/2, set on the ground beneath some rock, [Page 194] and covered with leaves, rotten wood, or earth, and the bait fastened or suspended about eighteen inches above it, in such a position that the animal will be obliged to step upon the trap in order to reach it. An enclosure may be constructed of stones piled together, the trap being set and covered in the opening and the bait secured at the back. A staked pen, such as is described on page 143, with the trap and bait arranged as there directed, also works well. Wherever or however the trap is set, the bait should be so placed that the animal cannot possibly climb on any neighboring object to reach it. The hollow of a tree trunk forms an excellent situation for the trap, and the same hollow may also be baited at the back and a dead-fall constructed across its opening. The box or barrel pit-fall, described on page 127, is said to be very successful in trapping the marten, always baiting it with the platform secure for a few days before setting for capture. The same methods directed for the capture of the mink are also useful in trapping the marten. The animal should be skinned as described for the fox. THE FISHER. This animal is classed among the martens, and is principally to be found in Canada and the Northern United States, where it is known as the black cat, or woodshock. In our natural histories it is described under the name of the pekan. In general habits, this species resembles the other martens, but its body inclines more to the weasel shape. The fur is quite valuable, and much resembles the sable. Its color is generally of a greyish brown, the grey tint being found chiefly on the back, neck, head and shoulders, the legs, tail, and back of the neck being marked with dark brown. Like the marten, the fisher prowls by night, frequenting swampy places in quest of food. It builds its habitation in hollow trees, and in burrows, which it excavates in the banks of rivers or streams, and its young (generally twins) are produced in early spring. The trapping season for the fisher commences at about the middle of October, and extends to the middle of May, after which time the fur decreases in value. In trapping the fisher, the same plans may be used as for the marten and mink, as these animals much resemble each other in general habits. The steel trap arranged in an artificial or [Page 195] natural enclosure, or otherwise so set as that the animal will be obliged to step on it in order to reach the bait, will be successful and the use of composition "scent bait," described on page 153 will be found to enhance success. In every case where the steel trap is used the spring pole, page 144, should always be employed, for the reasons already described. Dead-falls, garrotes, box-traps, twitch-ups, or pit-falls, may all be employed to good advantage. Bait with a fish or bird, or fresh meat of any kind, and connect the various traps by a trail, as described for the mink and marten. Remove the skin as directed for the fox, and stretch as described on page 273. THE SKUNK. This disgusting animal has won the unenviable but deserving reputation of being the most foul-smelling creature on the face of the globe. He belongs to the weasel tribe, and all these animals are noted for certain odors which they possess, but the skunk is pre-eminent in the utter noisomeness of the horrid effluvium which it exhales. This scent proceeds from a liquid secretion which collects in a gland beneath the insertion of the tail, and the animal has the power to eject or retain it at will. It must have been given to the creature as a means of defence, for there seems to be no animal that can withstand the influence of its fetid stench. Dogs are trained to hunt the animal, but until they have learned from experience the right method of attacking the fetid game, and have discovered the whereabouts of the animal's magazine of ammunition, they are of little use to the hunter, and are only too glad to plunge into some neighboring brook, or roll in some near earth, in hopes of ridding themselves of the stench which almost distracts them. The offensive propensities of the skunk are only exercised when the animal is alarmed or frightened. There are generally certain "premonitory symptoms" of attack which the creature usually exhibits, and it is well to retire from his "shooting range" as soon as they are observed. When the animal is ready to discharge his battery, he suddenly elevates his large bushy tail, over his body, and turns his back on his enemy. The result of the discharge fills the air for a great distance around, and man and beast fly from the neighborhood of the indescribable and fetid effluvium, which fairly makes one's nostrils _ache_. [Page 196] A single drop of this disgusting secretion on the clothes is enough to scent the whole garment, and it is almost impossible to rid the tainted fabric from the odor. It is extremely acrid in quality, and if a very small quantity fall upon the eyes, it is very apt to produce permanent blindness. Dogs, in their first experiences with the skunk, are frequently thus blinded, and there are well authenticated instances of human beings who have been deprived of their sight through their close proximity to an infuriated skunk. [Illustration] The writer, in his extreme youth, learned, through dear experience, the putrid qualities of this noisome quadruped. It was on one bright Sunday, in New England, and he was out in his Sunday clothing, gathering wild strawberries. He suddenly discovered a pretty little playful animal with bushy tail, romping in the grass near him. The creature was seemingly gentle, and showed no inclination to run away, and the pet-loving nature of the writer prompted an irresistible desire to capture so pretty a creature. Encouraged by its gentle manner, he eagerly ran towards the tempting prize, and grasping it by the bushy tail, which the animal had raised perpendicularly, as if for a handle, the pretty creature was locked [Page 197] in the affectionate embrace of its youthful admirer. But alas! he soon repented his rashness, and the treacherous "pet" was quickly flung away leaving its victim in such a foul state of overwhelming astonishment as can be more easily imagined than described. Every article of clothing worn on that eventful Sunday had to be buried, and it took weeks of Sundays before the odor could be thoroughly eradicated from the hair and skin of the individual who wore those Sunday garments. After this adventure, the youth became more cautious with respect to pretty little playful animals, with black and white fur and bushy tails. There is hardly a farmer in the country but what has had some amusing or serious experience with the skunk, and almost every trapper has, at one time or another, served as a target for his shooting propensities. Natural histories are replete with anecdotes of which this animal is the mephitic hero, and volumes might be filled to the glory of his strong-smelling qualities. Perhaps it is through the prejudice of the writer that he cannot enthusiastically recommend the skunk as a domestic pet; but it is nevertheless asserted, on good authority, that these animals, when reared from the young, become very interesting and playful in the household, and completely shut down on their objectionable faculties. Our illustration gives a very good idea of the animal, and it is so unlike any other creature that a further description will not be necessary. The prevailing colors are white and black; but these vary much in proportion, the animal sometimes being almost totally white, or altogether black. The fur is long, and comparatively coarse, being intermixed with long, glossy hairs, and is most valuable in the black animal. The body of the creature is about a foot and a half in length, exclusive of the tail, which adds about fourteen inches more. The skunk is generally nocturnal in its habits, secreting itself during the day in hollow trees, or crevices in rocks, or wood-piles. At night it ventures forth in quest of its food, which consists chiefly of grasshoppers, worms and other insects, wild fruit and such small animals in the shape of frogs, mice and birds as it can capture. The poultry yard often offers an irresistible temptation, and both fowls and eggs often serve to appease his appetite. The skunk is common throughout the greater part of North America, and in many localities the numbers increase very [Page 198] rapidly unless checked. The young are brought forth in burrows or holes in rocks during April or May, and are from six to nine in number. "Skunk fur" does not sound well when thought of in connection with a set of fashionable furs; and for this reason the pelt of this animal is dignified by the name of Alaska sable by all dealers in the article. When known by this fancy title it suddenly becomes a very popular addition to fashion's winter wardrobe, and is one of the leading furs which are exported to meet the demand of foreign countries. Foul as the animal is, it seldom soils its own fur with its offensive fluid; and when carefully skinned the fur is as saleable as that of any other animal. The Skunk is trapped in a variety of ways; and as the animal is not cunning, no great skill is required. The steel trap is most commonly used, as other wooden varieties, box traps or dead-falls, for instance, are apt to absorb and retain the stench of the animal. In using the steel trap the size No. 2 should be taken. It may be set at the entrance to their burrows or in their feeding grounds. It should be covered with loose earth or chaff, or some other light substance, and baited with small bits of meat, dead mice, or eggs placed around it. The enclosure illustrated on page 143 also answers well, and in all cases the spring pole, page 144, should be used. The dead-fall, page 107, is often employed, and the twitch-up, page 43, is a particularly effective contrivance for their capture, often preventing the evil consequences of the odor by causing instant dislocation of the neck, and this without injuring the fur. A stroke upon the backbone near the tail, by producing paralysis of the parts, also prevents the animal from using his offensive powers, and a dead-fall so constructed as to fall upon the animal at this part will accomplish the same effect. To manage this it is only necessary to place the bait far back in the enclosure, so that the skunk on reaching it will bring the rear portion of his body beneath the suspended log. The scent of the skunk is as we have said, almost ineradicable, but we would recommend chloride of lime as the most effectual antidote. It is also said by some trappers that the odor may be dissipated by packing the garment in fresh hemlock boughs, letting it thus remain for a couple of days. This is certainly a valuable hint if true, and is well worth remembering. For skinning the skunk, see Beaver, Otter and Fox. [Page 199] THE WOLVERINE. This, one of the most ferocious as well as detestable of American animals, is principally found in British America and the upper portion of the United States. It has won a world wide reputation for its fierceness and voracity, and on this account is popularly known as the Glutton. It is not confined to America, but is also found in Siberia and Northern Europe. [Illustration] The general appearance of this animal, ugly in disposition as in appearance, is truthfully given in our illustration. It is not unlike a small bear in looks, and was formerly classed among that genus. The general color of the wolverine is dark brown. The muzzle, as far back as the eye-brows, is black, and the immense paws partake of the same hue. The claws of the animal are [Page 200] long and almost white, forming a singular contrast to the jetty fur of the feet. So large are the feet of this animal, and so powerful the claws, that a mere look at them will tell the story of their death dealing qualities, a single stroke from one of them often being sufficient for a mortal wound. Although the wolverine is not as large as the bear, its foot prints in the snow are often mistaken for those of that creature, being nearly of the same size. The glutton feeds largely on the smaller quadrupeds, and is a most determined foe to the beaver during the summer months; the ice-hardened walls of their houses serving as a perfect protection against his attacks in the winter time. To the trapper of the north the wolverine is a most detested enemy, following the rounds of the traps and either detaching the baits or tearing away the dead animals which have fallen a prey to them. The trapper's entire circuit will be thus followed in a single night, and where the veritable "glutton" does not care to devour its victim it will satisfy its ferocious instinct by scratching it in pieces, leaving the mutilated remains to tell the story of its nocturnal visit. The wolverine is a dangerous foe to many animals larger than itself, and by the professional hunter it is looked upon as an ugly and dangerous customer. There are several methods of trapping this horrid creature, and in many localities successful trapping of other animals will be impossible without first ridding the neighborhood of the wolverines. Dead-falls of large size will be found to work successfully, baiting with the body of some small animal, such as a rat or squirrel. A piece of cat, beaver or muskrat flesh is also excellent, and by slightly scenting with castoreum success will be made sure. Several of these traps may be set at intervals, and a trail made by dragging a piece of smoked beaver meat between them. The gun trap, as described on page 20, will also do good service in exterminating this useless and troublesome animal. Steel traps of size No. 3 or 4 are commonly used to good purpose. They may be arranged in any of the various methods already described, the plan of the enclosure, page 143, being particularly desirable. In all cases the trap should be covered with leaves, moss or the like, and the bait slightly scented with castoreum. Like all voracious animals, the perpetual greed of the wolverine completely overbalances its caution, and thus renders its capture an easy task. [Page 201] The home of the animal is generally in a crevice or cave between rocks, and its young, two or three in number, are brought forth in May. In removing the skin, it may be ripped up the belly, or taken off whole, as described for the fox. THE OPOSSUM. [Illustration] The opossum is found more or less throughout nearly all the United States. In size it equals a large cat, the tail being about fifteen inches long, very flexible and covered with scales. The general color of the fur is grayish-white, slightly tinged with yellow, [Page 202] and the legs are of a brownish hue, which color also surrounds the eyes to some extent. The fur is comparatively soft and wooly, and thickly sprinkled with long hairs, white at the base and brown at the tips. The nature and habits of the animal are very interesting. Its nest is made in some sheltered hollow in an old fallen or live tree, or beneath overhanging roots or rocks, and composed of moss and dead leaves. The young are produced in several litters during the year, and when born are transferred by the mother to a pouch situated in the lower front portion of her body. Here they remain and are nourished by the parent until they are five weeks old, at which time they emerge and travel with their mother, and their little ring tails do them good service in holding fast to their guardian. It is an amusing sight to see a family of young 'possums thus linked together, and so "attached to each other." The opossum is a voracious and destructive animal, prowling about during the hours of darkness and prying into every nook and corner in hope of finding something that may satisfy the cravings of imperious hunger. Rats, mice, nuts, berries, birds, insects and eggs are all devoured by this animal; and when not content with these he does not hesitate to insinuate himself into the poultry yard, and make a meal on the fowls and young chickens. His fondness for fruit and Indian corn often leads him to commit great havoc among plantations and fruit trees, and his appetite for the fruit of the persimmon tree is proverbial. While feeding on these fruits he frequently hangs by his tail, as seen in our illustration, gathering the persimmons with his fore paws and eating them while thus suspended. He is a most agile climber, and his tenacity and terminal resources in this direction are admirably depicted in that well known Methodist sermon, as follows: "An' you may shake one foot loose, but 'tothers thar; an' you may shake _all_ his feet loose, but he laps his tail around the lim' an' he clings forever." He is an adept at feigning death, "playing 'possum" so skilfully as frequently to deceive an expert. "'Possums" are hunted in the Southern States much after the manner of coons; and to the negroes a "'possum hunt" signifies most unbounded sport." Though cunning in many ways, the opossum is singularly simple in others. There is hardly any animal more easily captured; for it will walk into the clumsiest of traps, and permit itself to be ensnared by a device at which an American rat would look with utter contempt. [Page 203] The dead-fall, garrote, or stout snare may all be employed, being baited with any of the substances already described. The steel trap 2-1/1 or 3 is most commonly used, being set in the haunts of the animal, and slightly scented with musk. See Fox and Beaver, for directions for skinning, stretching, etc., etc. THE RABBIT. The rabbit or "cotton tail," as he is familiarly termed, is too well-known to need any description here. From Maine to Texas our woods abound with these fleet-footed little creatures, of which there are several American species. They are the swiftest of all American quadrupeds, and have been known to clear over twenty feet in a single leap. They are all natural burrowers, although they often forego the trouble of excavating a home when one can be found already made, and which can be easily modified or adapted to their purposes. The common rabbit of New England often makes its home or "form," beneath a pile of brush or logs, or in crevices in rocks. Here it brings forth its young, of which there are often three or four litters a year. The creature becomes a parent at a very early age, and by the time that a rabbit is a year old it may have attained the dignity of a grand parent. The food of the rabbit consists of grasses, bark, leaves, bulbs, young twigs, buds, berries and the like, and of cultivated vegetables of all kinds, when opportunity favors. When surprised in the woods it manifests its alarm by violently striking the ground with its feet, causing the peculiar sound so often noticed at their first jump. The animal is fond of pursuing a beaten path in the woods, and is often snared at such places. Its enemies, beside man, are the lynx, and other carnivorous animals, hawks, owls, and even the domestic cat. The rabbit is a favorite game with all amateur sportsmen, and the devices used in its capture are multitudinous. It is by no means a difficult animal to trap, and a glance through the second and fourth sections of our book, will reveal many ingenious snares and other contrivances, commonly and successfully used. The Box trap, page 103, is perhaps the most universal example of rabbit trap, but the Self-setting trap, page 110, and Double-ender, page 109, are also equally effective where the animal is desired to be taken alive. If this is not an object, the snare is to be recommended as simple in construction and sure in its result. [Page 204] The above constitute the only devices commonly used for the capture of the rabbit, the steel trap being dispensed with. On page 109 will be found additional remarks concerning the rabbit, and many hints no baiting, etc., are also given under the heads of the various traps above alluded to. The skin of the rabbit is very thin and tender, and should be carefully removed, either as described for the fox, or in the ordinary method, by incision up the belly. Full directions for curing and tanning the skins will be found under its proper head in a later portion of this work. THE WOOD-CHUCK. This animal also called the marmot, is so well-known to most of our readers, that a detailed description will not be necessary, suffice it to say that the general color is brownish grey above, changing to reddish brown on the under parts. The head, tail and feet partaking of a darker color. The length of the animal is about a foot and a-half, exclusive of the tail, which is four inches long. The woodchuck is a clumsy looking animal, and anything but active in its movements. It is very unintelligent, and is always too ready to use its powerful teeth on the hand of any one who may attempt to handle it. It is naturally a timid animal, but when cornered or brought to bay, it fights most desperately. The woodchuck is an expert excavator, and where the animals exist in large numbers great damage is done by their united burrowing. They generally remain in their burrows during the day, only venturing out casually to see what is going on, and keeping near their entrance. Towards evening they start out to feed, devouring certain grasses and weeds, and also pumpkins and green corn with avidity, ever and anon sitting upright on their haunches, to see if the coast is clear. In case they are surprised in their meal, they hurry home in a pell-mell sort of a way, giving as much the appearance of rolling as running, but, nevertheless, getting over the ground with fair speed for such an unwieldy animal. The skin is loose and very tough, and possesses no commercial value, being principally used for whiplashes. Their burrows are generally on the slope of a hill, and often at the foot of a rock or tree. These tunnels vary from ten to thirty feet in length, sloping downward from the opening, afterward taking an upward turn and terminating in a roomy chamber, in which the animal sleeps in [Page 205] winter and where the young from three to eight in number are brought forth. The woodchuck is found throughout nearly the whole of the United States, and is especially abundant in New England, where it is a decided nuisance. It is found as far south as Tennessee, and westward to the Rocky Mountains. The flesh of the woodchuck is by many much esteemed as food, particularly in the Fall. When used for this purpose, the animal should be skinned and carefully cleaned immediately after death, taking especial care to remove the masses of fat which lie inside of the legs, as these, if allowed to remain, are sure to taint the flesh in cooking. The animals are easily caught by setting the traps at the entrance of their burrows, and carefully covering them with loose earth, no bait being required. They may also be captured by the aid of a spring-pole, with noose attached, the pole being bent down and caught under a notched stick, and the noose being arranged at the opening of the burrow, see page 43, the Woodchuck in passing in or out will become entangled in the noose, and in his efforts to escape the pole will be loosened from the peg, thus lifting the animal in mid-air. Woodchucks are also sometimes drowned out of their holes, and the turtle is often put to good use for the purpose of smoking the animals from their subterranean dwellings. A ball of wicking saturated with kerosene is attached by a wire to the tail of the reptile. When the ball is ignited the creature is introduced into the entrance of the hole, and of course in fleeing from its fiery pursuer it traverses the full length of the burrow, and as another matter of course drives out its other occupants, which are shot or captured as they emerge. The woodchunk's skin is generally taken off as described for the muskrat, and stretched accordingly. THE GOPHER. This remarkable little animal somewhat resembles the Mole in its general appearance and habits. It is also commonly known as the Canada Pouched Rat, and is principally found west of the Mississippi and northward. It is a burrowing animal, and like the Mole drives its subterranean tunnels in all directions, throwing up little hillocks at regular intervals of from five to twenty feet. Its body is thick set and clumsy and about ten inches long, and its Mole-like claws are especially adapted for digging. Its food consists of roots and vegetables, and its [Page 206] long and projecting incisors are powerful agents in cutting the roots which cross its path in making its burrow. The most striking characteristic of the animal, and that from which it takes its name, consists in the large cheek pouches which hang from each side of the mouth and extend back to to shoulders. They are used as receptacles of food which the animal hurriedly gathers when above ground, afterward returning to its burrow to enjoy its feast at its leisure. It was formerly very commonly and erroneously believed that the Gopher used its pouches in conveying the earth from its burrow, and this is generally supposed at the present day, but it is now known that the animal uses these pockets only for the conveyance of its food. The color of the fur is reddish-brown on the upper parts, fading to ashy-brown on the abdomen, and the feet are white. In making its tunnels, the dirt is brought to the surface, thus making the little mounds after the manner of the mole. After having dug its tunnel for several feet the distance becomes so great as to render this process impossible, and the old hole is carefully stopped up and a new one made at the newly excavated end of the tunnel, the animal continuing on in its labors and dumping from the fresh orifice. These mounds of earth occur at intervals on the surface of the ground, and although no hole can be discovered beneath them, they nevertheless serve to indicate the track of the burrow, which lies several inches beneath. The Gopher is a great pest to western cultivators, and by its root feeding and undermining propensities does extensive injury to crops generally. They may be successfully trapped in the following manner: Strike a line between the two most recent earth mounds, and midway between them remove a piece of the sod. By the aid of a trowel or a sharp stick the burrow may now be reached. Insert your hand in the tunnel and enlarge the interior sufficiently to allow the introduction of No. (0) steel trap. Set the trap flatly in the bottom of the burrow, and then laying a piece of shingle or a few sticks across the excavation replace the sod. Several traps may be thus set in the burrows at considerable distances apart, and a number of the animals thus taken. The traps are sometimes inserted in the burrows from the hillocks, by first finding the hole and then enlarging it by inserting the arm and digging with the hand beneath. The former method, however, is preferable. The skin of the Gopher may be pulled off the body either by cutting up the hind less, as described in reference to the Fox, [Page 207] or by making the incision from the lower jaw down the neck, as decided for the muskrat, a simple board stretcher being used. THE MOLE. Of all the mammalia the Mole is entitled to take the first place in the list of burrowers. This extraordinary creature does not merely dig tunnels in the ground and sit at the end of them, as is the case with many animals, but it forms a complicated subterranean dwelling place with chambers, passages and other arrangements of wonderful completeness. It has regular roads leading to its feeding grounds; establishes a system of communication as elaborate as that of a modern railway, or, to be more correct, as that of the subterranean network of the sewers of a city. It is an animal of varied accomplishments. It can run tolerably fast, it can fight like a bull-dog, it can capture prey under or above ground, it can swim fearlessly, and it can sink wells for the purpose of quenching its thirst. Take the mole out of its proper sphere, and it is awkward and clumsy as the sloth when placed on level ground, or the seal when brought ashore. Replace it in the familiar earth and it becomes a different being, full of life and energy, and actuated by a fiery activity which seems quite inconsistent with its dull aspect and seemingly inert form. We all know that the mole burrows under the ground, raising at intervals the little hillocks or "mole hills" with which we are so familiar; but most of us little know the extent or variety of its tunnels, or that the animal works on a regular system and does not burrow here and there at random. How it manages to form its burrows in such admirably straight lines, is not an easy problem, because it is always done in black darkness, and we know of nothing which can act as a guide to the animal. As for ourselves and other eye-possessing creatures, the feat of walking in a straight line with closed eyelids is almost an impossibility, and every swimmer knows the difficulty of keeping a straight course under water, even with the use of his eyes. The ordinary mole hills, so plentiful in our fields, present nothing particularly worthy of notice. They are merely the shafts through which the quadruped miner ejects the material which it has scooped out, as it drives its many tunnels through the soil, and if they be carefully opened after the rain has consolidated the heap of loose material, nothing more will be discovered than a simple hole leading into the tunnel. But let us [Page 208] strike into one of the large tunnels, as any mole catcher will teach us, and follow it up to the real abode of the animal. The hill under which this domicile is hidden, is of considerable size, but is not very conspicuous, being always placed under the shelter of a tree, shrub, or a suitable bank, and would scarcely be discovered but by a practiced eye. The subterranean abode within the hillock is so remarkable that it involuntarily reminds the observer of the well-known "maze," which has puzzled the earliest years of youth throughout many generations. The central apartment, or "keep," if we so term it, is a nearly spherical chamber, the roof of which is almost on a level with the earth around the hill, and therefore situated at a considerable depth from the apex of the heap. Around this keep are driven two circular passages or galleries, one just level with the ceiling and the other at some height above. Five short descending passages connect the galleries with each other, but the only entrance into the keep is from the upper gallery, out of which three passages lead into the ceiling of the keep. It will be seen therefore that when the mole enters the house from one of its tunnels, it has first to get into the lower gallery to ascend thence into the upper gallery, and so descend into the central chamber. There is, however, another entrance into the keep from below. A passage dips downward from the centre of the chamber, and then, taking a curve upwards, opens into one of the larger burrows or high roads, as they may be fitly termed. It is a noteworthy fact that the high roads, of which there are several radiating in different directions, never open into the gallery opposite one of the entrances into the upper gallery. The mole therefore is obliged to go to the right or left as soon as it enters the domicile before it can find a passage to the upper gallery. By the continual pressure of the moles upon the walls of the passages and roof of the central chamber, they become quite smooth, hard, and polished, so that the earth will not fall in, even after the severest storm. The use of so complicated a series of cells and passages is extremely doubtful, and our total ignorance of the subject affords another reason why the habits of this wonderful animal should be better studied. About the middle of June the moles begin to fall in love, and are as furious in their attachments as in all other phases of their nature. At that time two male moles cannot meet without mutual jealousy, and they straightway begin to fight, scratching, tearing, and biting with such insane fury that they seem unconscious [Page 209] of anything except the heat of battle. Indeed the whole life of the mole is one of fury, and he eats like a starving tiger, tearing and rending his prey with claws and teeth, and crunching audibly the body of the worm between the sharp points. Magnify the mole to the size of the lion and you will have a beast more terrible than the world has yet seen. Though nearly blind, and therefore incapable of following its prey by sight, it would be active beyond conception, springing this way and that way as it goes along, leaping with lightness and quickness upon any animal which it meets, rending it in pieces in a moment, thrusting its blood-thirsty snout into the body of its victim, eating the still warm and bleeding flesh, and instantly searching for fresh prey. Such a creature would, without the least hesitation, devour a serpent twenty feet in length, and so terrible would be its voracity that it would eat twenty or thirty of such snakes in a day as easily as it devours the same number of worms. With one grasp of its teeth and one stroke of its claws, it could tear an ox asunder; and if it should happen to enter a fold of sheep or enclosure of cattle, it would kill them all for the mere lust of slaughter. Let, then, two of such animals meet in combat, and how terrific would be the battle! Fear is a feeling of which the mole seems to be utterly unconscious, and, when fighting with one of its own species, he gives his whole energies to the destruction of his opponent without seeming to heed the injuries inflicted upon himself. From the foregoing sketch the reader will be able to estimate the extraordinary energies of this animal, as well as the wonderful instincts with which it is endowed. The fur of the mole is noted for its clean, velvety aspect; and that an animal should be able to pass unsoiled through earth of all textures is a really remarkable phenomenon. It is partly to be explained by the character of the hair, and partly by that of the skin. The hair of the mole is peculiar on account of its want of "set." The tops of the hairs do not point in any particular direction, but may be pressed equally forward or backward or to either side. The microscope reveals the cause of this peculiarity. The hair is extremely fine at its exit from the skin, and gradually increases in thickness until it reaches its full width when it again diminishes. This alternation occurs several times in each hair, and gives the peculiar velvet-like texture with which we are all so familiar. There is scarcely any coloring matter in the slender portion of the hair, and the beautiful changeable coppery [Page 210] hues of the fur is owing to this structure. Another reason for the cleanliness of the fur is the strong, though membranous muscle beneath the skin. While the mole is engaged in travelling, particularly in loose earth, the soil for a time clings to the fur; but at tolerably regular intervals the creature gives the skin a sharp and powerful shake, which throws off at once the whole of the mould that has collected upon the fur. Some amount of dust still remains, for, however clean the fur of a mole may seem to be, if the creature be placed for an hour in water, a considerable quantity of earth will be dissolved away and fall to the bottom of the vessel. The improvement in the fur after being well washed with soft tepid water and soap, is almost incredible. Many persons have been struck with such admiration for the fur of the mole, that they have been desirous of having a number of the skins collected and made into a waist-coat. This certainly can be done, but the garment thus made is so very hot that it can only be worn in winter. Such garments are very expensive, and owing to the tender quality of the skin, possess but little lasting powers. There is also a wonderfully strong smell about the mole; so strong, indeed, that dogs will sometimes point at moles instead of game, to the great disgust of their masters. This odor adheres obstinately to the skin, and even in furs which have been dried for more than ten years, this peculiar savor has been noticed. We have given much space to the mole, not particularly on account of its particular usefulness to the trapper, but because of its many claims to our notice. If the creature were a rare and costly inhabitant of some distant land, how deep would be the interest which it would incite. But because it is a creature of our country, and to be found in every field, there are but few who care to examine a creature so common, or who experience any feelings save those of disgust when they see a mole making its way over the ground in search of a soft spot in which to burrow. In many localities this interesting animal exists in such numbers as to become a positive nuisance, and the invention of a trap which would effectually curtail their depredations has been a problem to many a vexed and puzzled farmer. Mole traps of various kinds have found their way into our agricultural papers, but none has proved more effectual than the one we describe on page 119. An arrangement of the _figure four_, page 107, is also sometimes employed with good success. In this case the bait stick crosses the upright stick close to the ground, and rests over [Page 211] the burrow of the mole, the earth being previously pressed down to the surrounding level. The stone should be narrow and very heavy, and of course no bait is required. The pieces should be set carefully, and so adjusted that the lifting of the soil beneath the stick as the mole forces its way through the compressed earth will dislodge the bait stick and let down the stone with its crushing weight. Another method consists in embedding a deep flower pot in one of the main tunnels of the animal, and carefully replacing the soil above. The mole in traversing his burrow thus falls into the pit and is effectually captured. This is a very ingenious mode of taking the animal, and rewarded its inventor with seven moles on the first night of trial. There are a number of other devices said to work excellently, but the above we believe to be the most effectual of all. There are several species of American moles, the star-nosed variety being familiar to most of us. The most common moles are the shrew moles, with pointed noses. The silver mole is a large species, of a changeable silvery color, found on the Western prairies. The Oregon mole is nearly black, with purplish or brownish reflections. The most beautiful of all the moles is found at the Cape of Good Hope. It is of about the size of the ordinary American species, and its soft fur glistens with brilliant green and golden reflections. The fur of this species is probably the most wonderful and beautiful in the whole animal kingdom. SQUIRRELS. There are many species of squirrels found in the United States, but their fur is of little value, and of trifling importance in the fur trade; the squirrel fur of our markets being that of a small grey European variety. Squirrels, as a class, possess much the same peculiarities and habits. Their claws are particularly adapted for life among the trees; their tails are long and bushy, covering over the backs of the animals when in a sitting posture. They are all lithe and quick of movement, and their senses of sight and hearing are especially keen. They are constantly on the alert, and are full of artifice when pursued. Their food consists chiefly of nuts, fruits, and grain, but when pushed by hunger, there is no telling what they will not eat. They generally provide for the [Page 212] winter months by laying up a store of the foregoing provisions, either in holes in trees or interstices in the bark, or in cavities under ground. The shag-bark hickory offers an especial inducement to these provident creatures in the numerous crevices and cracks throughout the bark. It is not an uncommon thing to find whole handfuls of nuts carefully packed away in one of these cracks, and a sharp stroke with an ax in the trunk of one of these trees will often dislodge numbers of the nuts. The writer has many a time gone "nutting" in this way in the middle of winter with good success. The nests of squirrels are generally built in trees, either in a crotch between the branches or in some deserted woodpecker's hole. Some species live in burrows in the ground, and those individuals who are lucky enough to be in the neighborhood of a barn often make their abode therein, taking their regular three meals a day from the granary. In many localities these animals thus become a perfect pest to the farmers, and their destruction becomes a matter of urgent necessity. [Illustration] Squirrels, although resembling each other much as regards [Page 213] their general habits, differ considerably in the size and color of the different species. The principal varieties found on our continent are:-- The large grey squirrel, which is common in the Eastern and Middle States, and which is about two feet in length, including the tail. The common red squirrel, or chicaree, smaller than the foregoing, and found more or less all through the United States. The black squirrel, which is about the size of the grey, and found in the north-eastern part of the United States, near the great lakes. In the Southern States there is a variety known as the fox squirrel, about the size of the red squirrel, and quite variable in color. The Middle States furnishes a species called the cat squirrel, rather smaller than the preceding. Its tail is very broad, and its color varies from very light to very dark grey. The ground squirrel, or chipmuck, with its prettily striped sides, is common to most of our readers, its general color being red and the stripes being black and white. Another burrowing species, known as the Oregon or downy squirrel, is found in the Territory from which it takes its name, and also northward in British America. In size it resembles the chipmuck, and its color is light red above, pure white beneath, and silver grey at the sides. The beautiful silky variety, known as the flying squirrel, with its grey chinchilla-like fur and loose skin, is found throughout the United States east of the Mississippi. Louisiana and Texas furnish the golden-bellied squirrel, which is about twenty inches in length, with tail golden yellow beneath, and golden grey above. The sooty squirrel is also found in this locality, being about the same size as the last mentioned, and black above and brownish red beneath. There are other varieties in California known as the woolly, soft-haired, and weasel squirrels; and in the Western States we find the large red-tailed squirrels, which are about the size of the large grey variety of the Eastern and Middle States. Squirrels, as a tribe, are much sought for as pets, and most of the species are easily tamed. Box traps of various kinds are used in taking them alive. The varieties on pages 103, 106 and 110 are especially adapted for this purpose, and should be set either in the trees or on the ground, and baited with an apple, a portion of an ear of corn, or of whatever the animal is particularly fond. When the animals exist in such numbers as to become a destructive [Page 214] nuisance to the farm, the small-sized steel trap, No. 0, arranged with bait hung above it, will work to good advantage. Twitch-ups are also successful, and we might also recommend the traps on pages 107, 116 and 128 as worthy of trial when the animal is not desired to be captured alive. Squirrels may be skinned either by ripping up the belly, or in a whole piece, as described in regard to the fox. We pause before going further into the mysteries of trapping in connection with the animals which we are about to consider, as they are generally exempt from the wiles of the trapper's art, coming more properly in the field of the hunter or sportsman. The idea of trapping a deer, for instance, seems barbarous indeed; but are not all the ways of deceiving and killing these splendid animals equally so? Are not the various strategies and cunning devices of the sportsman, by which these noble creatures are decoyed and murdered, equally open to the same objection? As far as barbarity goes, there is to us but little choice between the two methods; and, generally speaking, we decry them both, and most especially do not wish to be understood as encouraging the trapping of these animals, except where all other means have failed, and in cases where their capture becomes in a measure a matter of necessity. This is often the case in the experience of professional trappers. The life of the trapper during the trapping season is spent almost entirely in the wilderness, often many miles from any human habitation; and at times he is solely dependent upon his gun or trap for his necessary food. Sometimes in a dry season, when the leaves and twigs crackle under foot, the rifle is as good as useless, for it becomes impossible to approach a deer within shooting range. And there are other times when ammunition is exhausted, and the trapper is thus forced to rely only on his traps for his supply of food. In such circumstances, the necessities of the trapper are paramount, and the trapping of deer, in such straits, as the most desirable food is rather to be recommended than condemned. The same remarks also in a measure apply to the moose and prong-horn antelope, as well as to several other animals hereinafter mentioned, as they are generally considered more in the light of the hunter's than the trapper's game. [Page 215] THE DEER. There are upwards of eight varieties of this animal which inhabit North America. The common red or Virginian deer is found throughout the United States. The stag or Wapiti deer is now chiefly confined to the country west of the Mississippi and northward to British America. The moose we shall speak of hereafter. The Rocky Mountain mule deer, and the long-tailed deer of the same locality, are two more species, and there are also the black-tailed deer and the reindeer, the latter of which is a native of British America. The scope of our volume will not of course admit of detailed directions for trapping each variety, but, as the habits of all the species are in a measure similar, our remarks will apply to them in general, and particularly to the red or Virginian deer, which is the most important to American trappers. The trap for taking deer should be large, strong, and covered with spikes. The Newhouse (No. 4) is particularly adapted, and is especially arranged for this purpose. When the path of the deer is discovered on the border of a stream or lake, the trap should be set beneath the surface of the water, near the tracks of the animal, and covered by a handful of dried grass thrown upon it. When thus set, it may either be left to run its chances, or success, further insured by the following precaution: In winter the principal food of the deer consists of the twigs, buds, and bark of various forest trees, and particularly those of the basswood and maple. In the season when the traps are set as above described, a most tempting bait is furnished by a large branch of either of those trees, freshly cut, and laid near the trap. The deer in feeding are thus almost sure to be captured. There are certain glands which are located on the inner side of the hind legs of the deer, and which emit a very strong and peculiar odor. The scent of these glands seems to attract the animal, and for this reason are cut out and used by trappers as a scent-bait. In the case already described, it is well to rub the glands on the twigs of the trees, thus serving as an additional attraction to the bait. There is still another method of trapping deer, which is commonly employed in the winter time. The trap is sunk in the snow at the foot of a tree, and the bait, consisting of an ear of corn or a few beards of other grain, is fastened to the tree, above the trap, three or more feet from the ground. The animal, in reaching for the bait, places its foot in the trap and is secured. [Page 216] When first caught, the deer becomes very wild and violent; so much so that if the trap were chained or retarded by a heavy clog, the chain, or even the trap itself, would most likely be broken. The weight of a trap of this size is generally a sufficient impediment, no clog, or at best a very light one, being required. The first frantic plunge being over, the entrapped creature immediately yields and lies down upon the ground, and is always to be found within a few rods of where the trap was first sprung upon him. During the winter the traps may also be set in the snow, using the same bait already described. It is a common method to fell a small tree for the purpose, setting the traps beneath the snow, around the top branches. The deer, in browsing in the tender twigs or buds, are almost certain to be captured. Dead-falls of different kinds are sometimes used in trapping the deer, with good success; using the scent bait already described, together with the other bait. The food of the deer during the summer consists of nuts, fruits, acorns, grass, berries, and water plants, and when in convenient neighborhood of cultivated lands, they do not hesitate to make a meal from the farmer's turnips, cabbages, and grain. As we have said, the winter food consists chiefly of the twigs of trees. When the snow is deep the deer form what are called "yards," about such trees as they particularly select for their browsing. These yards are made simply by tramping down the snow, and large numbers of the deer are often thus found together. As the supply of food is consumed, the yard is enlarged, so as to enclose other trees for browsing, and where deep snows abound throughout the winter, these enclosures often become quite extensive in area. Panthers, wolves, and wolverines take especial advantage of these, and easily secure their victims. By wolves especially entire herds of deer are thus destroyed, and whole yards depopulated in a single night. Panthers secrete themselves in the trees above the boughs overhanging the "yards," and, with stealthy movements, approach and pounce upon their unsuspecting prey. The blood-thirsty wolverine secretes himself in the nooks and by-ways to spring upon its tawny victim unawares. These, together with man, form the principal foes of the deer, and we can truthfully assert that the _hunter_ is much more its enemy than the _trapper_. As we do not wish to encourage the wanton trapping of this noble creature, it would perhaps be well for us to devote also few words in describing the various modes of hunting the animal, [Page 217] adopted by the "professional sportsmen" throughout the land. The most common method is that called "still hunting," most generally pursued in winter. The hunter is shod with deer-skin or other soft sandals, and starts out with his rifle and ammunition. Finding the fresh track of the deer, he cautiously and noiselessly follows up the trail, keeping a sharp lookout ahead. A practised deer-hunter becomes very skillful and accurate, and the animal is nearly always tracked to discovery, when he is shot. The deer's sense of smell is extremely acute, and, when in shooting range, it is very necessary to approach them in the face of the wind, the direction of which may be easily determined by holding the finger in the mouth for a moment, afterward pointing it upward toward the sky. The cool side of the finger will indicate the direction from which the wind blows, and toward that direction the deer should always be approached, or as far toward that direction as possible. It will sometimes happen that the hunter will surprise the buck, doe, and fawn together. In order to secure the three, shoot the doe first. The buck and fawn will remain near the spot. The buck should next be shot, and then the fawn, the charge being aimed at the breast. Never approach a wounded deer without reloading the gun, as he is often more frightened than hurt, and is likely to start and run away, unless prevented by another shot. During the snow season, deer are always watchful of their back track. They are generally at rest during the day, starting out late in the afternoon on their usual ramblings, which they continue through the night. During the dark hours they love to resort to the water side in quest of aquatic plants, and are here often taken by hunters, many of which consider "night hunting" the favorite and most exciting sport. It is pursued in the following manner: The hunter requires a boat or canoe, page 261, a good rifle, and a lamp. The lamp, with a screen or reflector behind it, is placed at the bow of the boat. One hunter takes the oar, and, with noiseless paddle, propels or sculls the boat from the stem. The armed hunter crouches behind the light, with the muzzle of his rifle projecting beyond the screen sufficiently to easily show the forward sight on the tip of the barrel. A dark lantern is sometimes used as a light. The eyes of the deer shine very perceptibly at night, and his presence on the banks is thus easily detected. If he is noiselessly approached, he will remain transfixed by the effect of the light from the boat, and he may be neared even to a very close range, when he is easily despatched. Hundreds of deer [Page 218] are thus taken during the summer and autumn. Deer are also chased by dogs until they are forced to take refuge in the nearest rivers or lakes, when the hunter in his canoe overtakes and shoots them. Another method is frequently employed in the hunting of the deer. These animals are very fond of salt, and with it they are often decoyed to a spot where the hunter lies in wait for them. These places are called "deer licks," or salting places, and can be made as follows: Select a locality where deer are known to frequent, and place a handful of salt either on a smooth spot of ground or in the hollow of a log. A section of a log is sometimes slightly dug out at one end and the other inserted in the earth, the salt being placed in the hollow. The hunter secretes himself in a neighboring tree, sometimes erecting a bench or scaffolding for comfort, and, provided with gun and ammunition, he awaits the coming of the deer. Hunters say that a deer seldom looks higher than his head, and that a sportsman on one of these scaffoldings, even though he is clumsy in his movements, is seldom noticed by the animal. The salt lick is also utilized for night hunting. A head-lantern is generally required. This can be made in the following manner: Construct a cylinder of birch bark or paste-board or any like substance, ten inches in height, and of sufficient size to fit closely on the head. A circular partition should next be firmly inserted at about the middle of the cylinder, and the centre of the partition should be provided with a socket for the reception of a candle. On this end of the cylinder a piece should now be cut to admit of the passage of light from the candle on that side. Having this fire-hat at hand wait patiently for the game. When a significant noise is heard light the candle and place the cylinder on the head, with the open cut in front, thus directing the light toward the ground. As the deer approaches, his fiery eyes will easily be seen, and the light from the candle will shine sufficiently on the rifle to clearly reveal the sights and admit of a sure aim. There is still another method of night hunting by the salt lick. The rifle is aimed directly at the salted spot, and thus firmly fixed--this preparation being made in the daytime. When night approaches, the hunter finds a piece of phosphorescent wood or "fox fire," and places it on the ground, at a point which he has previously determined to be on a direct line of the aim of his gun. The "fox fire" is plainly seen from the tree, and as soon as it is darkened he knows that it is obscured by the deer, and he pulls the trigger and kills his game. Deer are hunted at all seasons of the year, _but ought not_ to [Page 219] be hunted during the summer. The sport legitimately begins in September, when the buck begins to harden his horns, and when his flesh is in its best condition for food. In October the deer is more shy, and during this month and after, the sport is at its height. The deer should be skinned from an incision down the belly, and the hide spread on a hoop stretcher, page 275. THE MOOSE. We have already given so much space to the hunting of the deer that we shall be obliged to cut short our remarks on the Moose, particularly as it is a representative of the same family. This animal is the largest of the Deer tribe, being seven or eight feet in height and often weighing over fifteen hundred pounds. It is supplied with immense flat spreading horns, sometimes expanding to the distance of six feet between the tips. It is found in Maine, Oregon and Washington Territories, and in the neighborhood of the great lakes, and inhabits the regions as far [Page 220] north as the Arctic Sea. Its color is yellowish brown. The fur is thicker in winter than summer, and on the neck of the animal the hair is very coarse and hangs in an immense tuft of over a foot in length. The flesh is most excellent food and is much esteemed by trappers. The habits of the moose are in most respects identical with the deer, already described, and like them they form "yards" during the winter season. [Illustration] In the North the moose is hunted on snow-shoes by the natives, and in summer they are shot like the deer. They are often very dangerous and terrible creatures to hunt, and the utmost care and skill, as described in regard to the deer, is required on the part of the hunter in order to avoid detection through the exquisite sense of smell which the animal possesses. The moose is easily trapped. The Newhouse, No. 6, is especially adapted for the purpose, and it should be chained to a clog of stone or wood of over fifty pounds in weight. Set the trap in the "yard," or beneath the snow where the moose frequents, or in the summer, or fall seasons, as described for the deer, using the same methods in regard to baiting, etc. Skin after the manner of cattle, and stretch the hide on a hoop-spreader. Page 275. ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHEEP. These creatures are natives of the entire range of the Rocky Mountains, and are especially prized on account of the superior quality of their flesh as food. They are much larger and more powerful than the domestic sheep, and the ram is provided with enormous curved horns. The wool of the animal is intermixed with coarse grey hairs, and the general appearance of the fur is russet grey, with the exception of the rump and under parts, which are of a dirty white color. The animal is generally very wary and retiring, and inhabits the most secluded and inaccessible mountain regions and rocky cliffs. They are easily captured by the steel trap (No. 5) set in their haunts. The dead-fall is also used in some instances. Remove the skin as described for the deer. THE BUFFALO. The Buffaloes or Bison of the Western plains is too well known to need description. They travel in migrating herds of thousands, and are found from Texas to British America. Their food [Page 221] consists chiefly of grass, of which the "Buffalo grass" is their great delight. They graze and travel through the day and rest by night. They are more the game of the hunter than the trapper, although the largest side Newhouse would effectually secure one of the animals. The Buffalo is generally hunted on horseback, the usual method being that of stealing into the drove while grazing, always moving against the wind in order to avoid being scented. The flesh is palatable and by many much relished. The Buffalo skins of commerce are furnished by the cows. The bull skins are almost devoid of fur on the hinder parts, the hair being confined to the huge heavy mass on the hump and mane. Skin the animal as described for the Moose. THE PRONG HORN ANTELOPE. This sole American representative of the Antelope tribe we believe is seldom trapped; but as it is a well-known animal on the Western plains, a short mention of it is required here. In general shape this creature bears considerable resemblance to the deer, the form of the horn being its chief peculiarity, each one of which is provided with a single prong, from which the animal takes its name, of Prong Horn. The color of the body is brownish-yellow, with the exception of the rump and belly which are almost white. The Antelopes generally travel in herds, and are much hunted by the Indians who surround them and destroy them with heavy clubs. Like the deer, their sense of smell is especially keen and the same caution is required in hunting them. In size they are about the same as the Virginian Deer. They are wonderfully graceful in all their movements, and are even more fleet of foot than the deer. These Antelopes inhabit the Western Prairies and wooded borders from New Mexico northward, and their flesh is much esteemed as an article of diet. They may be caught in their feeding places, as recommended for the deer, using the same sized trap. The dead fall is also efficacious in their capture, and they are also sometimes taken in large pit-falls covered over with light sticks and leaves, to resemble the natural surroundings. On this false covering, the bait, consisting of green corn or other vegetables, is strewn and a high wall of logs or stones is erected around it, in order that the animal will be obliged to _jump_ slightly in order to reach the bait. Remove the hide as recommended for the deer. [Page 222] SHOOTING AND POISONING. Until the introduction of the steel-trap, shooting was a common method of taking fur bearing animals, and even to the present day it is quite prevalent in some localities. Anyone who has had any experience with the fur trade must have learned that furs which are "shot," are much affected in value. Some furriers will not purchase such skins at any price; and they never meet with any but a very low offer. "Trapped furs" and "shot furs" are terms of considerable significance in the fur trade, and anyone who wishes to realize from a profitable sale of his furs, should use his gun as little as possible. A shot grazing through the fur of an animal cuts the hairs as if with a knife, and a single such furrow is often enough to spoil a skin. It is these oblique grazing shots which particularly damage the fur, and an animal killed with a _shot gun_ is seldom worth skinning for the value of its pelt. If firearms are used, the rifle is preferable. If the animal chances to be hit broadside or by a direct penetrating bullet, the two small holes thus made may not particularly effect the value of its skin, although even then the chances are rather slight. Trapped furs are of the greatest value. The use of poison is objectionable as a means of capture in animals especially desired for their fur. Strychnine is the substance generally employed, and unless its victim is skinned _immediately_ after death the pelt becomes considerably injured by the absorption of the poison. It has the effect of loosening the fur and the hair sheds easily. The poison is principally used in the capture of Wolves and animals considered in the light of vermin. For a wolf or fox, the poison is mixed with lard or tallow and spread on pieces of meat, or a small amount of the powder is inclosed in an incision in the bait. The amount sufficient for a single dose may be easily held on the point of a knife blade, and death ensues in a a very few moments after the bait is taken. For a Bear the dose should be a half thimbleful, and it should be deposited in the centre of a piece of honey comb, the cells being emptied of their honey for that purpose. Other animals may be taken by proportionate quantities of the poison, but for general purposes we discourage its use. [Page 223] [Illustration: THE CAMPAIGN.] [Page 225] BOOK VII. CAMPAIGN LIFE IN THE WILDERNESS. [Illustration: I]t has been the author's object in the preparation of this book not simply to content the reader with a mere superficial knowledge of so-called "Amateur trapping," but to carry him further into the art professionally considered, and for this reason we present in the following chapter a full catalogue of the trapper's outfit, containing detailed descriptions of all the necessaries for a most thorough campaign, including boats and canoes, log cabins, shanties and tents, snow shoes and camp furniture of all kinds, together with numerous and valuable hints on trapper's food. PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. The first thing to be considered in reference to a campaign is the selection of a trapping ground, and it is always desirable to choose a locality where travel by water can be resorted to as much as possible. Otter, mink, beaver and muskrat are among the most desirable game for the trapper, and as these are all amphibious animals, a watered district is therefore the best on all accounts. Lakes, ponds, and streams, bordered by wild woods, form the best possible grounds for general trapping, and the mountain lakes of the Adirondacks and Alleghenies, and all similar regions are especially desirable on this account. Almost any wild country, intersected with streams, lakes, and rivers, is apt to abound with game, and some trappers confine their labors to the borders of a single lake, and adjoining forest. This plan is especially to be recommended to the amateur, as much of the travelling to and fro can be done by boat, [Page 226] the labor being thus much lightened. Having decided upon the seat of operations, the young trappers should immediately set to work at building their shanties and boats. The home shanty is of the greatest importance, and should be constructed first. Select some flat bit of land near the water and clear it of brush wood, or other rubbish and proceed to work as described on page 242. A good axe is the only tool required by an experienced trapper in the construction of such a shanty. Should the trapping lines be very extensive, additional _bark_ shanties, page 245, will require to be made at intervals along the line, for sleeping stations and shelters in case of storm. The professional trapper generally attends to the building of his shanties and boats before the trapping season commences, and thus has everything in readiness for his campaign. If in a birch bark country the Indian canoe, page 260, is the most desirable craft, on account of its lightness and portability. The dug-out, or bateau, described on page 259, will also do good service. The trapping season begins in October, and everything should be in readiness at this time, so that the trappers may devote all their time strictly to business. The route of the professional trapper often extends over fifty miles, and the number and weight of traps and provisions which these rough-and-ready individuals often carry as personal luggage is most astounding. Fifty or sixty pounds apiece is considered a _fair_ burden, and they deem no one a fit physical subject for a campaign who cannot at least manage thirty pounds with comparative ease. The number of the trapping party generally consists of from two to four. A few days prior to the opening of the trapping season, the party start out, laden with their burden of traps and provisions, and deposit them at intervals along the line, the provisions being mainly kept in the "home shanty." Several trips may be necessary to complete these preparations, unless the trapping ground is readily accessible by wagon or boat, in which case the transportation is much easier. The "home shanty" is generally built only when the trapping grounds are far in the wilderness, miles away from civilization. If the line extends from the outskirts of some town or village, such a hut may be dispensed with. It is used principally as a storehouse for furs, provisions, ammunition, tools, and other valuables, and also serves as a point of rendezvous, or a home, for the trappers, one of the number being generally left in charge to "keep shanty" while his companions are on their tramps in search of game. If desired, a boy may be taken [Page 227] along for this especial purpose. In every case, some such guardian is very necessary, and particularly in wild districts, abounding in wolves and bears, as these animals have an odd trick of breaking into unguarded shanties, and often make sad havoc with its stores. Steel traps are almost exclusively used by the professional trapper, and the supply for a single campaign will often exceed one hundred and fifty. Many of the traps described in the early part of this work are also used, and for the amateur who has not the ready cash to layout in steel traps, are decidedly to be recommended and will be found very efficient. From thirty to fifty traps would be a fair number for an ordinary amateur trapping season, and the probable cost of such a lot would be from $15 to $25. The sizes of the traps will depend upon the game sought, No. 2-1/2 being a good average. With this supply, relying somewhat on dead-falls, twitch-ups, and the various other devices described in our early pages, we can guarantee lively sport, of course, presuming that good judgment has been used in the selection of a trapping ground. In later articles, under the proper headings, we give full details concerning food and cooking utensils, shelter and bedding, as well as many other requisites for the trapper's comfort. To complete the list he should provide himself with a good sharp axe, and hatchet, and if the log canoe is in anticipation he will also require the other tools mentioned on page 259 an oilstone being carried in order to keep the various tools in good repair; an auger, saw, and some large nails are also to be desired, and a small parcel containing needles, thread, pins, scissors, etc., will be found indispensable. "Cleanliness is next to Godliness," and there are no more luxurious necessities in camp life than a piece of soap and a clean towel. For light it is advisable to carry a supply of candles, or a lantern with a can of oil. The latter is, of course, more bulky, and for a campaign wholly on foot is hardly to be recommended on this account. Each trapper should be provided with a stout jack-knife, pocket-compass, and a supply of matches, a number of these being always carried on the person to provide for the emergencies to which the hunter is always subject. One of the party should carry a double-barrelled shot-gun and another a rifle, or both may be combined in a single weapon. A revolver is also a desirable acquisition. Purified neats-foot oil should be used on the fire-arms, and in lieu of this, some trappers use the melted fat of the grouse for the same purpose. A good supply of fishing tackle is almost indispensable, and [Page 228] with these valuable equipments the young trapper may defy the wilderness with all its hazards. With his traps, gun and rod, together with his store of provisions, he may look forward to a larder well stocked and may calculate on an appetite which will do it justice. The list of portable provisions and cooking utensils best adapted for a campaign are given under their proper title, and will be found to cover all the wants of the most fastidious. The stove is the most cumbersome article, but trappers generally dispense with its use altogether, looking at it rather in the light of a luxury as well as a nuisance. The open camp fire will answer every purpose, both for cooking and for comfort in cold weather. For clothing it is desirable to carry at least two suits, in order to have a "change." They should be of woolen, and from the _hunter's_ point of view, should be of a sombre shade, so as to be as inconspicuous as possible. The use of high-top boots is to be deprecated, as they are tiresome and unwieldy. Short boots, with thick, iron-pegged soles, are generally preferred by trappers, and in order to render them soft, pliable, and waterproof they may be soaked or smeared with a hot mixture, composed of one part rosin, two parts beeswax, and three parts tallow. Simple tallow, or even the fat of the deer, is sometimes used for the same purpose. Calculating on a successful campaign, a supply of board-stretchers, page 273, will be needed for the curing of the skins, and if our adventurous enthusiasts should extend their experience along into the winter, the toboggan and snow-shoes will come into good use for convenient winter travel. The trapping season properly commences in October and ends in April. The pelts of fur bearing animals are in their best condition during this time, and in the winter are in their prime. The various modes of setting and baiting traps for all our leading animals are clearly set forth in another part of this volume. And in the accompanying engravings will be found life like representations of each species. In a trapping campaign it is an excellent plan to select a central point for the home shanty, extending the trapping lines in several directions therefrom, following the borders of the lakes or streams for the otter, beaver, mink and muskrat; and setting a few lines inland for the capture of martens, racoons, foxes, etc. For an amateur campaign this a most excellent and convenient [Page 229] arrangement, the lines may extend all the way from one to five miles each, and connect at their edges, the whole ground plan resembling the form of a wheel, the shanty corresponding to the hub, and the trapping lines the spokes, the tire representing the circuit connecting the various lines. Where the latter extend over many miles it is well to construct bark shanties at the limits. Let each trapper take a certain "spoke," and follow it to its terminus, returning on the adjacent line. On his arrival at the shanty he should immediately set to work skinning the animals taken, and stretching their furs. Full directions for skinning the various game are given under their respective titles, and the curing of skins is treated in detail in another chapter of this work. We also present a table of the comparative values of the various American furs at the present date of publication. Of course these values are constantly varying, but the table will serve at least to gauge the relative values of common and scarce furs. Great care should always be used in removing the skins from the various animals, as the final value of the fur much depends upon this. They should not be removed from the stretchers until perfectly dry, and should then be laid in a cool, airy place. When near a village or settlement it is advisable to send "into town" every few days with a batch of furs for safe keeping, and particularly so when the skins are valuable, and in cases where the home shanty is left unguarded. The value of prime otter or mink pelt is a matter of no small importance, and a good trapping ground furnishes a rare field for light fingered prowlers who are well posted on the market price of raw furs, and who are constantly on the lookout for such prizes, either in the shape of the prepared skin, or on the back of the live animal. These "trap robbers," or poachers, are the pests of trappers, and many have learned from dear experience the advisability of placing their choice furs beyond the reach of the marauders. The hut in which they are stored is nearly always kept guarded, and, where this is impracticable, the skins are hid in hollow trees, or carried to some near settlement, as we have already mentioned. If the campaign proves successful and promises well for another season, it is customary to hide the traps beneath rocks, thus saving the labor of a second transportation. In order to keep the traps from rusting, it is well to cover them with oat or buckwheat chaff. The rock should be first rolled from its resting place, and a bed of the chaff made beneath it, in which the traps should be covered, the rock being afterwards replaced. In a few such [Page 230] places all the traps may be effectually stored away, and they will be found in prime order and ready for business on the following season. In the months of September and October trappers are much annoyed by gnats and mosquitoes, and, as a preventive against the attacks of these pests, we give on page 255 some valuable receipts, which have stood the test of time, and are still the most effective remedies. The "smudge," consisting of a smouldering pile of birch bark is also used where the insects infest the tents or shanties by night. The bark should be dry, and should not be allowed to blaze. The smudge is generally placed at the entrance of the tent, and the trapper may then take his choice between smoke or mosquitoes, both cannot exist together, and a tent infested with the blood-thirsty pests may be effectually cleared in a few minutes by the introduction of smoking brand for a few seconds. If the tent is now closely buttoned and the smudge kept burning directly outside, there will be no further trouble with the mosquitoes, and the odor of the smoke is, after all, but a slight annoyance and to some is even enjoyable after being once accustomed to it. When the home shanty is infested, it may be cleared in the same way, and by the aid of two or more smudges on the windward side may be kept free from the insects. FOOD AND COOKING UTENSILS. The professional trapper on a campaign depends much upon his traps for his food, and often entirely contents himself with the subsistence thus gained. We _encourage_ and _believe_ in "roughing it" to a certain extent, but not to that limit to which it is often carried by many professional "followers of the trap" throughout our country. The course of diet to which these individuals subject themselves, would often do better credit to a half civilized barbarian than to an enlightened white man, and when it comes to starting on a campaign with no provision for food excepting a few traps, a gun, and a box of matches, and relying on a chance chip for a frying-pan, he would rather be "counted out." In ordinary cases we see no necessity for such deprivation, and, on the other hand, we decry the idea of transporting a whole kitchen and larder into the woods. There is a happy medium between the two extremes, whereby a light amount of luggage in the shape of cooking utensils and closely packed portable food, may render the wild life of the trapper very cozy and comfortable, and his meals a source of enjoyment, instead of a [Page 231] fulfilment of physical duty. What with the stock of traps, necessary tools, blankets, etc., the trapper's burden is bound to be pretty heavy, and it becomes necessary to select such food for transportation as shall combine the greatest amount of nutriment and the least possible weight, and to confine the utensils to those absolutely necessary for decent cooking. The trapper's culinary outfit may then be reduced to the following items, and in them he will find a sufficiency for very passable living. One of the most nutritious and desirable articles of food consists of fine sifted Indian meal; and it is the only substantial article of diet which many trappers will deign to carry at all. By some it is mixed with twice its quantity of wheat flour, and is thus used in the preparation of quite a variety of palatable dishes. One or two pounds of salt pork will also be found a valuable addition; boxes of pepper and salt and soda should also be carried. With these simple provisions alone, relying on his gun, traps and fishing tackle for animal food, the young trapper may rely on three enjoyable meals a day, if he is anything of a cook. Pork fritters are not to be despised, even at a hotel table; and with the above they can be made to suit the palate of the most fastidious. Indian meal is a valuable accessory with cooks generally, and to the trapper it often becomes his great "staff of life." If our young enthusiast desires to try his hand at roughing it to the fullest extent, compatible with common sense and the strength of an ordinary physical constitution, he may endeavor to content himself with the above portable rations; but with anything less it becomes too much like starvation to arouse our enthusiasm. For cooking utensils, a small frying-pan and a deep tin basin are indispensable; and a drinking cup is also to be desired. The kind known as the telescope cup, constructed in three parts, which close within each other, when not in use, possesses great advantages on account of its portability. With these one can get along pretty decently. [Illustration] The pork fritters already mentioned form a favorite dish with trappers generally, and can be made in the following [Page 232] way; have at hand a thick batter of the Indian meal and flour; cut a few slices of the pork, and fry them in the frying-pan until the fat is tried out; cut a few more slices of the pork; dip them in the batter and drop them in the bubbling fat, seasoning with salt and pepper; cook until light brown and eat while hot. The question now arises, "What shall we eat them with?" If you are "roughing it," such luxuries as plates and knifes and forks are surely out of the question; and you must content yourself with a pair of chop sticks "a la Chinee," or make your jackknife do double purpose, using a flat chip or stone as a plate. A small tin plate may be added to the list of utensils if desired, but we are now confining ourselves to the "lowest limit" of absolute necessities. That wholesome dish known as "boiled mush," may come under the above bill of fare; and fried mush is an old stand-by to the rough and ready trapper. In the first case the Indian meal is slowly boiled for one hour, and then seasoned as eaten. It is then allowed to cool, and is cut in slices and fried in fat. Indian meal cakes are easily made by dropping a quantity of the hot mush in the frying-pan, having previously stirred in a small quantity of soda, and turning it as soon as the lower side is browned. A Johnny cake thus made is always appetizing, and with the addition of a little sugar, it becomes a positive luxury. Hoe cakes, so much relished by many, can be made by mixing up a quantity into a thick mass, adding a little soda. Bake in the fire on a chip or flat stone. The trapper's ground is generally in the neighborhood of lakes or streams, and fresh fish are always to be had. They may be cooked in a manner which would tempt a city epicure; and when it comes to the cooking of a fresh brook trout, neither a Prof. Blot nor a Delmonico can compete with the trapper's recipe. The trout is first emptied and cleaned through a hole at the neck, if the fish is large enough to admit of it; if not, it should be done by a slit up the belly. The interior should be carefully washed and seasoned with salt and pepper; and in the case of a large fish, it should be stuffed with Indian meal. Build a good fire and allow the wood to burn down to embers; lay the fish in the hot ashes and cover it with the burning coals and embers; leave it thus for about half an hour, more or less, in proportion to the size of the fish (this may be easily determined by experiment); when done, remove it carefully from the ashes, and peel off the skin. The clean pink flesh and delicious savor which now manifest themselves will create an appetite where none before existed. All the delicate [Page 233] flavor and sweet juices of the fish are thus retained, and the trout as food is then known in its perfection. By the ordinary method of cooking, the trout loses much of its original flavor by the evaporation of its juices; and although a delicious morsel in any event, it is never fully appreciated excepting after being roasted in the ashes, as above described. The other method consists in rolling the fish in the Indian meal and frying it in the frying-pan with a piece of the salt pork. Seasoning as desired. Partridges, ducks, quail, and other wild fowl are most delicious when cooked in the ashes as described for the trout. The bird should be drawn in the ordinary manner, and the inside washed perfectly clean. It should then be embedded in the hot coals and ashes, the feathers having been previously saturated with water. When done, the skin and feathers will easily peel off, and the flesh will be found to be wonderfully sweet, tender, and juicy. A stuffing of pounded crackers and minced meat of any kind, with plenty of seasoning, greatly improves the result, or the Indian meal may be used if desired. A fowl thus roasted is a rare delicacy. A partridge, squirrel, pigeon, woodcock, or any other game can be broiled as well in the woods as at home, using a couple of green-branched twigs for a spider or "toaster," and turning occasionally. For this purpose the bird should be plucked of its feathers, cleanly drawn and washed, and spread out by cutting down the back. Venison, moose, or bear meat, can be deliciously roasted in joints of several pounds before a good fire, using a green birch branch as a spit, and resting it on two logs, situated on opposite sides of the fire. The meat can thus be occasionally turned and propped in place by a small stick, sprinkling occasionally with salt and pepper. The above manner of making the fire is that adopted by most woodsmen. Two large green logs, of several feet in length, being first laid down at about three feet distant, between these the fire is built, and when a kettle is used a heavy pole is so arranged as to project and hold it over the fire. A cutlet of venison fried in the pan is delicious, and a "Johnny cake" cooked in the fat of this meat is a decided dainty. With the above hints for a "rough and ready" campaign, we think the young trapper ought to be able to get along quite comfortably. We will now pass on to the consideration of what the average [Page 234] professional trapper would call "luxuries." The stock of these depends much upon the location of the trapping ground. If accessible by wagon or boat, or both, they may be carried in unlimited quantities, but when they are to be borne on the back of the trapper through a pathless wilderness of miles, the supply will, of course, have to be cut short. When two or three start out together it becomes much easier, one carrying the traps and tools; another the guns, cooking utensils, etc.; the third confining his luggage to the food. One of the most necessary requisites for a journey on foot consists in a knapsack or large square basket, which can be easily strapped to the back of the shoulders, thus leaving the hands free. Matches are absolutely indispensable, and a good supply should be carried. They should always be enclosed in a large-mouthed bottle with a close fitting cork, to prevent their being damaged by moisture. For further safety in this regard the matches may be rendered perfectly water-proof by dipping their ends in thin mastic or shellac varnish. If not at hand, this varnish can be easily made by dissolving a small quantity of either sort of gum in three or four times its bulk of alcohol. It is well to dip the whole stick in the solution, thereby rendering the entire match impervious to moisture. Lucifer matches are the best, and, when thus prepared, they may lay in water for hours without any injury. It is a fearful thing to find oneself in the wilderness, cold and hungry, and without the means of lighting a fire, and to prepare for such an emergency it is always advisable to be provided with a pocket sun glass. So long as the sun shines a fire is thus always to be had, either by igniting a small quantity of powder (which the trapper is always supposed to carry) or using powdered "touch wood" or "punk tinder" in its place. Fine scrapings from dry wood will easily ignite by the sun glass, and by fanning the fire and adding additional fuel it will soon burst into flame. In cloudy weather, and in the absence of matches, a fire may easily be kindled by sprinkling a small quantity of powder on a large flat stone, setting a percussion cap in its midst, and covering the whole with dry leaves. A smart strike on the cap with a hammer will have the desired result, and by heaping additional fuel on the blazing leaves the fire soon reaches large proportions. If the young trapper should ever be so unfortunate as to find himself in the wild woods, chilled and hungry, minus matches, powder, caps, and sun glass, he may as a last resort try the following: Scrape some lint or cotton from some portion of the garment, or some tinder from a dry stick, and lay it on the [Page 235] surface of some rough rock, white quartz rock if it can be found. Next procure a fragment of the same stone, or a piece of steel from some one of the traps, and strike its edge sharply, and with a skipping stroke into the further side of the tinder, the direction being such as will send the sparks thus produced into the inflammable material. Continue this operation until the tinder ignites. By now gently fanning the smoking mass it may easily be coaxed into flame. At least so our Adirondack guide told us last summer. The author has never had occasion to test the merits of the plan for himself, and has no special desire of being so placed, as that his life will hang upon its success. He presents it therefore as a mere suggestion without endorsing its practicability, and would rather prefer matches in the long run. The open fire generally serves both for purposes of warmth and cooking, but by many, a camp stove is considered a great improvement. Stoves of this character, and for this especial purpose, are in the market. They are small and portable, with pipe and furniture, all of which pack away closely into the interior. A fire is easily started in one of these stoves, and, by closing the damper, a slow fire may be kept up through the night. The stove is generally set up at the entrance of the tent, the pipe passing through the top, in a hole near the ridge pole. The furniture consists of three pots or kettles, which pack easily into each other, and when in the stove still leave ample room for a considerable amount of provisions. The kettles are made of block-tin, and frying-pans also, as these are much more light and portable than those made of iron. The lid may be used as a plate, and for this purpose the handle consists of an iron ring, which will fold flat against the surface when inverted. Knives, forks, and spoons are easily stowed away in the stove or knapsack, and a coffee-pot should always be carried. There is a knife known as the combination camp-knife, which is much used by hunters and trappers, and contains a spoon, fork, knife, and various other useful appendages, in a most compact form. It costs from one to two dollars. For provisions, potatoes will be found excellent, both on account of their portability and the variety of ways in which they may be served. They are healthy and nutritions, and always palatable. Beans are also very desirable for the same reasons. Wheat flour will form a valuable addition to the trapper's larder, and particularly so, if the "self-raising" kind can be had. This [Page 236] flour contains all the required ingredients for light bread and biscuit, and is sold by grocers generally, in packages of various sizes, with accompanying recipes. We strongly recommend it where a stove is employed; and to anyone who is fond of biscuit, bread, or pancakes, it will be appreciated. Butter, lard, sugar, salt, pepper and mustard are valuable accessories, and curry-powder, olive oil, and vinegar will often be found useful. Olive oil is often used by camping parties with the curry powder, and also as a substitute for lard in the frying-pan. Pork, Indian meal and crackers, wheaten grits, rice, and oat-meal are desirable, and coffee and tea are great luxuries. For soups, Liebig's extract of beef is a most valuable article, and with the addition of other ingredients, vegetables or meat, the result is a most delicious and nutritious dish. This extract is obtainable at almost any grocer's, and full directions and recipes accompany each jar. Canned vegetables are much to be desired on account of their portability, and are never so delicious as when cooked over a camp fire. Lemonade is always a luscious beverage, but never so much so as to a thirsty trapper. A few lemons are easily carried and will repay the trouble. All provisions, such as meal, flour, sugar, salt, crackers, and the like, should be enclosed in water-proof canvas bags, and labelled. The bags may be rendered water-proof either by painting, (in which case no _lead_ or arsenic paints should be used) or by dipping in the preparation described on page 247. If these are not used, a rubber blanket, page 250, may be substituted, the eatables being carefully wrapped therein, when not in use. The butter and lard should be put up in air-tight jars, and should be kept in a cool place, either on the ground in a shady spot, or in some cool spring. For a campaign on foot, the knapsack, or shoulder-basket, already alluded to on page 234, is an indispensable article. It should be quite large and roomy, say fifteen inches in depth and ten by twelve inches in its other dimensions. The material should be canvas, rubber cloth, or wicker, and, in any case, the opening at the top should have a water-proof covering extending well over the sides. The straps may consist of old suspender bands, fastened crosswise on the broad side of the bag. The capacity of such a knapsack is surprising, and the actual weight of luggage seems half reduced when thus carried on the shoulders. When three or four trappers start together, which is the usual custom, and each is provided with such a shoulder basket, the luggage can be thus divided, and the load for each individual much lightened. [Page 237] Venison is the trapper's favorite food, and in mild weather it sometimes happens that the overplus of meat becomes tainted before it can be eaten. To overcome this difficulty the following process is resorted to, for the preservation of the meat, and the result is the well-known and high-priced "jerked venison" of our markets. The flesh is first cut into small, thin strips, all the meat being picked off from the bones. The pieces are then placed on the inside of the hide of the animal and thoroughly mixed with salt, a pint and a half being generally sufficient. The salt being well worked in, the fragments should be carefully wrapped in the hide, and suffered to remain in this condition for two or three hours. The meat is then ready to be dried,--"jerked." Four forked poles should be first driven into the ground, about six feet apart, in the form of a square, the forks being four feet above ground. Lay two poles of green wood across the forks on the two opposite sides of the square, and cover the space between them by other poles laid across them, an inch or two inches apart. On to this mammoth gridiron the strips of flesh should now be spread, and a steady fire of birch or other clean, fresh wood should be kept steadily burning beneath for about twenty-four hours. At the end of this time the meat will have reduced much in size and weight. The salt will have been thoroughly _dried in_, and the flesh so prepared may be kept for almost any length of time. In its present condition it is excellent eating, and it is always at hand for frying, and may be cooked in a variety of ways. Moose and bear meat may be dried in a similar manner, using a proportionate amount of salt. Fish may also be prepared in the same way, for which purpose they should be scaled as usual and afterward spread open by cutting down the back, the bone being removed. We cordially recommend this method of preparing both flesh and fish, and no trapper's "recipe book" is complete without it. In localities where wolves abound, the nocturnal invasions of these creatures often render the keeping of fresh meat a very difficult task, and in this connection it may be well to give directions for the preservation of game desired to be used either as fresh meat or for purposes of drying. The spring-pole is most commonly and successfully used. Select some stout sapling, bend it down, and cut off a limb several feet from the ground. Hang the meat in the crotch thus formed, and allow the tree to swing back. By dividing the meat into several parts it may thus all be protected. When [Page 238] a moose or deer is killed at such a time or place, or under such circumstances as render its immediate dressing impossible, its carcass may be defended against mutilation by another means. Wolves are naturally sly and sagacious, and have a wholesome fear of a trap. Any unnatural arrangement of logs and stones immediately excites their suspicion, and the trapper takes advantage of this wary peculiarity to good purpose. Laying his dead game near some fallen tree or old log he strews a few branches over the carcass, or perhaps rests a log over it. Sometimes he hangs the entrails of the animal over the body, on a forked stick, anyone of which devices is said to have the desired result. The wolverine is another pest to the trapper, and not being so sly as the wolf, never hesitates to pounce upon any flesh within its reach. The former method, therefore, is always the safest plan for absolute protection against all animals. The moose and deer are the favorite food of trappers in the country where these animals abound, and the trappers of the Far West find in the flesh of the Moufflon, or Rocky Mountain sheep, a delicacy which they consider superior to the finest venison. The prong-horn antelope of the Western plains is another favorite food-animal with hunters, and the various "small game," such as squirrels, rabbits, woodchucks, etc., are by no means to be despised. The author once knew a trapper who was loud in his praises of "skunk meat" for food, and many hunters can testify to its agreeable flavor when properly dressed and cooked. It is hard, to be sure, to getup much enthusiasm over a skunk, dead or alive, but where other food is not to be had we would discourage the young trapper from being too fastidious. The buffalo, or bison, is the great resource of the trappers of the West. The tongue, tenderloin and brisket are generally preferred, but all the meat is eatable. The flesh of the cow is best. It much resembles beef, but has a more gamey flavor. In winged game there is no food superior to the flesh of the grouse, and the great number of the species and wide range of territory which they inhabit render them the universal food game of trappers throughout the world. The ruffed grouse or partridge, pinnated grouse or prairie hen, spruce or Canada grouse, and the cock-of-the-plains or sage cock, are familiar American examples of the family, and their near relatives, the ptarmigans, afford a valuable source of food to the trappers and hunters, as well as general inhabitants of our northern cold countries. Here they are known as "snow grouse," and there are [Page 239] several species. The willow ptarmigan is the most common, and in Rome localities exists in almost incredible numbers. Flocks numbering several thousand have been frequently seen by travellers in the Hudson's Bay territory; and the surface of the snow in a desirable feeding ground, is often completely covered by the birds, in quest of the willow tops, which form their chief food during the winter season. The Indians and natives secure the birds in large numbers, by the trap described on page 75, and Hearne, the traveller and explorer of the Hudson's Bay region, asserts that he has known over three hundred to be thus caught in a single morning, by three persons. Of water fowl, ducks and geese are especially to be recommended. The former are hunted with decoys and boats, and are sometimes trapped, as described on pages 94. The species are distinguished as sea ducks and river or inland ducks. The latter are considered the most desirable for food, being more delicate and less gamey in flavor than the salt-water, or fish-eating varieties. The mallard, teal, muscovy, widgeon, and wood-chuck are familiar species of the inland birds, and the merganser and canvass-back are the two most esteemed salt-water varieties. Wild geese are common throughout North America, and may be seen either in the early spring or late fall migrating in immense numbers. They form a staple article of food in many parts of British America, and great numbers are salted down for winter supply. They are trapped in large numbers, as described on page 75, and are hunted with tame geese as decoys, the hunter being secreted behind a screen or covert, and attracting the game by imitating their cries. Fish form an agreeable change to the trapper's diet, and may be caught by the hook and line, or by spearing. The latter method requires considerable practice and skill, but is very successful. The Indians of the North are great experts in the use of the spear, and the number of salmon taken by them annually is enormous. The spear generally consists of five or six steel prongs an inch apart and barbed at the ends. It is mounted on a heavy handle, and when it strikes its victim its grip is sure death. The spearing is generally performed either at the spawning beds or at the falls. Salmon trout are generally speared in the night time by boat, the spawning ground, generally a gravel bank near the shore, being the seat of operations. A fire of pitch pine and birch bark is ignited on an elevated "jack" in the bow of the boat, the "jack" consisting of an ox-muzzle, or other concave wire contrivance [Page 240] which will hold the inflammable materials. This is secured to a post or crotched stick, as a prop, and the spearman stands near the burning mass with his spear in readiness. As his companion in the stern of the boat paddles, he keenly watches for his victim, and, seeing his opportunity, makes his lunge and lands his prize. To become a successful spearman requires much practice and no small degree of skill. To retain one's balance, acquire quickness of stroke, and withal to regulate the aim so as to allow for the refraction of the light in the water, all tend to invest the sport with a degree of skill which only experience can master. Fishing through the ice in winter is a rare sport, and large numbers of brook and lake trout are often taken at this season by cutting holes through the ice and fishing with hook and line. The baits commonly used consist of cow's udder or hog's liver, these being especially preferred on account of their toughness. Angle worms are also excellent, and any kind of raw meat may be used if other bait is not to be had. It is asserted by some sportsmen that bait scented with assafoetida is much more attractive to the fish, and will insure a capture which would otherwise be impossible. Sweet cicily and anise are also used for the same purpose. When the trout bite lively, fishing through the ice is a most exciting sport, and by the aid of "tip-ups" a single person may command a great number of lines. The winter resort of the brook trout is in water two or three feet deep, over sandy beds. The lake trout frequent deeper water. The holes are made in the ice at intervals of one or two rods, and a line set in each hole. The "tip-up" consists of a narrow strip of lath or shingle, with a hole bored through it near the large end. At this end the line is attached, and the hook thrown in the water. A branch is now inserted through the aperture, and its ends are rested across the opening in the ice. No sooner does the fish bite than the long end tips straight in the air, and thus betrays its captive. Ten or fifteen of these contrivances will often keep one pretty busy, and do good service. By some an ordinary cut fish pole, arranged on a crotch, is used instead of the tip-ups just described. Pickerel fishing through the ice is a favorite winter sport in many localities. The line should be about thirty feet in length, and the bait should consist of a small, live fish, hooked through the back. A small cork float should be attached to the line at such a distance as will keep [Page 241] the bait above the bottom, and the superfluous line should be laid in a loose coil near the hole, the end being attached to a small switch or bush, stuck up in the ice near by. The pickerel, on taking the bait, should be allowed to play out the whole line before being pulled in, as the fish requires this time to fully swallow his prey, after which the hook is sure to hold him firmly. Twenty or thirty lines may thus be attended at once, the bush or twig acting the part of a tip-up, or sentinel. Pickerel spearing is another successful mode of capture during the winter months. A large hole is made in the ice, in about two feet of water, and covered by a spacious box or board hut, six or seven feet square, and provided with a door. The spearman, concealed within, lowers his bait, consisting of an artificial fish with silver fins, made especially for the purpose. This he continually twirls in the water, and as the pickerel approaches the bait, he gradually raises it, until the fish is decoyed nearly to the surface of the water, when a quick stroke of the spear secures his victim, and the line is again lowered. This is capital sport, and is very successful. There is a very curious device for fishing by night commonly employed by some anglers, and sometimes known as the "lantern, or fish trap." Many kinds of fish are attracted by a light, but to use a light as a bait, submerged beneath the water, certainly seems odd. It may be done, however, in the following way: The "fish lantern" used for this purpose consists of a bottle containing a solution of phosphorus in sweet oil. Procure a piece of the stick phosphorus the size of a small cherry, and submerging in a saucer of water, proceed to cut it into small pieces. Have in readiness a three-ounce white glass bottle half filled with sweet oil. Drop the pieces of phosphorus into the oil and cork the bottle tightly. In the space of a few hours the phosphorus will have been completely dissolved, and the contents of the bottle will present a thick, luminous fluid, which in a dark room, will afford considerable light. This is the fish lantern. To use it, the cork is firmly inserted and the bottle, with fish line attached, is lowered through the hole in the ice. The water becomes luminous for several feet around, and the unusual brightness attracts the fish in large numbers. They are plainly, discernible, and are readily dispatched with the spear, or captured by a circular net, sunk on the bottom, beneath the luminous bait. This is certainly an odd way of catching fish, but it is often a very efficacious method. It has not been our intention to enter very extensively into [Page 242] the subject of fishing, but only to give such hints as will be found especially useful and practical to the trapper in relation to his food. The above methods, together with those of trolling and fly-fishing, are those most commonly employed by trappers and hunters generally, and we commend them to the amateur. We give, on page 120, a unique device for the capture of fish, which might also be found useful. With the above general remarks on the campaign, together with what follows in the detailed articles on the subject, we think that the ground will have been completely covered. Every possible requirement has been anticipated, and every ordinary emergency foreseen and provided against. THE TRAPPER'S SHELTER. The life of the professional trapper is a life of hardship and severe exposure, and a man not only requires considerable courage, but also great bodily vigor, in order to combat successfully the dangers of such a wild, adventuresome existence. The cold and the storm not only imperil his life, but he is often exposed to the attacks of wild beasts. A shelter, therefore, in one form or another, becomes a necessity while it is always a decided comfort, in comparison to a campaign without it. The reader will find below descriptions of the various shelters alluded to in other parts of this work, and used by trappers throughout the land. The most substantial of these is the log shanty, commonly known among trappers as the "home shanty," on account of its being constructed as the only permanent shelter on the trapping line. It is used as a "home," a place of rendezvous, and a storehouse for provisions, furs, and other necessities and valuables. Other temporary shelters, known as bark shanties, are also constructed along the trapping lines at intervals of five or ten miles, as resting places. These we describe under the proper title. Although, to the amateur trapper, the log shanty is not likely to become a necessity, we will nevertheless describe its mode of construction, in order to satisfy our more earnest and adventurous readers, who aspire to a full taste of wild life. Our illustration gives a very clear idea of such a shanty. [Page 243] [Illustration: THE HOME SHANTY.] [Page 244] It may be constructed of any size, but one of about twelve by ten feet will be found large enough for ordinary purposes. Select straight logs, about eight inches in diameter. The whole number required will be thirty-six. Of these one-half should be twelve feet in length and the other ten. These should now be built up in the square form, on a level piece of ground, laying the ends of the logs over each other, and securing them by notches at the corners, so deep as to allow the edges of the logs to meet. Lay two short logs first, and continue building until all the thirty-six logs are used, and we will now have four symmetrical sides about six feet in height. The place for the door should now be selected. The uppermost log should form its upper outline, and the two sides should be cleanly and straightly cut with a crosscut saw. The window openings, one or more, may next be cut, commencing beneath the second log from the top, and taking in three beneath it. Replace the logs above, and on the ends of those thus cut, both in windows and doors, proceed to spike a heavy plank, driving two nails into each log, about five inches apart, one above the other. This will hold them firmly in place, and offer a close-fitting jam for the door, and neat receptacle for the window sashes, which latter may now be put in after the ordinary manner. The gable ends should next be built upon the smaller sides of the hut. Commence by laying a long log (notched as before) across the top of the frame work, and about two feet inside the edge. This should of course be done on both sides of the hut, after which they should be overlapped at the corners with logs eight feet in length. Next lay two more long logs, parallel with the first two, and about a foot inside them, notching as before. The ends of these should be spanned with beams eight feet in length. Two more long logs are next in order--let them be one foot inside the last two. Overlap these with beams five feet and a half in length, and in the exact centre of these last pieces chop notches for a heavy log for a ridge pole. The gable outline, direct from the ridge pole to the eaves, should now be cut off by the aid of a sharp axe. This may be done either while the pieces are in position, or the line may be marked with a piece of chalk, and the logs taken down in order to accomplish it. The roof is now required. This should consist either of strips of bark or the rounded sides of logs split off and hollowed into troughs. The latter method is preferable, on account of its greater strength and durability, but the bark will answer the purpose very well, and is much more easily obtained. The manner of adjusting the roof pieces is clearly [Page 245] shown in our illustration. The first row is laid on with the hollow side up, securing them at top and bottom by nails driven through each into the ridge pole and eaves-log, care being taken that one of these pieces projects well over the gable, on both ends of the hut. These pieces are now overlapped by the second row, and with the addition of the large piece which covers them all at the ridge pole, the roof is complete, and will stand a heavy rain with little or no leaking. The crevices should now be stopped with moss, dried grass or clay, after which the log cabin is complete. When the bark roof is made, additional poles may be inserted beneath as props. They should be three or four inches in diameter, and run parallel with the ridge pole, at intervals on the slope, notches being cut to secure them. Our engraving represents a chimney, which may be constructed if desired, but the necessity of this may be done away with by using a small camp stove, and making a small opening in the gable end of the hut for the passage of the pipe. If it stove should not be at hand, and our amateur should decide to "rough it" to the full extent, he may build his fire-place and chimney as follows: It will be necessary to cut away an opening in the logs at the gable end, as was done for the door and windows. This should be about three feet square, and the fire place should be built of stone and clay, or cement, to fill the opening, and project inside the hut. The chimney may then be built up outside in the same manner, sufficiently high to overtop the gables. Inside the hut overhead will be found abundant room for the hanging of the skins, and any number of cross-poles may be rested across the beams. There are facilities for the swinging of a hammock, if desired, and, in fact, a hut constructed like the foregoing is a perfect one in its way. There are other methods of building a log cabin, but we will content ourselves with what we consider the _best_ way of all, and pass on to the BARK SHANTY. This is made by first driving into the ground two forked poles seven or eight feet in height and stout enough to sustain a ridge pole of moderate size. Against this ridge pole other poles should be rested at intervals of two feet, and sloping to the angle of forty-five degrees. The frame-work thus formed should now be covered with bark, commencing at the ground and allowing the edge of each piece to overlap the one beneath [Page 246] after the manner of shingles, in order to shed the rain in case of storm. Spruce or birch bark are excellent for this purpose, and the pieces may be secured with nails, and kept flat by the weight of another series of poles rested against them. The sides of the shelter should be treated similarly, the front being usually left open to face the fire, which the trapper generally builds a few feet distant. In constructing a bark shanty, it is well to select some spot protected from the wind, close to the foot of a mountain or in the midst of trees, always letting the open side face the direction most sheltered. If desired, the front can be enclosed after the manner of the sides and top, but this is not required where the fire is used. This style of shelter is represented in our page title to this section, and certainly looks very comfortable. TENTS. Shanties like the foregoing are in general use among the old veteran trappers of all countries, and even to the amateur there is a charm in a shelter constructed from the rude materials of the woods which the portable tents do not possess. Tents, however, are much used both by professionals and amateurs, and are indeed valuable acquisitions to the trapper's outfit, and where time is valuable, do away with the labor which the construction of a hut or shanty involves. Tents are of several kinds. Those most commonly used by the trapper are the house-tent, fly-tent, and half-tent, or shelter-tent. The first of these is made for prop-poles and a ridge pole, closed on one end and buttoning up at the other. The sides are perpendicular for two or three feet, before the slope commences, and the stay-ropes are fastened to the eaves. The fly-tent is generally a large, square piece of canvas, with ropes extending from opposite sides. This is thrown over a ridge pole, or over a rope extending between two trees, and the sides are held to the proper slope by tightening and pegging the side ropes to the ground. Fly-tents are also made with ends, which can be lowered, and the whole tent may be pegged close to the ground. The shelter-tent, when erected, resembles, in general shape, the bark shanty already described. It consists of a strip of canvas, having each end cut off to a point. The tent is pitched over three slanting poles, and the ends are brought down and securely pegged. This is clearly shown in our illustration. [Page 247] [Illustration] We do not propose giving any extended directions for making tents, as they are a staple article of trade, and, as a general thing, can be bought for a figure which would render their domestic manufacture of little saving or profit. The shelter-tent, however, is so useful an affair, and withal so very simple made, that we will give a few directions in regard to its manufacture. It should be made from stout _cotton drilling_, or very heavy sheeting. Let the piece be about thirteen feet in length by six in width. Each end of the piece should now be cut to a rectangular point, commencing to cut at a distance of three feet from each corner. In order to render the cloth waterproof, it should now be dipped in a pail containing a solution of equal parts of alum and sugar of lead, a couple of handfuls of each, in tepid water. It should be allowed to remain several minutes in soak, being dipped and turned occasionally, after which it should be spread out to dry. This treatment not only renders the cloth impervious to rain, but the alum tends to make it fire-proof also. A spark from the fire falling upon a tent thus prepared, will often rest upon the cloth until it goes out, without doing the slightest damage. [Page 248] The manner of pitching the tent has already been alluded to, and is clear from our illustration. The poles should be three or four in number, and seven feet in length, inserted in the ground at the angle denoted. The two outside poles should be seven feet apart, and the intermediate ones equally disposed. The tent piece should now be laid over the poles, and the ends brought down and pegged to the ground at the apex, and rear corners of each side through loops, which should have been previously attached to these parts. A tent, thus arranged, affords a safe shelter from the wind or a moderate storm, and with a bright fire in front, is warm and comfortable. BEDS AND BEDDING. [Illustration] Many a trapper does away with these commodities, merely rolling himself in a blanket and using his arm for a pillow; but we do not propose to encourage or recommend any such half-way comfort as this, when by a very little labor a portable bed can be prepared on which the weary hunter can rest as serenely as if slumbering on the congenial softness of a hair mattress. A bed of this kind we illustrate, and it can be made in the following manner: Procure a large piece of canvas, sacking or other strong, coarse material six and a half feet square. If a single piece of this size cannot be found, several parts may he sewed together to the required dimensions. After which two opposite sides should be firmly stitched [Page 249] together, thus forming a bottomless bag, if we may be allowed to use the expression. Two stout poles seven or eight feet in length and as large as the wrist should now be cut. Insert them through the bag, allowing the ends to project equally on each side. These ends should now be rested on two logs, one placed across each end of the canvas. In order to hold the poles in place notches should be cut in the logs at such distances as will draw the bag to its full width. The interior of the canvas should now be filled with dried grass, leaves, moss or spruce boughs, after which the bedstead and bed is complete. The yielding elasticity of the poles and the softness of the warm filling in the bag, give the effect of a spring and straw mattress combined, lifting the sleeper above the cold, damp ground, and by the addition of a blanket above, insuring warmth on all sides. If the logs are not at hand four forked stakes may be used, driving them firmly into the ground at such distances as will draw the bag to its full width, when the poles are rested upon them. If by the weight of the body the forked props should tend to incline towards each other this trouble may be easily remedied by inserting short poles as braces between them. If desired a bed of this kind may be used as a hammock and hung in a tree without much trouble. It is only necessary to secure the long poles firmly at their full width by a stout brace pole at the ends, letting the latter be deeply notched at the tips in order to receive the bed supports. The joints should then be tightly bound with stout twine in order to prevent slipping, after which the bed may be hung in mid-air by ropes at each end, and the tired trapper may swing himself to sleep with perfect comfort and safety. For this purpose the ropes should be attached at the joints, using a loop of six feet for each end. In the centre of this loop a small one should be made by doubling the rope and winding twine about it, leaving only a small aperture. Through these small loops, by the aid of other ropes, the bed is attached to the tree. By using this precaution the unpleasant experience of being turned or dumped out of bed will be impossible. For bed clothes a woollen blanket should always be carried, and if convenient a large bag of thick Canton flannel is a most excellent acquisition. Bags of this sort are in common use among amateur trappers, hunters and camping parties, and are very warm and comfortable. They should be nearly seven feet in length and of a "loose, easy fit." With one of these contrivances it is impossible to "kick the clothes off" and the warmth is continual instead [Page 250] of "intermittent," and even on the bare ground it is said to be sufficient protection. Hammocks are also in very general use, but we can confidently recommend the suspended bed above described as decidedly preferable. There are various kinds of hammocks in the market, from the light fibered silk, weighing only a few ounces, to the large corded variety of several pounds weight and capable of holding many persons. They are an established article of trade, and as the details of their manufacture would be of little practical use to the reader, we will leave them without further consideration. They can be had at almost any sporting emporium, at comparatively small cost. TENT CARPETING. We have described a most excellent contrivance for a bedstead and recommend its use whenever possible; but when the bed is desired to be made on the ground the following method is usually employed, by which the whole interior of the tent, hut or shanty is carpeted with a soft, even covering of green. Spruce or hemlock boughs are generally used, and should be from the tips of the branches where the wood is not too large. Commence at the back part of the shelter, and lay down a row of the boughs with the butt of the branch towards the front. Overlap these with another nearer row and continue the operation, laying the evergreen as evenly as possible until the whole interior is smoothly covered. The projecting ends at the front, should now be secured by the weight of a medium sized log, or by a pole pegged down firmly at intervals. A similar log should now be laid at the back portion of the shelter over the tips of the boughs after which the bed is complete, and will be found easy and comfortable in proportion to the care and skill shown in its construction. A blanket should be thrown over the boughs before reclining to rest, as the fresh green gives forth considerable dampness. If possible a rubber blanket should be used for this purpose. These consist of thick Canton flannel, coated on one side with Indian rubber, and are used with the rubber side down. They are warm and comfortable, and a valuable acquisition to the trapper's outfit. There is a thinner and cheaper variety, having equal water-proof qualities but which does not possess the warmth of the former. Either will be found useful. So much for beds and bedding. If the reader will now turn [Page 251] his attention to the following section, "The Trapper's Miscellany," he will find much in detail of what has only been alluded to in the present chapter, besides other hints of great value in reference to a trapping campaign. [Illustration] [Page 253] [Illustration: THE TRAPPERS' MISCELLANY] [Page 255] BOOK VIII. THE TRAPPER'S MISCELLANY. [Illustration: O]ur enthusiastic novice, as he starts out into the wilderness, should not be unmindful of the swarms of blood-thirsty flies, gnats and mosquitoes, which infest the woods in the summer and early autumn, and are there lying in wait for him. These often become a source of great annoyance to the woodsman, and more often a source of positive bodily suffering. Although trapping is not generally carried on during this season, the preparations for the coming campaign, including the building of shanties, transporting of traps, etc., are generally made at this time, and unless some preventive is used, the persecutions of the mosquitoes and other winged vermin, become almost unbearable. INSECT OINTMENTS. These insects seem to have a special aversion for the scent of pennyroyal--an herb growing commonly in sandy localities--and a single plant rubbed upon the face and hands will often greatly check their attacks. The oil of pennyroyal is better, however, and an ointment made by straining one ounce of the oil into two or three ounces of pure melted lard, or mutton tallow, forms an excellent antidote. This may be carried in a little box or bottle, in the pocket, and applied as occasion requires. Plain mutton tallow is also a most excellent ointment for general use, and in the case of bruises or slight wounds, will give great relief. Another preparation in very common use amongst hunters and woodsmen, although not quite as agreeable in odor, consists of a mixture of common tar and sweet oil, in equal parts. By some this liniment is considered superior to the other, inasmuch as it also prevents tanning, and is beneficial to the complexion. [Page 256] During the night time, the tent or shanty often becomes swarmed with the winged pests, and their nocturnal assaults are proverbial for their pertinacity and severity. Their thirst for blood overcomes every other instinct, and pennyroyal often ceases to have any effect. Our Adirondack guide, in narrating his experience with these insect vampires, even says that on a certain night, becoming exasperated at their indomitable perseverance, and, getting tired of the monotonous occupation of spreading ointment, he arose, lit his candle, and drove the creatures out of the tent. He then buttoned up the opening, and retired to rest. A storm came up in the night, and so completely had his canvas been riddled by the bills of the mosquitoes, that the rain poured through his tent as through a sieve. We have heard of the man who, when pursued by hungry mosquitoes, took refuge beneath a large chaldron, and, by the aid of a stone, clinched the blood-thirsty bills as they protruded in quest of his life-blood, until, by the united efforts of the winged captives, the chaldron was lifted and wafted out of sight, as if it were a feather. One story is just as true as the other, and a summer in the Adirondack woods will tend to strengthen, rather than diminish, the belief in either. The smoke of smouldering birch bark will effectually drive away the mosquitoes from the tents at night. This method is commonly known as "the smudge," and is more fully described in another part of this work. The smell of the smoke is often unpleasant at first, but it is always preferable to the insect bites. Mosquitoes are not the only vampires which infest our wooded lands. The "punkeys" and "midgets" can outstrip them for voracity and the painful character of the wound which they inflict. The "punkey," or "black-fly," as it is called, is a small, black gnat, about the size of a garden ant, and the bite of the insect often results very seriously. The midget is a minute little creature, and is the most everlastingly sticky and exasperating pest in the catalogue of human torments. They fly in swarms of thousands, and go for their victim "en masse" and the face, hands and neck are soon covered as if with "hay seed." They stick where they first light, and commence operations immediately. All endeavors to shake them off are fruitless, and their combined attacks are soon most painfully realized. Their bites produce great redness and swelling, and the itching is most intolerable. Happily for the woodsman, the "smudge" [Page 257] and pennyroyal ointment are effectual preventives against the attacks of both midgets and black flies, as well as mosquitoes; and no one who values his life or good looks should venture on a woodland excursion in the summer months without a supply of this latter commodity. In conclusion, we would remark that, to the mosquito the blood of the intemperate seems to have a special attraction, and anyone who wishes to enjoy comparative freedom from the attacks of these pests, should abstain from the use of alcoholic stimulants. It is a too prevalent idea among trappers that whiskey and rum are necessary adjuncts to a trapping campaign, and many a trapper would about as soon think of leaving his traps at home as his whisky bottle. This is all a mistake. Anyone who has not sufficient strength of constitution to withstand the hardships and exposures of a trapping life, without the especial aid of stimulants, should stay at home. We are now alluding to the _habitual_ use of such stimulants. It is always well to be provided with a flask of whisky or brandy, in case of illness, but it should only be resorted to in such an event. For a mere chill, we recommend the use of red pepper tea. A simple swallow of this drink, (made simply by soaking a red pepper in a cup of hot water) will restore warmth much quicker than three times the amount of any alcoholic stimulant. It is not our purpose to extend into a lengthened temperance lecture, but only to discourage the wide-spread idea that _stimulants_ are _necessities_ in the life of the trapper. Midgets, musquitoes and punkeys delight over a victim with alcohol in his veins, and while to a healthy subject the bites are of only brief annoyance, to the intemperate they often result in painful, obstinate sores. [Illustration] In addition to the various ointments used, it is well to be provided with a head-net, such as we illustrate. Nets of this kind are specially made for sportsmen, and consist of a spiral wire framework, covered with mosquito netting, and of such a size to slip easily on the head. [Page 258] They are easily made, as our engraving would indicate. A netting attachment for the hat is also an acquisition, especially in open woods, free from overhanging branches or dense thickets. Such a netting may be secured to the edge of the hat brim, and gathered with an elastic at the lower edge. This elastic will close snugly around the neck when in use, and at other times may be drawn above the brim and allowed to rest on top of the crown. The portable hat brim, which we illustrate, is an article of trade in common use among sportsmen, and particularly the angler. Our engraving (_a_) shows the article separate. It is made of cloth, and is kept in its circular shape by a steel spring band at the circumference, between the two sides. It may be attached to any hat, and will act as a most effectual shelter to the rays of a hot sun. [Illustration: a] The netting above alluded to may be attached to such a brim, and applied to the edge of the hat when desired. This is shown at (_b_), which also indicates the manner of adjustment of the brim. Such a brim will often do good service, and may be obtained at almost any sporting emporium at trifling cost. It is portable in every sense of the word, being easily bent and packed away in the pocket. [Illustration: b] [Page 259] BOAT BUILDING. Where trapping is carried on along the banks of the lakes and rivers, a boat of some kind becomes almost a positive necessity. [Illustration] The following examples represent those in most general use. Perhaps the most common form of the "rough and ready" order of boats, is that called the-- "DUG-OUT," OR LOG CANOE. It's general appearance is well indicated by the accompanying illustration. With the proper tools, one of these canoes is easily made. A sharp axe, an adze, a shaving knife, a round edged adze, and a small auger, are principally necessary; and a cross-cut saw, broad-axe, sledge, and large sized chisel, will also be found useful. In any case the log should not be much less than two feet in diameter, perfectly sound, and free from knots. If this precaution is observed, the result will be all the more satisfactory, and the canoe can be cut so thin, as to render it a light burden; being easily carried on the shoulders. A pine log is generally chosen for a dug-out, on account of the lightness of the wood, and the ease with which it can be worked. Butternut, cottonwood and whitewood, are also excellent, and indeed almost any sound log of large size will answer the purpose. For a dug-out of good size, the log should be ten or more feet in length. The first thing to be done is to cut a flat surface on one side of the log, from end to end. This indicates the bottom of the canoe. On the upper side the wood should be hewn away, in the curve shown on the upper outline of our illustration. [Page 260] It is well to divide the log by notches into three equal lengths. In the centre division, the wood may be cut down to a straight line to a depth of about eight inches from the upper surface. The gradual curve to the bow and stern of the canoe should start from each end of this flat cut, and extend to the upper edge of the log, the guiding line being made on the sides of the log by a piece of chalk. The adze will come into good use in trimming off the wood on these curves. When this upper outline is accomplished, the log may be turned bottom side up, and the sides of the extremities rounded off. This may be done with an axe and adze, and when performed, the bottom curves should be made by chopping away the wood in the curves shown in the lower outline of our illustration. This curve should also be marked out with chalk, and should commence a little nearer the end of the log than the curve on the upper side. Shave off the wood to a blunt edge on this curve, at both bow and stern. The rough form of the canoe is now obtained, and by the aid of the draw-knife, or shaving-knife, it can be neatly and smoothly finished. It is then ready to be "dug-out." The tools most useful for this purpose are the adze and axe, and sometimes the sledge and chisel. The digging out is of course the most tedious part; but with sharp tools it is a comparatively easy matter. When the great bulk of the wood is taken out, the interior should be finished with a howel or round adze; and the sides may be worked to one inch and a half in thickness if desired. The writer once saw one of these canoes of most exquisite workmanship, being only one inch in thickness, and so light as to be easily lifted with one hand. Of course such perfection as this is not necessary for ordinary purposes; although where the canoe is expected to be carried any great distance, it is well to thin it as much as possible. A gimlet or small auger may be used to gauge the thickness of the canoe, using it in the following manner: Supposing the required thickness of the wood is two inches, proceed to bore the hole from the inside of the canoe, and continue until the point of the gimlet or auger barely makes its appearance on the outside. Draw out the tool, and if the thickness measures more than is required, insert into the hole a slender piece of wood exactly two inches in length; push it in as far as it will go, and you may safely work until you reach the end of it. By this method the thickness may be gauged in different parts of the boat sufficiently to acquire a fair average thickness, [Page 261] and there is no danger of cutting through. The gimlet should be allowed to extend outside of the canoe only sufficiently to be detected, and the holes thus made will seldom give any trouble as leaks. If, however, this should be the case, a little putty or pitch will remedy the difficulty. The "dug-out" may be constructed of any size, and of any desired shape, but the above is the usual type. When leaks or cracks occur, they may be caulked with hemp, and smeared with pitch, which will render them thoroughly waterproof. For lightness and portability there is no boat more desirable or more unique than-- THE INDIAN OR BIRCH-BARK CANOE. Where the white birch grows in perfection, and the trees attain a large size, the chief material of the birch bark canoe is at hand; and although we ordinary mortals could not be expected to attain to that perfection of skill which the Indians exhibit in the manufacture of these canoes, we nevertheless can succeed sufficiently well to answer all practical purposes. The Indian canoes are often perfect marvels of skill and combined strength and lightness. These half-civilized beings seem to take as naturally to the making of these commodities, as if it were almost an hereditary habit with them; and few men, even with the most exhaustive practice, can compete with the Indian in the combined result of strength, lightness, durability, external beauty, and nicety of work, which are the united characteristics of the typical bark canoe. The average length of the "Bark," as used by trappers, is about twelve feet, but they may be constructed of any desired dimensions, to the length of forty feet. A canoe of this size will carry fifteen or twenty persons, and may be transported with ease upon the shoulders of two strong men. The smaller size, above mentioned, is capable of carrying two persons, and is a light load for a single man. [Illustration] In constructing the bark canoe the first requisite is the gunwale, or upper framework. This should consist of four strips of cedar, ash, or other light, strong wood; two for each side of the boat. For an ordinary sized canoe, their length should be about twelve feet, width one inch, and thickness one-quarter of an inch. They should be tied together in pairs at the ends, and the two pairs then joined at the same place. The object of [Page 262] these pieces is to give strength and form to the canoe, and to offer a firm security for the edges of the bark, which are secured between them. The gunwale being prepared, we are now ready for the birch bark. The bottom of a well made canoe should be in one large piece, as our illustration indicates, if possible. Select some large tree with the trunk free from knots or excrescences. Mark off as great a length as possible, and chop a straight cut in the bark through the whole length of the piece, after which it should be carefully peeled from the wood. It will sometimes happen, where large birches exist in perfection, that a single piece may be found of sufficient size for a whole canoe, but this is rather exceptional, and the bottom is generally pieced out, as seen in our drawing. This piecing may be accomplished with an awl and Indian twine, or by the aid of a large needle threaded with the same, sewing with an over-and-over stitch around the edge of each piece. Use as large pieces as are attainable, and continue to sew them on until the area of bark measures about four and a half feet in width by twelve feet in length, the dark colored sides of the bark all facing the same way. Next select a fiat piece of ground, and mark off a distance of ten feet, or two feet less than the length of the gunwales. At each end of the space two tall stakes should be driven into the ground about three inches apart. Now turn the bark on the ground with its white side uppermost, and fold it loosely and evenly through the long centre. In this folded condition it should now be lifted by the upper edge and set between the stakes. There will then be about a foot of projecting bark beyond each pair of stakes. These ends should now be covered by folding another piece of bark over them, sewing the edges firmly to the sides of the rude form of the canoe, which now presents itself. When this is done, each end should be supported on a log or stone; this will cause the bottom line to sink downwards at about the proper curve. We are now ready for the gunwale. Lay it in the proper position, fitting the edges of the bark between the two strips on each side, and sewing around the whole with a winding stitch, exactly after the manner of the edge of an ordinary palm-leaf fan. The inside of the canoe should now be lined with long strips of cedar running through the entire length of the boat if possible, but if not, should be so cut as to neatly overlap at the ends. These pieces should be an inch or two in width, and from a quarter to half an inch-in thickness. The ribs are then to be put in. These are generally made from ash, one or two inches in width, and [Page 263] a quarter of an inch in thickness. Any light flexible wood will answer the purpose, and even barrel hoops when attainable will do very well. These ribs should be bent to fit the interior of the canoe crosswise, either close together, or with equal distances between them and the ends should then be firmly secured beneath the gunwales by a continuous loop-stitch through the bark. For a canoe of twelve feet in length, the width should be about two feet, and in order to keep the gunwales firm, two or more cross-pieces should be inserted, and lashed firmly at their ends as our illustration shows. The centre third of the length of the canoe should be parallel at the sides, and if two braces, two feet in length are placed at each end of this third, the shape will be about perfect. We now have a bark canoe of considerable strength and durability, and it only awaits to be made water-proof for final use. In order to accomplish this all the seams outside, and the entire interior of the canoe should, be smeared with pitch, after which its floating qualities may be tested with confidence. Should any leaks occur their where-abouts are easily detected, and an additional application of pitch will remedy the difficulty. The Indians in sewing their bark canoes use tamarack roots, fibrous plants, and grasses, in lieu of thread, and even with these inferior materials often attain to such perfection in compact sewing, as to render the use of pitch unnecessary for water-proof purposes. Such skill is rarely attained by the white man, and the art of making a water-proof canoe, even out of a single piece of bark, is by no means an easy task without the aid of tar or pitch. [Page 264] For the trapper we strongly recommend the birch "bark." With the above directions we are sure no one could go astray, and we are equally sure that a canoe made as we describe, would present advantages of lightness and portability which no other style of boat would possess. For temporary purposes, canoes can be made from basswood, hemlock, or spruce bark; but they are at best, very rude and clumsy in comparison with the birch bark. They are generally made after the principles of the above described; either sewing or nailing the edges of the bark together, and smearing every joint and seam profusely with pitch, and adding gunwales, lining, and ribs. A LIGHT HOME-MADE BOAT. The following gives an easy method of making a light and serviceable bateau, which any boy, with moderate ingenuity or skill, could easily construct:-- Select two boards, about three-quarters of an inch in thickness, eighteen or twenty inches in width, and twelve feet in length, which we will consider the required length of the boat. These boards should be well seasoned, and free from knots, and at least one of the sides should be straight. Next, with the aid of a draw-shave, proceed to shape the ends of one of the boards, as seen on our diagram, (_e_) representing the forward, (_g_) the stern. The curve of the bow should commence at about four feet from the end, and take a rounded slope upward, leaving about ten inches of width at the end of the board (_e_). The stern should be cut at the angle shown at (_g_), commencing at about two and a half feet from the extremity of the board and continuing upward to about ten inches from the upper edge. The board thus shaped should now be laid evenly on the other, and the outline of the cut portions carefully scratched upon it, after which the second board should be cut in a similar manner as the first, so as to form an exact duplicate. This being accomplished, the two should be laid evenly, one over the other, and the exact center of their long edges ascertained. Marking off about five inches on each side of this centre on both boards. [Illustration] Next procure another board about ten inches in width, three feet in length, and perfectly squared at the ends. Nail each end of this piece securely and squarely in the space marked on each of the long boards. Then turn the pieces carefully over and [Page 265] nail another board across the bottom, directly opposite the first. We will now leave them and give our attention to the bow piece, which is the next requisite. This is shown at (_a_), and consists of a solid piece of oak, or other hard wood, well seasoned, and hewn out in the arrow shape, indicated in our illustration. It should first be cut three-cornered, the inside face being about eight inches, and the other two ten inches. Its length should be about eleven inches, and its under side should be sloped off on a line with the under curve of the bows. At about five inches from the inner face, and on each side, a piece should be sawn out, one inch in thickness, thus leaving on each side a notch which will exactly receive the side-boards of the boat, as seen at (_a_). [Illustration] The piece being thus ready, the bow ends of the boards should be drawn together, fitted in the notches and securely spiked with large nails. A bow piece of this kind adds greatly to the strength of a boat, and will stand much rough usage. The board for the stem should next be prepared. This should be ten inches in width and two feet in length, and should be securely nailed between the ends of the boards at the stem, as shown at (_g_), being afterwards overlapped on the top by a board of similar size, as our illustration shows, at (_c_). The bottom of the boat is now easily made by nailing boards crosswise, sawing off the projecting ends close to the curve of the side-boards. After the pieces are all nailed in place, the seams and crevices should be caulked with hemp, using a blunt chisel, or hard wooden wedge, and a mallet. The seats should now be put in, as these are not only a matter of comfort, but of necessity, acting as braces to the sides of the boat. They should be two in number, one being placed three feet from the stern and the other one foot beyond the brace board originally nailed across the top of the boat. The seats should be cut at the ends in a curve corresponding to the part of the boat in which they are placed, and should be situated about a foot from the bottom of the boat, their ends resting on short boards beneath them against the sides of the boat. These are indicated by the dotted lines (_h h_) in [Page 266] the diagram. When thus resting they should be securely fastened in place by strong screws, driven through the sides of the boat into their ends (_f f_), allowing some one to sit on the seat meanwhile to keep it in place. Small cleats should now be tacked to the bottom of the boat, beneath the seat and underneath the seat itself, in order to keep the props in place; after which the original brace board across the top of the boat may be knocked off and the bateau is complete and ready for service. A boat thus made is quite comely in shape, and may be painted to suit the fancy. Should a rudder be required, the broad board at the stern offers a good place of attachment, and oar-locks may be adjusted at the proper places. These may consist of a pair of cleats attached to the inside of the boat, as seen in the illustration. In case it may be found difficult to obtain the large single boards for the sides of the boat, two or more narrow ones will answer the purpose, although not as perfectly. In this case they should first be firmly attached together by cleats, securely screwed to the inside. When first put on the water the boat will probably leak in places, but if left to soak for a few hours the wood will generally swell sufficiently to completely close the crevices. If, however, the leak should continue, that particular part of the boat should be re-caulked and smeared with pitch. This latter substance is of great value to the trapper, not only in boat building but in the construction of his shanties and in other various ways. It will most effectually stop almost any leak in a canoe or boat, and of course should always be applied hot. [Page 267] THE SCOW. The bateau we have above described is built so as to allow for considerable speed in the water, either in rowing or sculling; but where this speed is not especially desired the pointed bows may be dispensed with, and the sides of the boat made perfectly straight. In this case the bottom takes equal slopes at the ends, and both bow and stern are of the same width, and an ordinary flat-bottomed boat with parallel sides is the result. In many cases a scow of this kind answers every purpose, and is certainly much more easily made. We have thus described a few of the most common instances of boats used by trappers, and with our full description and illustrations no one can go astray. A boat of some kind is almost an indispensable requisite to the trapper, and anyone of the foregoing will be found sufficient for all ordinary purposes. A paddle may be used, and in shallow or muddy water a pusher or mud-stick will be found useful. This should consist of a pole seven or eight feet in length, supplied at the ends with an attachment of the shape of the letter U. This may be constructed in two pieces, firmly screwed to opposite sides of the end of the pole, and so formed as to present a curved crotch. Such a stick will be found very useful for pushing through weeds and muddy places. A simple pole trimmed so as to leave a crotch at the end will also answer the purpose very well. SNOW-SHOES. These commodities are almost indispensable to the trapper where he pursues his vocation in the winter time, during the prevalence of deep snows. When properly made they permit the wearer to walk over the surface of the snow with perfect ease; where, without them, travel would be extremely difficult if not impossible. In the regions of perpetual snow, and also in Canada and neighboring districts, snow-shoes are very commonly worn. In the latter localities the "snow-shoe race" forms one of the favorite sports of the season, and young and old alike join in its mysteries. Like riding on the velocipede, walking on snow-shoes looks "easy enough," but we notice that a few somersaults are usually a convincing argument that the art is not as simple as it appears. The first experience on snow-shoes [Page 268] is apt to be at least undignifying, if not discouraging, and in order to get used to the strange capers and eccentricities of an ordinarily well-behaved snow shoe, it requires considerable patience and practice. There is no telling where, in an unguarded moment, they will land you, and they seem to take especial delight in stepping on each other and turning their wearer upside down. The principal secret of success (and one may as well know it at the start, as to learn it at the expense of a pint of snow down his back) consists in taking steps sufficiently long to bring the widest portion of the stepping shoe beyond that of the other, keeping the feet rather far apart and stepping pretty high. By observing these precautions, and trusting in Providence, much embarrassment may be saved, and an hour's effort will thoroughly tame the unruly appendages, which at best do not permit of much grace or elegance of gait. To the moose hunter snow-shoes are often an absolute necessity, and trapping in many cases would be impossible without them. They are thus brought fully within the scope of our volume, and we give a few simple directions for their manufacture. Our illustration gives the correct shape of the shoe. The framework should consist of a strip of ash, hickory or some other elastic wood, bent into the form indicated and wound around the ends with twine or strips of hide. The length of the piece should be about six feet, more or less, in proportion to the size of the individual who proposes to wear the shoe. If the bending should prove difficult it may be rendered an easy matter by the application of boiling water. Across the front part two strips of stout leather, or other tough hide, are then fastened, and these further secured together by three or four bands on each side of the middle, as our drawing shows. In the original Indian snow-shoe, from which our drawing was made, the net work was constructed from strips of moose hide, which were interlaced much after the manner of an ordinary cane-seated chair. Strips of leather, deer skin, or even split cane, above alluded to, may also be used, and the lacing may be either as our illustration represents, or in the simpler rectangular woof seen in ordinary cloth. In order to attach the interlacing to the bow the latter should be wound with wide strips of cane, if it can be procured, or otherwise with strips of tough skin. The loops thus formed offer a continuous security, and the whole interior, with the exception of the space at the front between the cross pieces, should be neatly filled with the next work. It is well to run the first lines [Page 269] across the shoe, from side to side, passing through the windings of the bow. Across them, in the form of the letter X, the two other cords should be interlaced, after the manner shown in the cut. This forms a secure and not very complicated network, and is the style usually adopted by the Indian makers. [Illustration] There is another mode of attaching the lace-work to the bow which is also commonly employed, and consists in a series of holes bored at regular intervals through the wood. The winding is thus dispensed with, but the bow is sometimes weakened by the operation, and we are inclined to recommend the former method in preference. In attaching the shoe, the ball of the foot should be set on the second cross piece, and there secured by a strip of hide, which should be first adjusted as seen in the engraving, being afterward tied over the foot and then behind the ankle. Snow-shoes are made in other ways, but we believe that the typical Indian snow-shoe above described is the best. THE TOBOGGAN OR INDIAN SLEDGE. For winter traffic over deep snows there is no better sled in the world than the Indian toboggan. To the trapper during a winter campaign it is often an indispensable convenience, and without it the Indian hunters of the North would find great difficulty in getting their furs to market. All through the winter season the various trading posts of Canada are constantly visited by numbers of Indian trappers, many of whom have travelled hundreds of miles on their snow-shoes with their heavily laden toboggans. Arrived at [Page 270] their market they sell or trade their stock of furs, and likewise dispose of their toboggans, reserving only their snow-shoes to aid them in their long tramp homewards. [Illustration] In Canada and northward the toboggan is in very extensive use, both for purposes of traffic and amusement. It is quite commonly met with in the streets of various Canadian cities, and is especially appreciated by the youthful population, who are fond of coasting over the crust of snow. For this purpose there is no other sled like it, and a toboggan of the size we shall describe will easily accommodate two or three boys, and will glide over a crust of snow with great ease and rapidity. To the trapper it is especially valuable for all purposes of transportation. The flat bottom rests upon the surface of the snow, and the weight being thus distributed a load of two or three hundred pounds will often make but little impression and can be drawn with marvellous ease. Our illustration gives a very clear idea of the sled, and it can be made in the following way: the first requisite is a board about eight feet in length and sixteen or more inches in width. Such a board may be procured at any saw mill. Oak is the best wood for the purpose, although hickory, basswood or ash will do excellently. It should be planed or sawed to a thickness of about a third of an inch, and should be free from knots. If a single board of the required width is not easily found, two boards may be used, and secured side by side by three cleats, one at each end and the other in the middle, using wrought nails and clinching them deeply into the board on the under side. The single board is much to be preferred, if it can be had. The next requisites are seven or eight wooden cross-pieces of a length equivalent to the width of the board. Four old broom-sticks, cut in the required lengths, will answer [Page 271] this purpose perfectly, and if these are not at hand other sticks of similar dimensions should be used. Two side pieces are next needed. These should be about five feet in length, and in thickness exactly similar to the cross pieces. Next procure a few pairs of leather shoe-strings or some strips of tough calf skin. With these in readiness we may now commence the work of putting the parts together. Begin by laying the cross pieces at equal distances along the board; across these and near their ends lay the two side pieces, as seen in the illustration. By the aid of a gimlet or awl, four holes should now be made through the board, beneath the end of each cross piece, and also directly under the side piece. It is well to mark with a pencil, the various points for the holes, after which the sticks can be removed and the work much more easily performed. The four holes should be about an inch apart, or so disposed as to mark the four corners of a square inch. It is also necessary to make other holes along the length of the cross pieces, as seen in the illustration. The line on these can also be marked with the pencil across the board, and the holes made afterwards. These should also be an inch apart, and only two in number at each point, one on each side of the stick. When all the holes are made the board should be turned over, in order to complete preparations on the other side. The object of these various holes is for the passage of the leather shoe-strings for the purpose of securing the cross pieces firmly to the board. In order to prevent these loops from wearing off on the under side, small grooves should next be made connecting the holes beneath, thus allowing the leather string to sink into the wood, where it is securely protected from injury. A narrow chisel is the best tool for this purpose, the making of the grooves being much more easily and perfectly accomplished with this than with the jack-knife. When the under side is thus finished the board may be turned over and the cross pieces and sides again arranged in place as already described. Secure the pieces to the board by the leather strings through the various holes, always knotting on the upper surface, and taking care that the knots are firmly tied. The ends of all the cross pieces will require a double cross stitch through the four holes beneath, in order to secure the side pieces as well. This is plainly shown in the small diagram (_a_). The front end of each side piece underneath should now be sharpened to a point, to allow for the bend at the front of the toboggan. The cross piece at this end should be secured to the under side of the board, so that as it bends over it will appear on the upper edge, as our illustration shows. The board should [Page 272] next be bent with a graceful curve, and thus held in position by a rope or strip of leather at each extremity of the end cross piece and attached to the ends of the third cross piece, as seen in the engraving. If the bending is difficult and there is danger of breaking the board, the application of boiling water will render it pliable. The draw strings should then be attached to the ends of the second cross piece, and our toboggan is now complete. It may now be laden with two or three hundred pounds of merchandize and will be found to draw over the surface of the snow with perfect ease. For coasting over the crust there is nothing like it. Such a toboggan as we have described will easily accommodate three boys, the one at the stern being provided with a sharp stick for steering, and the front occupant holding firmly to the draw strings. The toboggan is easily made, and will do good service either for traffic or sport. CURING SKINS. This department of the trapper's art is one of the most important and necessary, as affecting pecuniary profits. The value of a skin in the fur market depends entirely upon the care with which it is taken from the animal and afterward prepared, and without a knowledge on this subject the young trapper will in vain seek for high prices for his furs. Large quantities of valuable skins are sent to our markets annually by inexperienced amateur trappers, and in many cases rare and beautiful furs have been almost spoiled by want of care in skinning and curing. The rules are simple and easily followed, a little care being all that is necessary to insure most perfect success. In every case the skin should be removed shortly after death, or at least before it has become tainted with decay. Great pains should be taken in skinning. Avoid the adherence of flesh or fat to the skin, and guard against cutting through the hide, as a pierced skin is much injured in value. The parts about the eyes, legs and ears should be carefully removed. The various methods of skinning are described in our section on trapping, and in all cases the furs should be allowed to dry in a cool, airy place, free from the rays of the sun or the heat of a fire, and protected from rain. Astringent preparations of various kinds are used by many trappers, but they are by no means necessary. The most common dressing consists of equal parts of rock salt and alum dissolved in water. Into this a sufficient amount of coarse flour or wheat bran is stirred to give [Page 273] the mixture the consistency of batter, after which it is spread thickly over the skin and allowed to dry. It is afterwards scraped off, and in some cases a second application is made. This preparation is much used in dressing beaver, otter, mink and muskrat skins, but as many of our most successful and experienced trappers do without it, we fail to see the advantage of using it, as it is only an extra trouble. The simplest and surest way is to stretch the skin and to submit it to a gradual process of natural drying without any artificial heat or application of astringents to hasten the result. A very common mode of stretching skins consists in tacking them to a board, with the fur inwards, and allowing them to dry as already described. This method does very well for small skins, but for general purposes the "stretchers" are the only means by which a pelt may be properly cured and prepared. STRETCHERS. The board stretcher is the simplest form and is in most common use among trappers for the smaller animals. These stretchers are of two kinds, the plain and the wedged. The plain stretcher consists of a piece of board a quarter of an inch in thickness, about eighteen inches long and six inches in width. One end of this board is rounded off, as seen in our illustration, and the sides should also be whittled and smoothed to a blunt edge. [Illustration] The board stretchers are used only for those skins which are taken off whole, that is, as described in the chapter on the otter. The skin should be drawn tightly over the blunt end of the board, and its edges either caught in notches cut in the edges of the square end or secured by a few tacks. This stretcher is particularly [Page 274] adapted to the skins of muskrats, minks and animals of a like size. They are known in New England as "shingle stretchers," and are much to be recommended on account of their lightness and the ease with which they can be made and carried. The wedge stretcher is rather more elaborate than the foregoing, and is said to be an improvement. [Illustration] The first requisite is a board of about three-eighths of an inch in thickness, two feet or more in length, and three and a half inches at one end tapering to the width of two inches at the other. This end should now be rounded, and the edges of the board whittled off to a blunt edge, as already described in the foregoing, commencing near the centre of the board, and thinning to the edge, and finishing with the notches at the square end. Now, by the aid of a rip-saw, sever the board through the middle lengthwise. The wedge is the next thing to be constructed, and should consist of a piece of wood the thickness of the centre of the board and of the same length, tapering from an inch in width at one end to half an inch at the other. To use the stretcher the two boards are inserted into the skin, (the latter with the fur side inward). The wedge is then inserted between the large ends of the boards and driven in sufficiently to stretch the pelt to its full capacity, securing it in the notches by slight cuts in the hide, or by a tack or two at the edge. It should then he hung in a cool, airy place, and the pelt left to "season." The bow stretcher is another contrivance very commonly used for small skins like the foregoing. When this is used the pelt should be skinned as described on page 185, the initial cut commencing at the lower jaw and extending down between the fore legs, all the feet being previously cut off. The bow may consist of a switch of any elastic wood such as hickory iron wood, elm or birch. It should be about three or more feet in length, and as large as a man's thumb at the butt end. By bending it in the shape of the letter U it may easily be inserted in the skin, the latter being [Page 275] fastened by catching the lip on each side into a sliver notch cut on each end of the bow, as our illustration indicates. [Illustration] For large animals, such as the deer, bear, beaver, the hoop stretcher is generally employed. THE HOOP STRETCHER. This consists of a hoop made from one or more flexible switches tied together so as to form a circle. In order to be adapted to this mode of stretching, the skin should be flat, _i. e._ taken off as described on page 172, the initial cut extending from the lower jaw to the vent. The size of the hoop required depends upon the dimensions of the skin. Lay the latter upon some flat surface and so gauge the hoop as that it shall surround the pelt on all sides; after which the latter should be secured or laced to the hoop with twine at the edges. All loose parts should be drawn up, and the skin should everywhere be stretched like a drum head. When this is accomplished it is the custom with many trappers to apply the preparation described on page 273, particularly where the skin is thick and fatty. But we are rather disposed to discourage the use of any preparation whatever, in any case, as they are by no means necessary. In using the board stretchers the fur should always be on the inside, and when the hoop or bow is used it should be placed in such a position, that the air may circulate freely on both sides of the skin, which should not be removed until thoroughly dry. [Page 276] TANNING SKINS. In case some of our readers might desire to tan fur skins for their own domestic purposes, the subjoined directions will be found to be reliable, and for all ordinary requirements, sufficiently adequate. For tanning with the hair on, the skin should first be cleaned, every particle of loose fat or flesh, being removed, and the useless parts cut away. When this is done, it should be soaked for an hour or two in warm water. The following mixture should then be prepared: Take equal parts of borax, saltpetre, and sulphate of soda, and with them mix water sufficient to produce the consistency of thin batter. This preparation should be painted thickly on the flesh side of the skin, after which these sides should be doubled together and the pelt left in an airy place. A second mixture should next be prepared. This should consist of two parts sal soda; three parts borax; four parts castile or other hard soap: all to be melted together over a slow fire. At the end of twenty-four hours, after the application of the first mixture, the second should be applied in a similar manner, and the fur again folded and left for the same length of time. Next, make a mixture equal parts of salt and alum, dissolved in warm water and thickened with coarse flour to the consistency of thin paste. Spread this thickly over the skin and allow it to dry, after which it should be scraped off with the bowl of a spoon. The skin should be tightly stretched during the operation, in order to prevent too great shrinkage. A single application of the last-named dressing, is generally sufficient for small skins; but a second or third treatment may be resorted to if required, to make the skin soft and pliable, after which it should be finished off with sand-paper and pumice stone. A skin may be thus dressed as soft as velvet, and the alum and salt will set the hair securely. The above directions are excellent, for all general purposes, but we subjoin, in addition, a few other valuable hints and specific recipes in common use. Every trapper has his own peculiar hobby in regard to his tanning process, and the recipes are various and extensive. The above is one of the most reliable for general use. A common mode of tanning mink and muskrat skins is given in the following:-- TO TAN MINK AND MUSKRAT SKINS. Before tanning, the skin should always be thoroughly cleansed [Page 277] in warm water, and all fat and superfluous flesh removed. It should then be immersed in a solution made of the following ingredients: Five gallons of cold soft water; five quarts wheat bran; one gill of salt; and one ounce of sulphuric acid. Allow the skins to soak in the liquid for four or five hours. If the hides have been previously salted, the salt should be excluded from the mixed solution. The skins are now ready for the tanning liquor, which is made in the following way: into five gallons of warm, soft water, stir one peck of wheat bran and allow the mixture to stand in a warm room until fermentation takes place. Then add three pints of salt, and stir until it is thoroughly dissolved. A pint of sulphuric acid should then be poured in gradually, after which the liquor is ready. Immerse the skins and allow them to soak for three or four hours. The process of "fleshing" is then to be resorted to. This consists in laying the skin, fur side down, over some smooth beam, and working over the flesh side with a blunt fleshing tool. An old chopping knife, or tin candlestick, forms an excellent substitute for the ordinary fleshing knife, and the process of rubbing should be continued until the skin becomes dry, after which it will be found to be soft and pliable. The skin of the muskrat is quite tender, and the fleshing should be carefully performed. HOW TO TAN THE SKINS OF BEAVER, OTTER, RACCOON, AND MARTEN. These should be stretched on a board and smeared with a mixture composed of three ounces each, of salt and alum; three gills of water, and one drachm of sulphuric acid. This should be thickened with wheat bran or flour, and should be allowed to dry on the skin, after which it should be scraped off with a spoon. Next, take the skin from the board, roll it with the fur inside, and draw it quickly backward and forward, over a smooth peg, or through an iron ring. The skin should then be unfolded and rolled again the opposite way, and the operation repeated until the pelt is quite soft and flexible. This is a good way of softening all kinds of skins, and the above preparation will be found excellent for all ordinary purposes. The muskrat skin may be treated in the same manner as the above, if desired, and the process directed on the muskrat skin may also be applied to the pelts of the other animals. To remove the fur for a simple tanned skin, the hide should be immersed in a liquid composed of--soft water, five gallons; slaked lime, four quarts; and wood ashes, four quarts. Allow [Page 278] the skin to soak for a couple of days, after which the fur will readily slip off. Another method--take equal parts wood ashes and slaked lime, and add water to the consistency of batter. Spread this over the inside of the skin, roll it up, and place it in a pail, covering it with water. Here let it remain from one to five days, or until the hair will shed easily, after which it should be finished with the fleshing knife and velveted with sand paper. OBSERVATIONS ON THE HISTORY OF FURS AND THE FUR TRADE. In all cold climates, man has availed himself liberally of the warm covering with which nature has clothed the animals around him; but the wealth of the most favored nations has drawn to them the most beautiful furs, in whatever part of the world they are procured. Skins of animals were among the first materials used for clothing. Before Adam and Eve were driven from the Garden of Eden, they were furnished with coats of skins. The ancient Assyrians used the soft skins of animals to cover the couches or the ground in their tents, and the Israelites employed badger's skins and ram's skins, as ornamental hangings for the Tabernacle. The ancient heroes of the Greeks and Romans, are represented as being clothed in skins. �neas, wearing for an outer garment, that of the lion, and Alcestes being formidably clad in that of the Libyan Bear. Herodotus speaks of those living near the Caspian Sea wearing seal skins, and Cæsar mentions that the skin of the reindeer formed in part the clothing of the Germans. In the early period, furs appear to have constituted the entire riches of the Northern countries, and they were almost the only exports. Taxes were paid on them, and they were the medium of exchange. So it was also in our own Western territories in the latter part of the last century, and is to the present day, to a great extent, among the Indians. In the eleventh century, furs had become fashionable throughout Europe, and the art of dyeing them, was practiced in the twelfth. In the history of the Crusades, frequent mention is made of the magnificent displays by the European Princes, of their dresses of costly furs, before the Court at Constantinople. But Richard I. of England, and Philip II. of France, in order to check the growing extravagance in their use, resolved that the choicer furs, ermine and sable amongst the number, should be omitted from their kingly wardrobes. Louis IX. followed their example in the next century, but not [Page 279] until his extravagance had grown to such a pitch, that _seven hundred and forty-six_ ermines were required for the _lining_ of one of his _surcoats_. In the times, the use of the choicer furs, as those of the sable, ermine, gris, and Hungarian squirrel, was restricted to the royal families and the nobility, to whom they served as distinctive marks and badges of rank. These privileged persons applied them lavishly to their own use, and the fashion extended to the princes of other less civilized nations. Their royal use soon extended to Tartary, and the tents of the Khan were bedecked with the most rich and costly furs. In the following century, furs were commonly worn in England until their use was prohibited by Edward III., to all persons whose purse would not warrant a yearly expenditure of £100. The early fur trade of Western Europe, was conducted through the merchants on the south coast of the Baltic, who received goods from the ports of Livonia. In the sixteenth century, a direct trade was opened between the English and Russians; and a company of the former, protected by the Czar, established trading posts on the White Sea, and a warehouse at Moscow, whence they sent trading parties to Persia and the countries on the Caspian Sea. The Czar sent rich presents of beautiful furs, to Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth; but the latter prohibited the wearing of any but native furs, and the trade soon declined and was abandoned. In the 17th century, Siberia was conquered by the Russians, and its tribute was paid in furs. Large quantities were also furnished to China, but the choicest kinds--the precious ermine, the brilliant, fiery foxes, and the best sables, were taken to Moscow, for the use of the princes and nobles of Russia, Turkey, and Persia. In our own country, the early settlers of the Northern provinces, soon learned the value of the furs of the numerous animals which peopled the extensive rivers, lakes, and forests of these vast territories. They collected the skins in abundance, and found an increasing demand for them, with every new arrival of immigrants from the mother country. Trinkets, liquors, and other articles sought for by the native tribes, were shipped to Quebec, and from thence up the St. Lawrence to Montreal, which soon became the great trading post of the country. The various tribes of Indians were stimulated by trifling compensation, to pursue their only congenial and peaceful occupation; and the French settlers, readily assimilating to the Indian habits, became themselves expert hunters, trappers, and explorers. The business prospered, and the English soon became interested and secured a share of the valuable trade. Many [Page 280] wealthy and influential parties, connected with the government of Great Britain,--Prince Rupert and Lord Ashley, among the number--became deeply interested in this source of revenue; and after a successful enterprise, they obtained from Charles II., a charter of incorporation, giving to them full possession of the territory within the entrance of Hudson's Straits, not already granted to other subjects, or possessed by those of any other Christian prince or State. In this charter was included the monopoly, of all trade in these regions, and thus we see the origin of the Great Hudson's Bay Company, which is to-day, one of the largest organizations of its kind on the globe. The territory they claimed, extended from Hudson's Bay, west to the Pacific, and north to the Arctic Ocean, excepting that occupied by the French and Russians. They soon formed settlements upon the various rivers which empty into Hudson's Bay, and carried on their operations with immense vigor and success. They met with much opposition and open hostility from the French, and were subjected to vast expenses and losses, but in spite of all, they continued to prosper. Their forts or factories were extended further into the interior of British America, and their power was supreme throughout the country, and in a great measure over the Indians, whom they employed to collect their skins. In the course of time, the French Canadians organized themselves into a united band, under the name of the North West Company, and established their headquarters at Montreal. Their operations were carried on with great energy and profit, and many factories were built in the western portion of the Province. The company thus soon became a formidable competitor with the Hudson's Bay Company and for a period of two years, an actual state of war existed between them. This condition of affairs finally terminated in a consolidation of the two organizations, under the name of the Hudson's Bay Company, the privileges of which extended over all the territory formerly occupied by both. Thus, we have the history of the famous Hudson's Bay Company, from its origin to its perfect organization. It is a most stupendous concern, and its annual shipment of furs, is something amazing. Their great sales take place in the month of March, in order to be completed before Easter; and again in September, every year at London, and are attended by purchasers from nearly all parts of the world. Leipsic, the famous fur mart of Germany, is also the scene of a great annual fair, for the sale of skins. The importance of the fur trade in this country, led to the [Page 281] early settlement of the Western territories of the United States; and many a frontier city, like St. Paul, has been built up by the enterprise of the trapper. Mackinaw and Montreal owe much of their growth to the traffic of the fur trade; and many a kingly fortune--John Jacob Astor's, for instance--has been founded on peltry. Besides the above fur sales in London a moderate portion of those annually collected in the United States are retained for use, amounting to about 150,000 mink and 750,000 muskrat skins, besides a number of other furs which are manufactured and worn. The annual yield of raw furs throughout the whole world is estimated at over twenty millions of dollars in value; and when we include the manufactured articles therefrom, the amount will swell to a hundred millions or over. This will serve to give some idea of the immensity and value of the business. American dealers divide our native furs into two classes, viz., _home_ and _shipping_ furs; the former being chiefly utilized in our own country, while the latter are exported to all parts of the world. New York City is the great fur mart and depot for the shipping trade in this country, and the annual value of its exports, in this one branch of trade is enormous. The principal shipping furs are the silver, red and cross Fox, Wild Cat, Raccoon, Fisher, Muskrat and Skunk. Among the home furs are the Marten, Mink, Opossum, Wolf and Muskrat, the latter being extensively used both here and abroad. In the following chapter will be found more detailed notes on the leading American furs, including their various uses and the different countries for which they are the especial staples. In order to give the reader some idea of the variety and magnitude of the yield of furs from our own country, we annex a table (p. 282) showing the sales of the Hudson's Bay Company, at London, in the year 1873. MARKET VALUE OF FUR SKINS. Below will be found an authentic table of the comparative values of the various American furs at the present date of publication. The quotations are those of one of our largest fur dealers, as published in "THE HAT, CAP AND FUR TRADE REVIEW," the leading journal of the trade in America. Of course these values are constantly varying--keeping pace with the eccentricities of fashion and the demands of the fur trade; but [Page 282] the table will serve at least to gauge the relative values, as between the two extremes of common and scarce furs. The fur market is a great deal like the stock market. It is constantly fluctuating, and a fur which is to-day among the novelties, may next year find itself on the low priced list. The demand for furs of any kind is nearly always governed by fashion, and of course the value is estimated on the demand. If the convention of fur dealers should decide to usher in _Muskrat fur_ as the leading and most fashionable article in that line, the fashion would create the demand, the demand would be in turn supplied by the trappers throughout the country, and in proportion as the Muskrat skins became scarce, so their value would increase. In this way a skin which may be worth fifty cents at one time may soon acquire a value of twenty times that amount. The comparative value of skins is, therefore, constantly varying more or less; but the annexed table (page 283) will be found useful for general reference, and for approximate figures, will probably answer every purpose for some time to come. ========================================================================== | No. of | No. of | | |Estimated | Skins. | Skins. | Total | Price according to | average KINDS. | March | Sept. | No. | quality. |price per | Sale. | Sale. | | | skin. ------------|---------|---------|---------|------------------------------- | | | | | £ s. d. Badger | 2,700 | | 2,700 | 1s. to 7s. | 1 06 Bear | 5,217 | 2,794 | 8,011 | 5s. to £8 10s. | 5 0 00 Beaver | 111,993 | 37,052 | 149,045 | 4S. 3d. to 38s. 6d. | 1 00 00 Fisher | 2,843 | 779 | 3,622 | 8s. to £3 5s. | 2 10 00 Fox, Blue | 90 | | 90 | 18s. to £4. | 2 10 00 " Cross | 1,818 | 471 | 2,289 | 5s. to £4. | 1 10 00 " Kitt | 6,930 | | 6,930 | 2s. 8d. to 28s. 10d.| 3 00 " Red | 6,914 | 1,383 | 8,297 | 4s. 6d. to 17s. | 10 00 " Silver | 540 | 148 | 688 | £3 10s. to £21. | 10 00 00 " White | 7,312 | | 7,312 | 2s. to 14s. 9d. | 7 00 Lynx | 2,468 | 1,652 | 4,120 | 9s. 6d. to £1 14s. | 18 00 Marten | 47,878 | 18,955 | 66,833 | 10s. to £3 19s. | 1 10 00 Mink | 31,802 | 12,896 | 44,698 | 4s. to £1 8s. 6d. | 15 00 Muskrat | 651,498 | 116,488 | 767,896 | 3d. to 16d. | 00 8 Otter | 8,571 | 2,681 | 11,252 | 14s. to £3 18s. | 2 10 00 " Sea | | 98 | 98 | £4 10s. to £32. | 15 00 00 Rabbit | 10,029 | | 10,029 | 3d. to 4d. | 00 3 Raccoon | | 3,582 | 3,582 | 1s. to 3s. 3d. | 2 6 Skunk | 1,691 | | 1,691 | 2s. to 7s. | 4 00 Wolf | 6,216 | 188 | 6,404 | 6s. to £2 15s. | 15 00 Wolverine | 1,770 | 320 | 2,090 | 8s. to £1 1s. | 15 00 ========================================================================== [Page 283] AMERICAN FUR SKINS--TABLE OF VALUES.[*] ========================================================================== | Prime. |Seconds.| Thirds.|Fourths. --------------------------------------|--------|--------|--------|-------- Badger | $1.00 | $0.50 | $0.10 | $ Bear, Black | 18.00 | 9.00 | 1.00 | " Cub | 10.00 | 5.00 | 1.00 | " Brown | 7.00 | 4.00 | 1.00 | Beaver, California per lb. | 1.25 | 75 | 50 | " Southern | 1.00 | 75 | 40 | " Upper Missouri | 1.75 | 1.50 | 50 | " Lake Supr. and Canada. | 2.50 | 1.75 | 75 | Cat, Wild | 40 | 10 | | " House | 15 | 10 | | Deer, Florida per lb. | 20 | | | " Missouri | 20 | | | Elk and Moose per lb. | 35 | 25 | | Fisher, Southern | 7.00 | 5.00 | 1.00 | " Eastern and Canada | 10.00 | 8.00 | 2.00 | Fox, Silver | 100.00 | 25.00 | 1.00 | " Cross | 3.00 | 1.50 | 1.00 | " Blue | 15.00 | 5.00 | 1.00 | " White | 3.00 | 1.50 | | " Red | 1.75 | 1.00 | 75 | 25 " Gray | 3.00 | 1.50 | 50 | 25 " Kitt | 50 | 25 | | Lynx, Minnesota | 2.50 | 1.00 | | " Canada | 4.00 | 2.00 | | Marten, Dark | 10.00 | 6.00 | 2.00 | " Small Pale | 2.00 | 1.00 | 50 | Mink, Southern | 1.00 | 50 | 25 | 10 " Western | 1.25 | 1.00 | 50 | 10 " Middle States | 2.00 | 1.25 | 50 | 10 " Minnesota | 2.50 | 1.50 | 75 | 20 " New England | 3.50 | 1.75 | 1.00 | 20 " Quebec and Halifax | 4.00 | 2.00 | 1.00 | 20 Muskrat, Southern | 28 | 25 | 15 | 5 " Western | 30 | 28 | 18 | 6 " Northern | 32 | 30 | 20 | 8 " Eastern | 35 | 30 | 22 | 10 Opossum, Ohio | 30 | 20 | 10 | " Southern | 20 | 10 | | Otter, Southern | 5.00 | 3.00 | 2.00 | 50 " Northern | 10.00 | 6.00 | 2.00 | 50 Rabbit | 3 | | | Raccoon, Southern | 50 | 30 | 15 | 5 " Western | 1.00 | 50 | 20 | 5 " Michigan | 1.25 | 80 | 30 | 5 Seal, Hair | 60 | | | " Fur | 10.00 | | | Skunk, Black Cased | 1.00 | 60 | 40 | 10 " Half Stripe | 60 | 50 | 25 | 10 " White | 20 | 10 | | Wolf, Timber | 3.00 | 1.50 | | " Prairie | 1.00 | 75 | | Wolverine | 5.00 | 2.00 | | ========================================================================== [Footnote *: From the "Hat Cap and Fur Trade Review."] [Page 284] Notwithstanding all these advertised prices, the young trapper often experiences great difficulty in a profitable disposal of his furs. Like every other business, the fur trade runs in its regular grooves, and the average furrier will often pay an experienced professional five dollars for a skin for which he would not offer a _dollar_ to an amateur. This certainly seems discouraging, but the knowledge of the fact is calculated to prevent _greater_ discouragement. We often see fancy prices advertised by fur dealers for first-class skins; but when the furs are sent, only a few are selected as "_prime_," the rest being rejected as worthless, or perhaps meeting with a meagre offer far below the regular rates. In this way the dealers have the opportunity of choice selection without incurring any risk. Many a young trapper has been thus disappointed, and has seen his small anticipated fortune dwindle down to very small proportions. The fur trade is supplied through regular professional channels; and in giving our advice to the novice, we would recommend as the most satisfactory and profitable plan that he should make his sales to some local hunter or trapper, who has had experience with the fur trade, and who is satisfied to pay a fair price for the various skins with the probability of selling at an advance, and thus realizing a profit. In nearly every trapping locality such men are to be found, and although the prices earned may be below the market rates, the amateur takes none of the speculative risks of the business, and should be willing to take lower prices on this account. AMERICAN FUR SKINS--THEIR USES AT HOME AND ABROAD. In the early history of fur apparel, its use was determined by _climate_; to-day, and especially in this country, it is regulated by the caprice of _fashion_. The mink for many years took the lead in the list of fashionable furs, but has of late been superseded by the introduction of the fur seal. The most choice and costly of our American furs at the present day is the Silver Fox. When highly dressed they are worth from 10 to 50 guineas each in the European market. They are principally bought by the Russians and Chinese. The skins of the Red Fox are purchased by the Chinese, Greeks, Persians, and other Oriental nations. They are made into linings for robes, etc., and ornamented with the black fur of the paws which is set on in spots or waves. The fur of the [Page 285] Beaver was formerly highly prized in the manufacture of hats and yielded a large portion of the profits of the Fur Companies, constituting the largest item in value among furs. Cheaper materials have since been substituted in making hats, and the demand for this purpose has been greatly reduced. By a new process the skin is now prepared as a handsome fur for collars and gauntlets, and its fine silky wool has been successfully woven. The soft, white fur from the belly of the animal, is largely used in France for bonnets. Raccoon skins are the great staple for Russia and Germany, where, on account of their durability and cheapness, they are in demand for linings for coats, etc. Among the Bear skins, those of the black and grizzly are extensively used for military caps, housings, holsters, sleigh robes, etc. The fur of the Lynx is soft, warm and light, and is commonly dyed of a beautiful shining black. It is used for the facings and linings of cloaks, chiefly in America. The Fisher yields a dark and full fur which is largely used in fashionable winter apparel. The skin of the Marten, is richly dyed and utilized in choice furs and trimmings. The Mink, like the two foregoing, belongs to the same genus as the Russian Sable, and its fur so much resembles the latter as to be sometimes mistaken for it. It is one of fashion's furs, and the hair of the tail is sometimes used in the manufacture of artist's pencils. The Muskrat produces the fur most worn by the masses, and is largely exported into Germany, France and England. It is estimated that over six millions of muskrat skins are annually taken in America, and of that number one-half are used in Germany alone. The skin of the Otter is at present classed among the leading fashionable furs in this country. They are dyed of a deep purplish black color, and are made into sacques, muffs, etc. It is also used by the Russians, Greeks and Chinese. It is mostly an American product, but is also procured to some extent in the British Isles from a smaller variety of the species. The skins of the Wolf are chiefly used for sleigh robes and such purposes. The fur of the Rabbit is mainly employed in the manufacture of felt, and is also utilized for lining and trimming. The business of breeding rabbits for their fur has been introduced into the United States, and large numbers have been successfully raised in Danbury, Conn., for felting purposes connected with the manufacture of hats. [Page 286] The fur of the Wolverine or Glutton, finds a market for the most part in Germany, where it is used for trimmings and cloak linings. The Skunk furnishes the fur known as Alaska Sable, which forms one of our staple pelts, many thousands being annually exported to Poland and the adjacent provinces. The Badger yields a valuable and fashionable fur, which is also extensively used in the manufacture of artist's brushes; a good "badger blender" forming a valuable accessory to a painter's outfit. Shaving brushes by the thousand are annually made from the variegated hair of the badger. The Opossum yields a fur in very common use among the masses, and the skins of the domestic Cat are utilized to a considerable extent in the manufacture of robes, mats, etc. The fur of the Puma and Wild Cat are also employed in this form, and may often be seen handsomely mounted and hanging on the backs of sleighs on our fashionable thoroughfares. Among the small game the skins of Squirrels are used for linings, and the soft, velvety fur of the Mole is manufactured into light robes, and very fine hats, and in theatrical paraphernalia is sometimes employed for artificial eyebrows. Full descriptions of the color of the various furs will be found in our lengthy illustrated chapter on our American animals. [Illustration: THE END.] [Page 289] [Illustration: INDEX] A Adirondack experiences with mosquitoes, 256. Advice to the Novice on the sale of Furs, 283. Air-tight Jar, for butter, &c., 236. Alaska Sable, 286.--See also Skunk. Alcohol, its use and abuse, 257. Alum--used in waterproofing, 249. "Amateur Trapping," 225. AMBER, OIL OF, used in the art of Trapping, 152. AMERICAN FUR SKINS.--Table of values, 284. Their uses at Home and Abroad, 284. American Lion.--See Puma. Amputation, self inflicted, as a means of escape with captured animals, 144. To prevent, 144, 145. Ancient uses of Furs, 278. ANISE, OIL OF.-- Its use in the art of trapping, 152. As bait for fish, 240. Annual yield of Furs throughout the world, 281. Apparatus for stretching skins, 273. Arrows, poisoned, 26. Arrow Traps, 23, 25. Artificial Eyebrows of Mole Fur, 286. ART OF TRAPPING, 148. ASSAFOETIDA.-- Its use by the Trapper, 151. As scent bait for fish, 240. ASTOR, JOHN JACOB, and the Fur Trade, 281. Astringent Preparations, use of, in drying Skins, 273, 276. B BADGER, THE,-- Nature and habits of, 175. Skinning the, 177. Trapping the, 175. Uses of Fur, 286. Value of Fur, 284. Bags, Waterproof, for food, 236. Baiting the Steel Trap, 143. Baits for fishing, 240. Baits, scent, 149. Bait, Trapping without, 148. BARK SHANTY.-- Hints on, 266. Details of construction, 245. Bark-Stone.--See Castoreum. Bark-Stone composition.--See Castoreum. "Barque."--See Birch Bark Canoe. Barrel Hoops used in canoe building, 264. BARREL TRAPS, 125, 127, 133. Basket for the shoulders, 234, 236. Basswood-bark canoes, 264. Bateaux, 264. BAT FOWLING NET, 70. Baking, recipe for, 253. Bay Lynx.--See Wild Cat. Beans as food, 235. BEAR.-- Nature and habits of, 168, 227. Trapping the, 168. Traps for, 17, 29, 143. Various species of, 168. Directions for removing skin, 172. Use of skin, 285. Value of skin, 284. "Bear Tamer," 137, 142. "Bear Chasing," dangers of the sport, 170. [Page 290] Bear Grease, 171. Bear Meat, to roast, 233. " " to dry, 237. BEAVER.-- Nature and habits of, 177. Trapping the, 177. Skinning the, 182. Skin, to tan, 277. Use of fur, 285. Value of skin, 284. BEDS AND BEDDING, 248. Bed, spring, 248. " hammock, swinging, 249. Bed clothes, 249. BIG HORN, the, 220. As food, 220, 238. Nature and habits of, 220. Trapping the, 220. BIRCH BARK CANOE, remarks on, 226. Directions for making, 261. Bird-Catching Net, 70. BIRD LIME, 97. Masticated Wheat used as, 99. Recipe for making, 98. Used in capture of Puma, 35. Used for capture of Humming Bird, 99. Used in making Fly-paper, 136. Used with an Owl as decoy, 98. With paper cone, as a Crow trap, 96. BIRD TRAPS, 65. " Box, 88, 90. 91. BIRD WHISTLE, 72. BISON.--See Buffalo. Black Fly.--See "Punkey." Blanket, woollen, 250. Rubber, 236. Use of, 250. Block-tin, used for kettles, &c., 235. Blossom, utilized as a trap, 99. Blow-gun, used in the capture of Humming Bird, 99. BOARD FLAP, the, 130. BOARD STRETCHERS, 273. BOATS, remarks on, 226. Manufacture of, 259. The dug-out, or log canoe, 259. The birch-bark canoe, 261. The bateau, 264. The scow, 267. The flat-bottomed boat, 267. Boiled Mush, 232. " to fry, 232. Boiling water used in bending wood, 268, 272. Book I. TRAPS FOR LARGE GAME, 17. II. SNARES OR NOOSE TRAPS, 39. III. TRAPS FOR FEATHERED GAME, 65. IV. MISCELLANEOUS TRAPS, 103. V. HOUSEHOLD TRAPS, 125. VI. STEEL TRAPS AND THE ART OF TRAPPING, 137. VII. THE CAMPAIGN, 225. VIII. THE TRAPPER'S MISCELLANY, 255. Boots, hints on, 228. Grease for, 228. Bottle Lantern, 241. " Match Safe, 234. BOW STRETCHER, for skins, 274. BOW Traps, 23, 25, 116. BOWL TRAPS, 135, 136. Box Bird Traps, 55, 88, 90, 91. BOX DEAD FALL, 128. Box Hut, used in Pickerel fishing, 241. BOW OWL TRAP, 88. BOX PIT-FALL, 131. BOX SNARES, 55, 56. BOX TRAP, the, 103. Two modes of setting, 105. Box Traps, 55, 56, 88, 90, 91, 103, 106, 109, 110. BOX TRAP, pendent, 91. Brandy on a trapping campaign, 257. Brass wire nooses, 41. Brick Trap, 66. Broiling, recipes for, 233. Brook Trout, fishing through the ice, 240. " To cook deliciously, 232. Bruises, ointment for, 255. Buckskin gloves, in handling traps, 149. Building the camp fire, 233. Buffalo, the, 220. As food, 221, 238, How hunted and trapped, 221. Building boats, 259. Butternut log, for canoe, 239. Butter, to keep on a campaign, 236. C Cage traps for birds, 76. " " mice, 134. Call Birds, how used, 72. CAMPAIGN LIFE IN THE WILDERNESS, 225. CAMPAIGN, PLAN OF, 225. Camp fire, 228. To build, 233. Camp Kettle, 235. " Knife, 235. " Stove, 228, 235. Canada Grouse, 238. " Lynx.--See Lynx. " Moose.--See Moose. Candles, in camp, 227. " Novel way of using, 218. [Page 291] Canned vegetables, 236. CANOES, remarks on, 226. " Basswood-bark, 264. " Birch-bark, directions for building, 261. " Hemlock bark, 264. " Log.--See Dug-out. " Spruce bark, 264. Canton flannel bags, for bed clothes, 249. Canvass-back Duck, as food, 239. Canvas bags, waterproof, 236. Caps, percussion, used in lighting fire, 234. CAPTURE OF ANIMALS, 154. CARPETING TENTS, 250. CASTOREUM, or Barkstone, 150. How obtained, 150. How used.--See Beaver. CASTOREUM COMPOSITION, 150. Cat, domestic, use of skin, 286. Value of skin, 284. Cat, wild.--See Wild Cat. Caulking boats, 261, 266. Caution in baiting steel traps, 113. Caution in handling steel traps, 149. Chill, remedy for, 257. Chimney-fire in log shanty, 245. Chip as a plate, 232. Chip, for a frying pan, 230, 232. Chloride of Lime, as an antidote, 152. Choosing a trapping ground, 225. Cicely, Sweet, as scent bait in fishing, 240. Cities built up by the fur trade, 281. CLAP NET, 72. Clearing tents and shanties from insects, 230. Climate and fur apparel, 284. CLOG, THE, 146. Cloth for tent making, 247. " Waterproof preparation for, 247. Clothing, hints on, 228. Coasting on the Indian sled, 270. Cock of the plains, 238. Coffee, 236. Coffee-pot, 235. Cold, remedy for, 257. Combination camp-knife, 235. COMMON BOX TRAP, 103. Compass, pocket, 227. Compound scent-bait, 150, 153. Concealing steel traps, 229. Cone of paper as a trap, 96. Corrall, African trap, 34. COOKING UTENSILS FOR A CAMPAIGN, 230, 235. Coon.--See Raccoon. COOP TRAP, 67. " For large game, 33. Cotton drilling, used for making tents, 247. " Waterproof preparation for, 247. "Cotton Tail."--See Rabbit. Cougar.--See Puma. Cow's udder, as fish bait, 240. Crackers as food, 236. Crow trap, 96. CUMMIN, used in trapping, 152. Cup, portable, 231. CURING SKINS, 272. Current price list of American furs, 284. D Dark lantern, used by bird catchers, 71. Deer hunters, 217. DEAD-FALLS, 17, 29, 107, 111, 113. " Box, 128. " For large game, 17. " How set for the fox, 113. " Stone, 29. " Weighted harpoon, 26. " With figure four trap, 114. Dead fish, valuable in making trails, 153. Decoys, 72, 76, 94. Decoy traps, 72, 76, 94. " Whistle, 74. " Owl used as, 98. DEER, 124. As food, 233, 237, 238. How to skin the, 219. Hunting at night, 217, 218. Luminosity of eyes at night, 217, 218. Natural characteristics of, 214. Salt as bait for, 218. Season for hunting, 218. Trapping the, 214, 215. Various modes of hunting, 217. Various species of, 215. Deer lick, the, 215. Deer meat, to dry, 237. Deer meat, to roast, 233. Delmonico outdone, 232. Detecting the direction of the wind by the finger, 217. Devices used in connection with the steel trap, 144, 147. Devils' Lantern, 241. Diet of the Trapper, 230. "DOUBLE ENDER," the, 109. Double traps, 57, 109, 110, 129. DOWN FALL, the, 26. Dressing for fur skins, 273, 276. Dressing for leather, 228. Dressing skins for market, 272. " Home use, 276. Dried fish, 237. Dried venison, 237. Drilling, as tent material, 247. " Waterproof preparation for, 247. [Page 292] Drinking cup, portable, 231. Drying skins, 272, 273, 276. Ducks, various species of, 239. As food, 239. To cook deliciously, 233. DUCK TRAPS, 94, 95. "DUG-OUT," THE, hints on, 226. Detailed directions for making, 259. E Eels, oil prepared from, 151. Elk.--See Moose. "Ephraim."--See Bear. Escaping from the mosquitoes, 255. Exports of furs, 281, 285. Extemporized frying pan, 232. "Toaster," 233. Extract of beef, Liebig's, 236. Extravagance in fur apparel, 279. F False bottom traps, 127, 131, 133. Fashion and fur, 279, 283, 285. FEATHERED GAME, TRAPS FOR, 65. Felt, use of rabbit-fur in making, 286. FENNEL, OIL OF, used in trapping, 152. FENUGREEK, OIL OF, used in trapping, 152. FIGURE FOUR SNARE, 61. FIGURE FOUR TRAP, 107. " Used with Dead-Fall, 114. Finger, as a weather vane, 217. Fire, to build, 227. " To light without matches, 234. " With powder and cap, 234. " Without "anything," 235. Fire arms, 227. " Oil for, 227. Fire bottle, 241. Fire Hat for night hunting, 218. Fire-proof preparations for tents, 247. Fish, to bake, 232. To dry, 237. To fry, 233. FISHER MARTEN.-- How to trap the animal, 194. Its nature and habits, 194. Its common mode of release from capture, 144. Method of skinning, 195. Use of skin, 285. Value of skin, 284. FISH-HOOK, trap for ducks, 95. Fishing, hints on, 239. At night, 239. Through the ice, 240. Various baits, 240. With tip-up. 240. For pickerel, 240. Fishing tackle, 227, 240, 241. Fish lantern, 241. FISH OIL, used in the art of trapping, 151. How obtained, 151. Fish, scent baits for, 240. Spearing, 239. Fish traps, 120, 241. Flat bottomed boats, 264, 267. Flat bottomed sled.--See Toboggan Flat stone, as a frying pan, 232. Flower, converted into a trap, 99. Fly, black.--See "Punkey." FLY-PAPER, to make, 136. Fly Tent, the, 246. Fly traps, 136. Food, portable, 230. FOOD AND COOKING UTENSILS, 230. "FOOLS' CAP" TRAP FOR CROWS, 96. Forks, 235. Fortunes founded on peltry, 281. FOWLING NET, the, 70. Fox.-- Nature and habits of, 154. Trapping the, 154. Trapped by a dead-fall, 111, 113. Varieties of, 154. Directions for skinning, 158.--See also Red and Silver Fox. "Fox fire," used in capture of deer, 218. Fritters, pork, to cook, 231. Frying pan, 231, 235. " An extemporized, 232. Fur Market, eccentricities of, 283. Furs, ancient uses of, 278. Annual yield throughout the world, 281. Furs, best season for, 147. "Home," 281. Sale of, by Hudson's Bay Company, 281. "Shipping," 281. Table of market values, 282. Fur skins, to cure for market, 272. To tan, 276. Hints on selling for profit, 283. Various uses of, 285. FUR TRADE, OBSERVATIONS ON, 278. Immensity of, 281. G Game, protected from wolves, 237. GAROTTE TRAP, 114. Gloves to be used in trapping, 149. Glutton.--See Wolverine. [Page 293] Gnats, 230, 256. Painful effects of their bites, 256. Remedies for their bites, 255. Driven away by the "Smudge," 230. Gnat, black.--See "Punkey." Goose trap, 75. GOPHER.-- Nature and habits of, 205. Trapping the, 205. Traps for, 119, 120, 40. Directions for skinning, 206. Grappling iron, the, 146. Grease for boots and shoes, 228. "Great Bear Tamer," the, 142. GRIZZLY BEAR.-- Nature and habits of, 169. Trapping the, 169. Traps for, 17, 142. Use of fur, 285. Ground plan of trapping lines, 228. Ground, selection for trapping, 225, GROUND SNARES, 44. Grouse, as food, 233, 238. Bait for, 42. Oil of, for fire arms, 227. Peculiarities of, 42. Snares for, 39. To cook deliciously, 233. Various species of, 238. GUN TRAP, 20. H Hair Nooses, 41. Half tent, 246. Hammocks, 250, Hammock bed, 249. Handling steel traps, caution in, 149. Hanging bed, 249. Hare.--See Rabbit. HARPOON TRAP of Africa, 26. Hat Brim, portable, 258. Netting attachment for, 258. Hat lantern for night hunting, 218. Hawk snare, 43. HAWK TRAP, 93. Head lantern used in deer hunting, 218. HEAD NET, 257. HEDGE NOOSES, 41. Hemlock bark canoes, 264. Hemlock boughs, as bedding, 250. Hemp, used in caulking boats, 261, 266. "Hiding" steel traps, 229. High top boots, 228. Hints on baiting the steel trap, 143. Hints on selection of trapping ground, 225. Hints on skinning animals, 272. Hints on trapping, 148. Hints on plans of trapping lines, 228. Hints on sale of furs, 283. Hippopotamus trap, 26. Historical items relating to furs and the fur trade, 278. Hoe cake, to cook, 232. Hogs carried off by bears, 170. Hog's liver used as fish bait, 240. "Home Furs," 281. HOME-MADE BOAT, 264. Honey as bait, 19, 31, 170. Hook trap for ducks, 95. Hopo, African trap, 34. Hoop nooses, 40. HOOP STRETCHER for skins, 275. Horse hair nooses, to make, 41. Hot drink for chills, 257. HOUSEHOLD TRAPS, 125. House Tent, 247. How to select a steel trap, 138. HOW TO TRAP, 153. Hudson Bay Company, origin of, 280. Sales of, 281, 282. Humming bird, killed by concussion, 99. " Snare, 99. " Trap, 99. " Various modes of capture, 99. Hunting the deer, 217. Hunting from trees, 218. HUT, LOG.--See Log Shanty. I Implements required on a trapping campaign, 227. Improved springle, 60. INDIAN CANOE.--See BIRCH BARK CANOE. Indian meal, as food, 231. INDIAN SLEDGE.--See Toboggan. INDIAN SNOW SHOE, 268. India-rubber blanket, 236. How used, 250. INSECT OINTMENTS, 255. Insect bites, remedies for, 255. " Sores resulting from, 257. Insects, to drive out from tent or shanty, 230, 256. Intemperance, 257. J Jack knife, a valuable tool, 227. Jar, as a trap, 135. [Page 294] Jar, air-tight, for butter, 236. "Jerked Venison," 231. JOHN JACOB ASTOR, and the fur trade, 281. Johnny cake, to cook, 232. K Kettle, camp, 235. Knapsack, 234. Directions for making, 236. Knife, a necessary implement, 227. Knife, the combination camp, 235. Knives, table, 235. L Lake trout, fishing for, 240. To cook deliciously, 232. Lantern for the head, used by deer hunters, 218. Lantern used by bird catchers, 71. Lantern trap for fish, 241. Large game, traps for, 17. LAVENDER, used in the art of trapping, 152. Leather preservative, 228. "Le Chat."--See Lynx. Lemonade, 236. Lens, to light fire with, 234. Lever for setting large steel traps, 142. Liebig's extract of beef, 236. Light, the trapper's, 227. Light for the head in night hunting, 218. Light home-made boat, 264. Lime, chloride of, as a disinfectant, 152. Liniment for wounds and bruises, 255. " Insect bites, 255. Linseed oil, used as bird lime, 98. Lion, American.--See Puma. LIST OF PRICES OF AMBRICAN FURS, 284. Liver, as fish bait, 240. LOG CABIN.--See Log Shanty. Log Canoe.--See Dug-Out. LOG COOP TRAP, 33. LOG SHANTY, hints on, 226, 229. Detailed directions for building, 244. Site for building, 244, 287. To clear of gnats and mosquitoes, 230. Lucifer Matches.--See Matches. "Luxuries," 234. LYNX, THE CANADIAN, 164. Natural characteristics of, 164. Trapping the, 164. Traps for, 17, 20, 23, 29, 33, 35, 141. LYNX.-- Directions for skinning, 166. Use of skin, 285. Value of skin, 284. M Mackinaw and the Fur Trade, 281. Mallard Duck as food, 239. " to Cook.--See Duck. MARKET VALUE OF FUR SKINS, 281. Marmot.--See Woodchuck. MARTEN:-- Nature and habits of, 192. Trapping the, 192. Its common mode of escape, 144. Directions for removing skin, 194. How to tan the Skin, 277. Value and use of skin, 284, 285. Mastic Varnish used in water-proofing, 234. MATCHES, 227. Bottle used for carrying, 234. To render water-proof, 234. Meal, Indian, as food, 231. Meat, to dry, 237. "MEDICINES," OR SCENT BAITS, 149. Menagerie Whistle, 74. Merganser, the, as food, 239, To cook.--See Duck. MIDGETS, 256. Painful effect of their bites, 256. Driven away by the "Smudge," 230. Ointments for bites, 255. Serious effects of bites on the intemperate, 257. MINK:-- Nature and habits of, 189. Trapping the, 189. Traps for, 43, 141. Its common mode of escape from the steel trap, 144. Directions for skinning, 191. To tan skin of, 277. Extensive use of skins in America, 281. Uses of skin, 285. Value of skin, 284. MISCELLANEOUS hints on trapping, 148. MISCELLANY, the Trapper's, 255, MISCELLANEOUS TRAPS, 103. MOLE, 207. Beauty of fur, 209, 211. Life and habits of, 207. Trapping the, 119, 210. Traps for, 119, 120, 140. Varieties of, 211. Directions for skinning.--See Gopher. Use of fur, 286. [Page 295] Montreal and the Fur Trade, 281. MOOSE:-- Nature and habits of, 219. Trapping the, 220. "Yards," 220. Flesh as food, 220, 223, 238. How to skin the animal, 220. Moose meat, to roast, 233. " Meat to dry, 237. MOSQUITOES, 230. Painful effects of their bites, 257. Ointments for bites, 255. Driven away by the "Smudge," 230. Adirondack experiences with, 255, 256. Head-net, 257. Serious effects of bites on the intemperate, 257. Mouse Traps, 124, 130, 131, 134, 135. Mud Stick or Pusher, 267. Mush, to boil, 232. to fry, 232. MUSK:-- Its use in the art of trapping, 151. How obtained, 151. MUSKRAT:-- Nature and habits of, 182. Pit-fall Trap for, 133. Spearing the, 183. Trapping the, 182. Traps for, 43, 107, 110, 111, 114, 133, 141. Its common mode of release, 144. Extensive use of skins in America, 281. Skin, to remove, 185. To tan, 277. Use of, 286. Value of, 284. Muscovy Duck as food, 239. To cook.--See Duck. Musquaw.--See Bear. N Natural Advantages utilized by the Trapper, 149. Natural History. Necessity of its study in the art of Trapping, 148. Neatsfoot Oil for Fire Arms, 227. NET:-- " Bat fowling, 70. " Bird catching, 70. " Clap, 72. " Decoy, 72. " Fish, use of, 241. Net for the head, 257. " Fowling, 70. Net traps, 70, 73, 75, 80, 83, 85. For Tiger, Puma, or Wild Cat, 35. Spring, 80. The upright, 85. Wild Duck, 94. Wild Goose, 175. Netting attachment for Hat brim, 258. NEWHOUSE TRAP, THE, 138. Night-hunting, 217, 218. Night-fishing, 239. Nooses:-- Horse hair, 41. In hedge, 42. On hoops, 40. On string, 40. NOOSE TRAPS, 39. Nooses, wire, 41. Northwest Fur Company, 280. Nutting in Mid-winter, 212. O Oar-locks, simple, 266. Oat-meal as food, 236. OBSERVATIONS ON THE HISTORY OF FURS AND THE FUR TRADE, 278. Oil, Fish.-- Used in trapping, 151. How obtained, 151. Oil of Amber.-- Used in the art of trapping, 152. Oil of Ambergris.-- Used in the art of trapping, 152. Oil of Anise:-- Its use in the art of trapping, 152. Oil of Cinnamon:-- Its use in the art of trapping, 152. Oil of Fennel:-- Its use in the art of trapping, 152. Oil of Fenugreek:-- Its use in the art of trapping, 152. Oil of Lavender:-- Its use in the art of trapping, 152. Oil of Rhodium:-- Its use by trappers, 151. Oil of Skunk:-- Its use by trappers, 151. Oil:-- For fire arms, 227. For light, 227. Oil of Partridge:-- Its use, 227. Oil of Pennyroyal:-- For insect bite, 255. [Page 296] Ointment for Bruises and Wounds, 255. OINTMENT FOR INSECT BITES, 255. OLD-FASHIONED SPRINGLE, 58. Olive Oil in cooking, 236. OPOSSUM, 201. Nature and habits of, 202. Trapping the, 201. Hunting the, 202. Directions for skinning, 203. Uses of skin, 286. Value of skin, 284. OTTER:-- Nature and habits of, 202. Trapping the, 186. Directions for skinning, 189. How to tan the skin, 277. Use of skin, 286. Value of skin, 284. OWL TRAP, 88. Owl:-- Used in connection with bird lime as decoy, 98. P Paint as a water-proof covering, 236. Painter, the.--See Puma. Panther, the.--See Puma. Paper Cone used as a trap, 96. Partridge, 42, 238. As food, 238. Fat for fire arms, 227. Snares, 39, etc. To cook deliciously, 233. Peltry:-- Fortunes founded on, 281. Cities built up on, 281. PENDENT BOX, BIRD TRAP, 91. Pennyroyal for insect bites, 255. Pepper Tea as a remedy, 257. Percussion Cap used in lighting lire, 234. Peshoo, the.--See Lynx. Phosphorescent wood used in night-hunting, 218. Phosphorus lantern for catching fish, 241. Pickerel fishing, 240. " Spearing, 241. " Trap for, 121. " To cook, 233. Pigeon Net-trap, 72. Pigs carried off by Bears, 170. Pine Log Canoe.--See Dug-out. Pinnated Grouse, 238. Pitch for stopping leaks, 261, 264, 266. PIT-FALL TRAPS.-- For large game, 31. For small game, 125, 127, 131. Barrel, 127. Box, 131. For Muskrat, 133. PLAN OF TRAPPING CAMPAIGN, 225. Plates, substitutes for, 232, 235. Platform snare. 61. Poachers, or trap robbers, 229. POACHER'S SNARE, 48. Pocket compass, 227. POCKET HAT BRIM, 258. " Sun-glass, 234. Poisoned arrows, 26. POISONING, 222. Pop-corn as bait for Quail, 54. Portable boats, 259. Portable food & cooking utensils, 230, 235. Portable drinking cup, 231. Hat brim, 258. " With netting attached, 258. Snares, 50, 52. Stove, 228, 235. Pork as food, 231. " Fritters, 251. " " To make, 232. "Possum."--See Opossum. Potatoes as food, 235. Pouched Rat.--See Gopher. Powder used in lighting fire, 234. Prairie Hen, 238. Prairie Whistle, 74. Precautions in handling steel traps, 156. PREFACE, 3. Preparation of skins for market, 272. Preserve jar used as trap, 135. Price Current of American Furs, 284. Prime fur, best season for, 147. Prof. Blot outdone in cooking, 232. Profit in selling furs, 233. PRONGHORN Antelope, 221. Nature and habits of, 221. How hunted and trapped, 221, 238. Provisions, to protect from Wolves, 237. Ptarmigan, to cook, 233. Trap for, 75. How hunted and trapped, 239. Various species of, 230. PUMA:-- Bait for, 20, 31, 32, 163. Nature and habits of, 161. Peculiarities of, 20. Traps for, 17, 20, 23, 29, 31, 33, 141. Trapping the, 161. Directions for skinning, 164. Use of skin, 286. Value of skin, 284. Pumice Stone, used in finishing skins, 276. "PUNKEY."-- Description of the Insect, 256. Severity of bites, 256. Ointment for bites, 255. Serious effects of bites on the intemperate, 257. [Page 297] Punk Tinder, used in lighting fire, 234. "Pusher."--See Mud stick. Putty, for stopping leaks, 261. Q Quail, bait for, 40, 54. " Snares, 39, 40, 41, etc. To cook deliciously, 233. Quotations of the Fur Market, 284. R RABBIT:-- As food, 238. Bait for, 203. How to skin, 204. Nature and habits of, 203. Salt as bait for, 109, Traps for, 43, 64, 103. Use of fur, 286. Value of fur, 284. Varieties of, 203. RACCOON:-- As a pet, 173. Nature and habits of, 172. Trapping the, 172. Traps for, 110, 116, 141. Hunting the, 172. Directions for skinning, 175. How to tan the skin, 277. Use of the fur, 285. Value of the fur, 284. Rat:-- Snares for, 43. Trapping the, 125. Traps for, 43, 125, 127, 128, 131, 138. Rations for a Campaign, 230. Raw Furs.--See Furs. Recipe for insect ointments, 255. Boot grease, 228. For cooking, 230. For curing skins, 272. For tanning skins, 276. Red Fox.--See Fox. Red Fox.-- Value of skin, 284. Use of skin, 285. Red Pepper Tea as a remedy, 257. Red Squirrel.--See Squirrel. Remedies for insect bites, 255. For chills, 257. Requisites of a good steel trap, 138. " For snaring, 39. " For a good trapping ground, 225. " For a trapping campaign, 227. Revolver, 227. Reynard outwitted by a dead-fall, 111, 113. RHODIUM, Oil of:-- Its use by the trapper, 151. Rice as food, 236. Rifle and Shot Gun combined, 227. Oil for, 227. RIFLE TRAP, 20. Roasting, recipes for, 233. Rocky Mountain Sheep.--See Big Horn. "Roughing it," 230. Rubber blanket, 236. How used, 250. Ruffed Grouse.--See Partridge. Rum on a trapping campaign, 257. S Sage Cock, the, 238. Sale of furs by the Hudson's Bay Company, 282. Salmon, spearing, 239. " Spear, 239. Salmon Trout, spearing, 239. Salmon, to cook deliciously, 232. Salt as bait for Deer, 218. As bait for Rabbit, 109. Salt Lick, the, 218. Sandpaper used in softening skins, 276. Salt Pork as food, 231. SCENT BAITS, 149. " Compound, 150, 153. Scented baits for birds, 240. Scented baits for fish, 240. Season for Deer hunting, 218. Scow, 267. Season for trapping, 147. Selection of trapping ground, 225. Self-amputation as a means of escape with captured animals, 144. Self-amputation, to prevent, 144, 145. Self-raising flour, 235. SELF-SETTING TRAPS, 110, 125, 127, 131. SHANTY:-- Bark.--See Bark Shanty. "Home."--See Log Shanty. Log.--See Log Shanty. Sheeting as tent material, 247. Water-proof, preparation for, 247. Shellac Varnish used in water-proofing, 234. SHELTER:--The trapper's remarks on, 226. Shelter tent, 247. Details of construction, 242. Shingle stretchers for skins, 274. [Page 298] "Shipping furs," 281. SHOOTING AND POISONING, 222. Shot-gun Trap, 20. Shot-gun combined with rifle, 267. Shoulder basket, 234, 226. SIEVE TRAP, 65. Silver Fox, 154. Value of skin, 284, 285. Skinning animals, hints on, 272. Skins:-- Stretchers for, 273. To dry, 272, 276. To soften, 276, 277. To tan, 276. Value of, 284. Use of, 285. SKUNK, 195. Adventure with, 196. As food, 238. Nature and habits of, 195. Trapping the, 195. Traps for, 43, 111, 114, 141. To eradicate odor of, 152, 198. Oil of, used in trapping, 151. Directions for skinning, 198. Use of skin, 286. Value of skin, 284. Sled, Indian.--See Toboggan. SLIDING POLE, 145. Slippery Elm used for bird-lime, 98. "Small Game" as food, 237. Smell, acute sense of, in animals, 148. Smoking the steel trap, 128. Smouldering birch bark to drive away insects, 230. Smudge, the, 230, 256. SNARE.-- Box, 55. Double box, 56. Fig. Four, 62. Hawk, 43. Hedge, 42. Hoop, 40. Humming-bird, 99. Knotted string, 52, 53, 54. Pasteboard box, 56. Platform, 61. Poacher's, 48. Portable, 48, 50, 52. Quail, 53. Rat, 43. "Simplest," 52. Springle, 58, 60. Stovepipe, 120. Tree, 42. Triangle, 42. Twitchup, 43. Wood Chuck, 43. SNARES, OR NOOSE TRAPS, 37. Snaring, requisites for, 39. Snow Grouse, the, 238. SNOW-SHOES, 267. Snow-shoe race, 267. Softening skins, 276, 277. Sores resulting from insect bites, 257. Soups, recipes for, 236. Spearing fish, 239, 241. Spearing Muskrats, 183. Spider for cooking, 233. Spoons, 235. Spring-bed, 249. SPRINGLE, 58, 60. Spring-net Traps, 80. Spring-pole, the, 144. Spring, to temper, 84. Spruce Bark Canoes, 264. Spruce boughs as bedding, 250. Spruce Grouse, 238. SQUIRRELS, 211. As food, 238. Nature and habits of, 211. Traps for, 43, 103, 106, 107, 110, 116, 128, 140. Various species of, 213. To cook, 233. Use of skins, 286. STEEL TRAPS, 137. Caution in handling, 149. Concealing in the woods, 229, Various modes of setting, 144. Requisite number for a campaign, 227. To set for rats, 128. To select judiciously, 138. Requisites of, 138. Hints on baiting, 143. Steel Trap spring, to set with lever, 142. STEEL TRAPS AND THE ART OF TRAPPING, 137. Still hunting, 217. Stimulants, 257. Stone Dead-fall, 29. Storing traps in the woods, 229. Stove, portable, 228, 235. Stovepipe fish-trap, 120. St. Paul, Minn., and the Fur Trade, 281. STRETCHERS FOR SKINS, 273. Strychnine poisoning, 222. Sucker wire nooses, 41. Sugar of lead used in water-proofing, 247. Sun-glass, 234, 235, Sweet Cicely as bait for fish, 240. SWEET FENNEL.-- Oil used in trapping, 152, Sweet Oil and Tar Ointment for insect bites, 255. Swinging bed, 249. [Page 299] T Table knife and bowl trap, 135. Table showing sale of furs by Hudson Bay Company, 282. Tallow, mutton, as ointment, 255. Tame Geese as decoys, 75. TANNING SKINS, 276. Mixtures, 276, 277, 278. With the hair on, 276. Simple, 278. Tar and Sweet Oil ointment for insect bites, 255. Tar for water-proofing, 264. Tea, 236. " Red pepper, as a remedy, 257. Teal Ducks as food, 239. To cook.--See Duck. "Telescope" Drinking Cup, 231. Tempering iron spring, 84. TENTS, 246. House-tent, 246. Fly-tent, 247. Half-tent, 247. Shelter-tent, 247. Materials, 247. Water-proof preparation for, 247. Fire-proof preparation for, 247. To carpet with spruce, 250. To clear of gnats and musquitoes, 230. TENT CARPETING, 250. Thimble used with bowl as Mouse trap, 136. Tiger captured with bird lime, 35. Tiger trap, 31. Tinder, 234. Tip-ups, 240. Toaster, an extemporized, 233. TOBOGGAN, OR INDIAN SLEDGE, 269. Tools required on a trapping campaign, 227. Tools required for canoe building, 259. Torch for the head, used in night hunting, 218. "Touch-wood " used in lighting fire, 234. Trail. The.-- Its value to the trapper, 153. Various modes of making, 153. TRAP.-- Arrow, 23, 25. Barrel. 125, 127. Bird, 65, 70, 73, 75, 88, 90, 91, 96. Bow, 23, 25, 116. Bowl, 135. Box, 55, 56, 88, 90, 91, 103, 106, 109, 110. Brick, 66. Cage, 76, 134. Cob house, 67. Coon, 110, 116, 141. Coop, 33, 67, 70. Crow, 96. Dead-fall, 17, 107, 111. Decoy, 72, 76, 94. Double ender, 109. Down-fall, 26. Duck, 94, 95. Fish, 120. Fish hook, 95. Fly, 136. Fool's-cap, 96. Garotte, 114. Gun, 20. Harpoon, 26. Hawk, 42, 93. Hook, 95. Jar, 135. Mole, 119, 120. Mouse, 130, 131, 134, 135. Net, 70, 73, 75, 80, 83, 85. Owl, 88. Partridge, 43, etc. Pendent Box, 91. Pitfall, 11, 125, 127, 131. Ptarmigan, 75. Quail, 39, 40, 41, 53. Rabbit, 43, 64, 103. Rat, 43, 125, 127, 128, 131, 138. Rifle, 20. Self-setting, 110, 125, 127, 131. Sieve, 65. Spring net, 80, 83, 85. Steel, 140. The "Newhouse," 140. Tree, 42, 91. Upright net, 85. Wild Duck, 94, 95. Wild Goose, 75. Woodchuck, 43. Trapper's beds and bedding, 248. " Cooking utensils, 230. " Diet, 230. TRAPPER'S MISCELLANY, 255. " Shelter, 226, 242. " Sled.--See Toboggan. TRAPPING, art of, 148. Season for, 147. Miscellaneous hints on, 148. Campaign, plan of, 225. Tools and other requisites, 227. Ground, selection of, 225. Valuable suggestions on, 228. Trapping Lines, 226. Trap robbers, 220. Traps for large game, 17. [Page 300] FOR FEATHERED GAME, 65. HOUSEHOLD, 125. Tree hunting, 218. Tree snare, 42. " Traps, 42, 91. TRIANGLE SNARE, 42. Trout, to cook deliciously, 232. Trumpet Creeper flower used as a trap, 99. Tumbler fly-trap, 136. Twitch-up, 43, 62. Poacher's, 48. Portable, 50. "Simplest," 52. U UPRIGHT NET TRAP, 85. " Snares 44, 58. Use and abuse of Alcohol, 257. Uses of fur skins, 285. Utensils for cooking, 230, 235. V Value of fur skins, table of, 262. Various uses of fur skins, 285. Varnish water-proof preparation for preserving matches, 234. Vegetables for food on a campaign, 235. " Canned, 236. Venison as food, 233, 237. To roast, 233. To preserve, 237. "Jerked," 237. Dried, 237. W Walking on the snow, 267. War in the fur trade, 281. Watch crystal as sun glass, 287. Water fowl as food, 239. Water-proof application for boats, 261, 264, 266. " Canvas bags, for food, 236. Match safe, 234. " Preparation, 236, 247, 266. " Varnish for matches, 234. Water traps, 110, 120. Wedge stretcher for skins, 274. Weighted harpoon trap, 26. Wheaten grits as trappers' food, 236. Wheat flour as food, 235. " Self-raising, 235. Wheel form of trapping lines, 229. Whiskey on a trapping campaign, 257. Whip lashes from Woodchuck hide, 204. Whistlebird, 74. White Birch Canoe, 261. White-wood log for Dug-out, 259. Widgeon, the, as food, 239. To cook.--See Duck. WILD CAT:-- Nature and habits of, 167. Snares for, 43. Trapping the, 166. Skinning the, 168. Uses of skin, 286. Value of skin, 284. Wild Duck, to cook, 233. Wild Duck, traps, 94, 95. Wild Goose as food, 239. Wild Goose to cook, 233. Wild Goose trap, 75. Wind, direction of, to detect by the finger, 217. Winged vermin, 255. Winter fishing, 240. Wire cage trap for birds, 76. " " For mice, 134. Wire nooses, 41. WOLF.-- Nature and habits of, 158. Trapping the, 158. Poisoning the, 222. Traps for, 20, 141. To protect provisions from, 237. Varieties of, 158. Directions for skinning, 161. Use of skin, 286. Value of skin, 284. WOLVERINE:-- Nature and habits of, 199, 238. Trapping the, 199. Natural enemy to the Beaver, 200. Directions for skinning, 201. Use of skin, 286. Value of skin, 284. WOODCHUCK, 204. As food, 238. Nature and habits of, 204. Snare, 205. Trapping the, 204. Use of skin, 204. Smoked from its burrow, 205. Removing skin of, 205. Woodcock, to cook, 233. Wood Duck as food, 239. To cook.--See Duck. Woodland beds and bedding, 249. Wounds, ointment for, 255. 
26615	----	Transcriber's Note The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully preserved. Only obvious typographical errors have been corrected. BLACK BEAVER THE TRAPPER The Only Book Ever Written by a Trapper TWENTY-TWO YEARS WITH BLACK BEAVER LEWIS AND CLARK A HUNDRED YEARS LATER _FROM THE AMAZON_ _TO THE MACKENZIE RIVERS_ COPYRIGHTED BY GEO. EDWARD LEWIS. YEAR 1911. [Illustration: "THE FOUNDERS OF THE FIRST ARCTIC ALASKAN EDUCATIONAL EXHIBITION."] [Illustration: BLACK BEAVER AS ARCTIC JIM AT CAMP NEAR MT. McKINLEY] THE AUTHOR'S EXCUSE. I am both sorry and glad to inform my readers--that I can neither read nor write. It would seem absurd for a blind man to study the stars, Or for a deaf man to study music; so it might seem to you absurd for a man who cannot write to write a book. But I have an excuse for writing these events. The President of Mexico; and the Governor of Alaska together with several hundreds between, equally as popular have urged me to write my history. I am sorry I cannot write this with my own fingers but I have a substitute in my old back-woods chum--The Kidd. Who by the way--neither writes very flourishing, because he like myself has done the most of his writing with his six-shooter; because you know this a more expressive way of talking and a more impressive way of writing. I have a brother who is a real educated gentleman, he tried to dissuade me from publishing my history because I think he is afraid he will be outshone by literary merit. I have no ambition to outshine him, nor William Shakespere nor any other erudite. I have a very limited vocabulary, and since swearing and smoking are not allowed in print, I shall have to loose the biggest half of that. I shall omit foreign language, I could assault you with Mex--or Siwash but I fear you could not survive the battery. So I shall confine myself to simple speech, such as I have used in all lands. From Gotch my bronco to Arctic my dog. It has served me since I was six summers old It served me amid the bells of Peru and then afar amid the Agate Eyed squaws of The Kuskokwim; and this ought to be a good excuse.--Yours truly J.C. LEWIS. INTRODUCTORY. I have undertaken the arduous task of rewriting that which was never written. My charge was "fix it up but do not change it." These words were hurled at me one morning at four o'clock in the month of April, as my big brother boarded the Overland Limited bound for the Iditarod Alaska. He had in that far-away region five-hundred skins in cache which he had taken from the backs of the costiliest animals that ran in northland world. In various parts of Alaska Black Beaver had treasures which he was now intent upon gathering to fit up an outfit to be known as "The Arctic Alaskan Educational Exhibition" Perhaps no other man in this country can tell such amusing and beneficial stories about travels, fatigue and furs As the Author of this book. This was the creative force which suggested the organization of this party. Black Beaver has traveled as no other man ever traveled in Alaska, four times in as many years he crossed the entire country by dog-team in a diagonal way from Dawson to Point Barrow and from Gnome to The mouth of the Mackinzie river. Being able to speak several indian dialects, he was able converse with Siwash, Mucklock, Malimouth and other types getting the most valuable kind of information. You have never read a book written by a trapper. Usually some smooth gent makes up a romance and puts them in other mouths--but this is not true of this book. It is a true experience of the life and labors of the Author. Respectfully submitted Sept 1911. GEO. EDWARD LEWIS. BLACK BEAVER THE TRAPPER. At the age of four years I began to pick up arms against small birds and animals. At the age of five I began to trap around my father's corn-shocks. When I reached my sixth year my father bought me a dog and he was my constant companion for many years. At the age of five years I began to make Bows and arrows, and cross guns, likewise sling shots. My first experience was with by bros, George and Lee in killing a woodchuck. And from this time my adventures began to multiply. All kinds of small animals fell before my accurate aim. My adventursome father had crossed the great plains as early as 1846. He was thrilled to the core with the bold and desperate experiences of the wild western world. On his way he met and formed the acquaintance Of several of the noted trappers and explorers, as well as the acquaintance of the most daring and dangerous savages that ever rode the arena of the Great American Desert. My chief joy from in fancy was to have my father tell me his dangerous travels and exploits in the early west. I was continually begging my older brother to read about Kit Carson Daniel Boone and other pioneers. At the age of seven years I took a notion that I wanted a gun. Bows and arrows, cross-bows sling-shots knives and hatchets were too tame for me. I sought an occasion when my father was away, to get from my mother the needed information, how to load and discharge a gun. One day when all were away I stole my fathers gun. It was a double barreled muzzle loader, one barrel shot and the other rifle. I had quite an experience--I saw a partridge just as I entered the woods budding in the top of an old birch tree. I leveled the gun up against an old ash tree and fired I had never before fired a gun, I held it rather loosely aginst my shoulder and the recoil lamed my arm and bloodeyed my pug noose. But this was soon forgotten when I saw I had plugged my meat. In haste I began to load to prepare for another bird--I seized The patch put mr ball on the patch took mr ramrod and rammed home the ball alas! just as I was pounding her home I remembered I had forgotten something quite necessary in loading a gun--it was the powder. I was in a terrorable fix then--I first thought I would hasten home put up the gun and let father get out of the fix the best he could. But after taking a second thought I concluded that I would not be a whit behind the Father of his country--but while I had stolen I could not tell a lie--so I repeated the reckless boy's adage--Scolding don't hurt you whipping don't last long killing they dare not"--After considering the whole predicament--I concluded that I rather have a flogging than deny my pluck and luck by killing my game. So I related to father my deed; he simply laughed and took the gun in the back yard pricked some fine powder in the tube--put on a cap and shot the ball out slick and easy. The winter of my sixth year I had planed on trapping small fur bearing game--but my parents had planned on me going to school. So they bought me some books and the first of October I was drilled off to school. I soon got into trouble at school and the third day traded off my books for an old gun. the next day I started for school as usual, but after I was over the hill I turned from the path of duty and education for the adventurous path of hunting and trapping. I would go to the place I had hidden my gun the night before and go into the woods and spend the day returning as school let out. I worked this for about three weeks without being discovered. I had an older brother who suspected me and finally he found me in the woods, took my gun from me and broke it around a tree--he did this because the gun was unsafe it was all tied up with wire and strings to bind the barrel to the stock--my first gun was a bloomer. The following fall I killed my first coon. My brother Lee who is two years older than myself and I were shooting at a mark in the wood-shed one rainy fall day, and lo and behold to our surprise a coon came walking in on us--instantly we flew at the fellow, I, with an ax he with a club--the coon lasted about two seconds--the yells and disturbance brought my father and brother to the scene, I was declaring that I had killed it and my Brother Lee was making the same statements both of us were talking at the limit of lung power--when my brother who was older discovered that there was a ribbon around the coons neck and a gold ring attached showing us this he said "this is a pet coon." At once we reversed our arguments each declaring that we did not kill the coon. The beginning of my eight year I coaxed father to allow me to spend the winter trapping with a man named Walker on the head waters of the Manistee river. finally he consented and I was the happiest boy on earth. Hastily I made my toilet for the winter and set out on snow shoes the middle of November. After several days of brisk and difficult walking we reached Wild goose creek. Here we made a camp and began to set traps. I had no gun for it was intended that I was to cook and skin game. This proved to be my first experience with larger game. Five days after we struck camp we caught a black bear in a deadfall. It was here at wild goose creek that I first began running trap lines under an old rocky mountain trapper. And here where I also learned to skin, bait traps, make dead falls and cut and sew up my own clothes, make snow shoes and paddle canoes, build camps and learn the various tricks of indians and trappers, also how to doctor myself when sick and to avoid the dangers of the wilderness. All too soon the mid-winter came and there being no high line game to trap The trapper made up his mind to move homeward. On the sixteenth day of January we began our march for a town called South Boardman. We had to pack about thirty pounds apiece it was thirty five miles to our destination. The first night we camped in the snow the next evening a half hour after dark we reached town; here we took a train for home and reached it about mid-night. My father divided the fur taking my share for his pay. The balance of the winter I hunted and trapped near home--and when spring came I hunted ginseng and later picked huckle berries meanwhile I learned to speak the Chippewa language. I sold my gingseng and berries for more money than my father knew of and bought a good gun and two revolvers together with considerable amunition. This year I was in the Company of my Brother Lee and to-gether we practiced with guns and revolvers till we thought we were the best shots in the Co. Our rapid firing often aroused the settlers, and they began to talk about us saying "we were growing up to be outlaws." This greatly pleased us. Just befor I was nine years old my folks got it into their heads to send me to school agin, thinking I might be Henry Clay or Govener Mud or some other larkie--as usual I raked up a row and the teacher had us expelled for carrying six shooters in our dinner pails. When we came home that day my father and mother held a long council over us and finally called us in and father said--"I have tried to make something out of you but you will never be anything but a blockheads--and I might as well make good indians out of you as poor ones." so he allowed us to use our guns smoke and chew rag-weed to our hearts content. My next experience was with two of the best trappers that ever bent steel in Michigan. Solitary Parson and Frank Johnson. We were out three months and made good hauls, they gave me one fourth of the fur, which was a neat sum. I then spent several weeks at target practice, my daily stunt was splitting bullets on the bit of an ax forty feet away. I soon became the crack rifle shot in the country. One evening I tied two hills of corn together while father was milking and when father started for the house his toe taught in the loup up in the air went the milk down on the ground came Father with about twelve quarts of milk running down his back. This was enough for father he had ben out of patience with me many times: but now this act provoked him so he ordered me away from home. I had few clothes and no satched. I was the baby of the family, yet not A very delicate sample of a baby. I had the fire burning for adventure in my young bosom, I bade my mother good bye as I went to bed, she never knew how long it would be till she kissed to sleep those black marbles, as she used to call my eyes; I arose at about one oclock in the morning and roused up my brother picked up our kit and set out for the Twin bridges of the Boardman fifteen miles away. I was still in my ninth year and my brother was eleven, we camped up in the swamp nearly all summer then in the fall hunted and trapped on the Cedar river. When spring time came in we sold our furs for $200,00 and took the Train for the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We stopped at the mining districts where there were scores of Cornish Miners. There was a widow there with whom my brother lived and worked all the time for about two years. He was quite a musician this widow bought him a high grade Stewart Banjo and then she fell in love first with his playing and then with his banjo and lastly of all with him. Love stole my partner. I have had many but none like Lone Lee The Mountain Musician. After loosing my Pal I began to learn to face the wilderness alone. Nero my Dog, my associate from infancy was killed by a wolf and I was left alone. When whiteman seemed to fail fate overcame me in the form of an indian. This indian was the famous Shopnegon. We trapped together on the Indian river following down into lower michigan we also trapped the dead stream, Ausable, Tobacco and into the Houghton lake country here Shopnegon christened me as Black Beaver for I had actually trapped one. this was the only Black Beaver Shopnegon had ever seen and the only one I ever saw and I have seen some. This was the winter of my tenth year I was big healthy and strong. I had never been sick except having the Pneumonia and occasionally a bad cold. Early in the spring we broke camp bid each other goodbye I loaded my pack and furs weighing about forty pounds and started for Fife Lake. I had no intention of seeing my folks but in Fife Lake was another attraction which I will come to later. I had to get home about fifty miles to cover. the way was beset with tangled forests, swollen streams, melting snows not a blaze to mark the way. I had lived on mushrat for forty days and the first day out I shot a doe, and added about ten pounds to my load, this meat was quite an improvement on rat. the evening of the third day I camped on Hopkins creek under an old hemlock tree. My dogs kept me awake nearly all night with their barks and growls, once I was awakened by a twig falling in my face, in the morning I was at once attracted by a sliding noise which I soon discovered to be a Lynx bracing to leap, I slung my gun to my shoulder and the lynx was past danger instantly, I afterward learned this Lynx had killed a boy in the neighborhood by the name of Harrison. Adding another pelt to my pack I reached Fife Lake just before Sundown and waited for dark before entering town. After dark I went straight to the home of My old friend who was not so aged as I.W.O. Clark. his mother had died meanwhile the only thing which had restrained him from joining me the year before. I did not wish to show up in Northtown so Willie sold my fur for me and we equiped ourselves for the Lewis and Clark Expedition. In august of that same year after our money was all gone but eleven cents: and I had not been seen by anybody who knew me Clark and I walked over to Kingsley ten miles away carrying our only possessions in the world, we had decided to go westward where we might hunt trap and enjoy ourselves unmolested, the evening found us waiting for a freight train which we were to take; hoping to hobo our way to Denver Colorado. Westward Bound It is a long way from Kingsley Michigan to Denver Colorado. But we covered the ground in three weeks. We took slideing door palace cars all the way, and slept nights covered with an evening news, begged handouts at back doors; and ate our meals with the widow green. I was coming eleven Clark was just past seven, two old and experienced duffers to go west for freedom. Before leaving Michigan I formed the acquaintance of Waterloo chief of the Potowatimies. He had taught me many things which were to be of great service in the west. When we arrived in Denver we were not hailed as some great individuals are but we overlooked that--(since then We have been well used in Denver) We secured a lunch took our truck and struck northward. The following day we pulled up to a farmers house by the name of Straub. He had two bears he had caught, and hired us to tame them. I guess he thought our appearance would tame a Rhinoceros. I assumed the responsibility--and gave him the threadbare recipe "No cure no pay" Together we did the job in two weeks and for our service Mr. Straub gave us some new clothes, our board and $25,00 From here we steered our way to North Platte Nebraska. I hired out to John McCoullough. to herd cattle, and sent my son Willie as I called him and have ever since--to school in North Platte. The Cow-boys of that region usually had great sport with tenderfeet; but they were great mind readers and passed me off as experienced, owing to my age and accurate shooting. That year I learned to ride a horse, in fact paid more attention to that then I did to herding cattle; but I took my pay without any remorse of conscience. The following year The Kid and I planned to go on a trapping expedition to the Rocky mountains. So as luck would have it we accidentally fell in with two hale fellows, inured to hardships, careless as the law allowed, and prime always for sport and adventure. Both of them could shoot well and ride like Mazzeppas. They also understood the plains and mountains but were tyros at trapping. We purchased four wild horses and on the first day of October started for Cola with covered wagons. This was my first experience over the plains in a real prairie schooner. We followed the south Platte to Sterling And from there we struck west and went through the Pawnee pass. Then we Took the old gun-barrel road back to Colorado. We camped one evening in Rattlesnake gulch; about midnight I heard a buzz I arose rather suddenly layed back the cover and saw within six inches of my son's face a large old diamond back rattler. It was close and short work to dispatch him but I succeeded, the report of my gun brought all hands to their feet they examined the headless reptile, and were soon again lost in slumber. after while we arrived safely at Fort Collins bought a supply of food and other necessaries and took the trail for the head waters of La-Cash-a-po-da. We reached Pan-handle creek about twenty-five miles from Log-Cabin Post Office. In due time we pitched camp and set our traps. One line of traps extended to Larmie river; And the other to the forks of the Cache LaPuche. We set for gray wolves, mountain lion, grizzley bear, mink, otter and foxes. We had good luck and made a large catch of fur and drew some large bounties. The following summer we sold off our whole kit to some trappers who went to Jackson hole, and we took our little stake of $2,122,00 and spent our summer in Chicago, Denver and St. Louis. The next winter Clark and I: for we were alone again, went to New Windsor and trapped Rat on Storms Lake. We also caught a lot of skunk and coyotes, with fair success we continued til spring and took all our fur nearly $3,000,00 worth and sold to different houses in the East. Then we bought good clothes, I managed to visit parks and ride shoot the shoots Conversed with Indians and enquired of strangers concerning good trapping grounds through the summer--while Clark studied so he could do our writing. That winter we trapped in Pine Bluffs Wyoming. For Coyotes, Rat and skunk, But we grew tired toward spring and moved To Scotts Bluff Nebraska, where we finished the winter and sold out in the spring I lounged around and got pointers and the Kid attended school as we did the year previous. Back to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan The old routine of trapping even among the great rocky mountains grew stale, so I decided that I would go back to upper Michigan locate Long Knife, and Shopnegon and trap on the Stergeon River. So Clark and I set out from North Platte in September and arrived in Gladstone after four days traveling. It so occurred that Chief Long Knife was in town and that same day we counciled on the winter work and decided to go together as Shopnegon was too old. We made a great catch of mink, marten, otter and lynx. The kid spent his winter with us enjoying every day and night, he skined cooked and made snow shoes, loaded shells and did many other odd jobs. We sold our fur in the spring and was about to leave town for Oshkosh Wisconsin. When Long Knife came to me and told me a Dr. Harris had a son who was lost in the woods. And wanted me to assist in locating the boy. I went to the Drs, home and applied for the job--the Dr. was worried very badly but said that "i was only a kid and would get lost to if I ventured out sight of town" I reassured him that I was away up in my teens and had tramped the woods for eleven years and still could keep track of myself. So with his consent I took a lunch and got what information I could and struck out alone. I followed the river bluffs up to where he had been picking wintergreen berries and then I could not tell anything about it because so many folks were looking for him. after several hours I circled around and got out of reach of all spectators then I made a bee line for upstream,--(as that is the way all lost hunters and tenderfeet go) after I had traveled about two miles I found a raveling on a briar and then I was sure I had a trail. This discovery gave me courage and I took up the labor with all the instinct of my nature. I followed his trail till pitch dark and camped under a maple tree till the gray dawn announced day--then I resumed my search; after going about four or five miles I found his hat--which had been discribed to me. this proved two things that I had the right trail and that he had lost his mind, or was what we call "Woods Mad" That after noon at about five oclock I found where he had picked berries and an hour later I came upon him sitting on a log, He started to run but I was too quick on foot for him I soon caught him and after while I reasoned with him and he consented to return home with me. I had to fight all the way back he declared I was taking him the wrong direction to reach home. When I came to town every body was surprised and delighted. His father gave me fifty dollars and the citizens bought me a handsome Colts revolver, they made a real party for me that night and Long Knife was invited and Clark sat and looked on. After we spent the summer we went back to Trout Lake after scouting around a few days I heard that a very excellent Mink Trapper was in town. I soon located him and we chummed up and planned to go to Red Lake Minnesota. This trapper was no other than the far famed Joe Whitecup. On the last day of October we reached our destination; bought a load of chuck hired two Indians to take us to the Lake London. There we built one headquarter camp, and three off-sets. The third off-set reaching to Indian creek. We found plenty of wolves, bear, lynx, sable mink, otter and beaver. Here Whitecup taught me more than I had ever dreamed about catching mink. I found out that he used a compound and that he got it by mail; but I could not hire him to tell me what it was nor where he got it I found out later; but if I had have known it sooner I would have saved me from much embarrassment and great losses of money--Be patient It cost me much to get it but I am going to tell you before I finish this book just how to get it. And how to get it very reasonable. One night while I was staying in the Indian creek off-set I was surrounded with grey wolves. they came up and even sniffed at the camp door. I shot five that night by chance shots, and had a lively shooting match most of the time. About mid-winter we broke camp it grew cold and heavy snows covered the whole country; so we went down to Duluth and sold our furs. Here I parted company with Whitecup after getting him roaring full hoping he would squeal what bait he used--but he was tight as a tick and mum as a toad. With my adopted son--so I figured; we bought tickets for Deadwood South Dakota. Here we met as we had arranged beforehand our two old Partners Terrel and Ed Scott. After a few days of rest and plan laying we determined to go back to Fort Collins again and trap where we did several winters before. We found even more game than when we first had trapped this country. We got nicely settled and things looked favorable for a charming catch we were happy and had always been lucky. But I had often been told by old Woodsman and Plainsmen and Pioneers that no man ever run long without getting into a mixup. One morning I swung into the saddle I never felt better I was full grown nearly seventeen and weighed 203. pounds. Without an ounce of superflous flesh on my whole frame with the possible exception of a pound or two of hair. I steered my bronco up the hill and started over the trap line. I had not gone far when I heard the jingleing of a trap chain; and the growl of a bear. I hastily dismounted, drew my rifle and advanced in the direction of the noise. Emerging from a clump of brush I stood face to face within forty five feet of a good old grizzley which weighed 1,400, pounds. He dropped upon his haunches and looked straight at me. I pulled my gun drew a careful aim at the only place to shoot a Grizzley between the eye and ear; fired, he fell and quivered, I thought him dead as a mummy and I set down my gun and went up took the clamps and removed the trap and just then old bruin rooled over and quick as a wink hit me a spat in the face that knocked me two or three summersaults broke in my left cheek and knocked out four teeth and cut my tongue half off. I struck the ground like a flying squirrel feet first: and after a moment of time to get my bearings I faced the music; the old dog arose and made for me like a mad bull. I quickly pulled my old sixshooter and began to pump lead into him at the rate of about an ounce a second. Bruin seemed to take his pills with comparative ease, when my shells was exhausted he was still coming--What remained for me to do--I drew my hunting knife and climbed him like a monkey on a cheese. This was foolish and dangerous for I got a bite while bruin nearly got a belly full, I cut him deeply in the lungs but he nearly with one sweep of his old paw tore out my whole inwards. he cut me deep from three inches below the chin clean down to the abdomen. He wore his nails uncomfortably long and had a great spread to his claws. I then knew something must be doing or I would be done for. I made a desperate effort to secure my gun which was loaded. bruin seemed to tumble what I was up to and pressed hard, however with but one blow in the left side and another on my hip to his credit. I caught the big gun it was a 49-90--and struck thirty two hundred pounds, I swung it around within three feet of the star in his breast pulled the trigger--and the steel capped ball bored a hole through the old hog big as an alarm clock. The fight was over, I feel with bruin I wakened five days later in a lath and plastered room with my son and both partners working over me. I was much surprised when they told me I had enjoyed the tussle five days before. I could not talk my tongue was fastened up so it might heal, I was all bandages and plaster paris I layed here seven weeks, then the boys carried me back to camp where I gave orders and gradually recuperated. I never recovered from the blow on my hip it will bother me till the end. However there is no great loss without some small gain--this lame spot always serves me as a borometer. I also received another benefit I had some silver deposited in my face to straight up my sunken cheek. hence am never busted. I have been in several bad rows with both four-footed beasts and two footed beasts, but this was at least as lively a scrap as I ever got into. and all because I was careless. We lifted camp early in March sold our fur and the whole of us went down to 'Frisco to see the sights. Here we studied the history of China in the faces of the moon-eyed heathens, enjoyed the curious haunts of humanity the entire summer. That fall I hired Old Ed Scott, Bert Terrell, Jack Troy and ferd Gotch. Myself and the Kid made up and we calculated quite a decent gang. I think we were by far the largest and best gang in the west. I had four hired men, Eleven head of horses, two wagons, four tents, Six riding saddles, four pack saddles, twenty four guns and revolvers, six hundred steel traps and cooking utensels enough for a dozen men. My expenses were a thousand dollars a month--Our chief game was rat, mink, otter, coyotes, and grey wolves, we marched up North Platte to Raw-hide creek--and set traps for fur--We moved once a week and averaged to take about one hundred and sixty pelts a day. When we reached the Raw-hide about fifteen miles from North Platte river in Lormey Co. I caught a monstrous grey wolf in a trap. I knew the virtue of the trap it was a New-House noumber four. I was armed with a 49-90 winchester but refrained from shooting him because the ball tore too big a hole in the hide. I attempted to knock him in the head with my hatchet, I saw I had a good high holt on him so I stepped up closer to him--when the darn skunk made a leap at my windsucker; the trap chain broke and he lit on my left arm and got busy eating meat. My gun was johnie on the spot, for several days I carried my arm in a buckskin sack meanwhile I concluded I would shoot game not trying other experiences. After a few days we reached Hat creek, where we were told that a Sheep herder had been driven into camp by a silver tipped Grizzley. The ranchmen wanted us to camp till we killed the old boss. So I detailed Ed Scott and a new man I had recently hired by the name of Charley Whippel to go with me--and I left the rest to run trap lines and watch things. We rode out toward the Cheyenne river. Just as we reached Cow creek and crossed over and was about twenty rods up the slope we heard a bear; we stopped and suddenly old silver as free as Bryans Silver issue; descending the hill in our direction. We all opened fire at once and spoiled his fun to quick to mention. We secured his skin head and all including his tailbone and paws the ranchmen sent it to Denver to a Texiderment and he sold it to the Chicago Public Musium. We broke camp the following day and started for Beaver creek here we made three settings, then we broke again and moved to the head of the Belle Fourche river. trapping coyote and wolf. from there to powder river, and then on to tongue river. We broke camp that spring at Dayton, Wyoming; and for novelty hired out to herd cattle for the U.X. Cattle Co. We rode here on the general roundup, quit our job and set out for the Big horn basin. Crossing the main range of the Big horn mountains we went up Canon Creek looking for trapping for another season. We followed down the creek till we reached Big horn river; then we swung around and followed up the Bighorn to the end. We had quite a serious time getting our pack horses over the Owl-creek mountains. We now turned our course a trifle and struck for the head of the big sandy, then followed this stream till we reached Green river Then rode across to the Yampah river. While riding down the Yampah we were accosted by two men who wanted us to hire out to help them round up several hundred wild horses. We had never before rode on a horse ranch and we wished to be full fledged so we consented. We had a lively time. The Kid was lighter and more supple than I; and got out of it some easier than I. I had picked out a rangey lank bronco; he would quit the earth and climb the sky like a flying machine; and drop down and strike the rocks with his legs stiff as a post. He would then spin like a top several hundred times play razor back and sun-fish, His head and tail would touch one instant between his legs; and the next instant over his back. I held my breath while he exercised all his tricks then he plunged off while I pounded him with my broad brimmed sombrero. The foreman said Erve Bullard could not play glue much better than I. We had many daring and pleasing episodes this season roping horses busting and branding. We quit riding early that summer and spent some time traveling. I visited the grave of Calamity Jane. Wild Bills Wife; and His grave too. Went to the Little bighorn to Custers Tomb. Over to Nothfield Minn. where the Youngers were correlled. Down to Scouts Rest Ranch--Or Codys Ranch. over to Cheyenne to Old Tom Horns Rope Party. And saw Bob of Austrailia put it all over Jim Corbett. I went to Denver to hear Frank James talk, and several other things we enjoyed before Christmas. The following winter We raked up our old gang got together and went up to Snake River. here we began tramp trapping. Part of us advanced and the other party followed and took up our traps. this tramp trapping lasted nearly all winter we trapped the Snake river, Green river San Juan river the little Colorado and the Big Colorado up to Grand Canon. Then we followed up the river to Cataract creek and in trying to cross lost two rattling good pack-horses pack and all. We then were short of rations and struck out for the Red mountain country: hoping to get more chuck. In this dash we nearly all lost our lives by starvation: after many days we reached the town of Aubay Arizonia. We then loaded our kit and took the Train for Los Angeles California and from there we went back to Denver Colorado. then up the Big Platte near the Lormic Mountains. We built a headquarters camp at The medicine bow and two offsets at Camp creek, near the Medicine Bow Reservation. Here we had the best systematized settings we had heretofore set. We had set a line of traps in a semicircle from camp to camp; And a stub line up each creek about four miles; then we set a high-line running in oposite directions. So you see we bagged everything that came through the country for several miles wide. Our traps served as does a wing-net catching on the sides and swinging everything into the center. An animal that smelled a trap would sheer off and nine times out of ten would go the way we wanted it, for we set our traps giving that peculiar specie the favorable road toward other traps which were set, and the scent so completely killed with compounds would usually get the game. We generaly cleaned out almost everything as we went allong. Now the highlines were for land animals, such as Coyotes, Wolves, Lion, marten and skunk. The next autumn came and we were in fine spirits. We all came back to our old camps on the North Platte. The weather was lovely The cottonwood leaves were turning brown and in the height of my glory I roped out my favorite horse saddled up and started for the Lormie Mountains. I was hungry for deer, and plenty of them roamed in that vacinity. As I was riding allong the foot hills my horse suddenly shyed off as if scared; i gathered up in the saddle and peeked over some sage brush and behold there was Old Ephraim in the form of a monster silver tip. The old elephant arose on his feet as big as Goliah and roared out his challenge to me. I drew aim hastily and fired a five hundred grain ball through his chest. this was just an eye-opener for his class. My horse at the crack of the gun leaped and fled down the hill in spite of all my protest; you should have seen the horse put distance between us and the bear. I finally got the horse stopped I dismounted and hurried back to the scene. The bear had followed us quite a ways and was under a cottonwood licking his wound He did not see me till I fired so I had a good chance to pick my spot and I sent another ball one journey crashing through his shoulders; this brought him to the ground helpless; and I approached and finished up his hash. There are four distinct species of Grizzlies. And are more or less sprinkled throughout The rocky mountains in Mexico, U.S. and British Columbia. The Silver tipp. Bald face, The great Grizzly and the Kodiak Grizzly. The silver tipp scarcely ever has more than one cub and lives on roots and grass, when he cannot get meat. The great Grizzley loves colts and sheep, they cannot get a deer for the reason that they smell so fowl that a deer can smell them too far. The bald face is much like a great Grizzley only smaller and more alert. The Kodiak Grizzly, lives further north than any of the rest and is at least as big and twice as agressive as the other kind. They inhabit the wilderness from B.C. To Gnome Alaska. All of these bear are bold and genuine bluffers. they never snoop. they depend upon their size and name to carry them through. seldom do hunters kill them untill they have emptied tha last load. I then went back to my horse--or; to where I left him; but he had given me the French leave--I had tied him;--as Cow-punchers say--"To the ground." And he had taken advantage of his liberty, and ran into camp ten miles away. I had on high heel boots; and they walk bad--considerable worse than they look,--so the road was a long one. After while we broke camp and went up the medicine bow river; to the North Platte; and here set our traps. Now we have what we call the low-lines--and the high-lines. The lowlines we set on low wet soil for water animals. To give you an idea how much work is implied in setting such a mass of traps as we carried I will describe a bout how far apart we had learned to set traps. Where rat are thick one hundred might be set in a single mile. Where mink are thick not over sixteen should be set per mile. Where coon are thick about twenty per mile. Where beaver are thick about forty per mile and where otter are thick about ten traps per mile. The Muskrat--is the most interesting of all animals that live in water. The beaver Black, Blue, Brown, White, Gray not excepted. The Rat lives on flags and water mussels. He never kills small ducks as has been stated by some folks who never saw one. The Rat builds his house out of rushes from five to six feet broad sometimes much broader, and about three feet high. About a dozen rats live in a house. Their bed is from two six inches from the surface. They have feeding rooms in the house, and feed on the walls of the rooms, eventually eating the house up which is often the case in cold climates. They also have a bank hole in addition to the house hole. When frightened they go to the bank hole. They also have air holes covered very cunningly two or three inches deep on the way to the bank and water. These air-holes are overlaid loosely with flags and other light materials. In this we began to be very successful trappers. Lewis and Clarke were successful because first we spared no labor nor hardships; to set traps or find a favorable location; secondly because we bought the best guns and traps in the U.S. Thirdly because we put our money and time all back in the business; and fourthly because we had had the best kind of training in all kinds of common furs. I had been well educated for my profession. My teachers were such men as Frank Johnson who was the best bear trapper in the country. Charley Mackintosh the noted beaver trapper of the States. William S. Walker who no doubt was the best trapper in any country. he specialized on Bear, Lynx, Marten and Mountain Lion. Henry Grey was a specialist on Marten he taught me the art of taking that shy game. And this Same Henry Grey was great a mixer of Compounds; Joe Whitecup schooled me in Mink except his bait. Shopnegon taught me the crafts of Camping and sleeping without catching cold, how to travel without a compass by the stars; and when it was dark and cloudy how to keep from circling around. he taught me how to skin all kinds of game, and how to make sinew for thred, and awls to sew with and explained roots for indigestion; and leaves for constipation. Long Knife taught me how to trap skunks, and weasels, and above all he put me next to rat so I never need ask any other man the nature of that animal. Chief Broken Bow taught me to walk, shoot, and run, how to exercise and how to get allong with Indians. How to know when I was in danger, and above all how to keep cool which is the greatest lesson any man or indian ever learned, either in the woods, on the plains, over the sea; or in the busy cities. This lesson has saved my life scores of times. I have often wished that Chief Broken-Bow could have had some successor to continue this teaching, for all the world suffers and even those who have been to school and college come forth polished as a lizzard--but the first wave of unexpected excitement, or adverse passion completely distroys them. I have used the word compound; And I know of no better place to explain myself than in this chapter. Compounds are scents of various kinds. Or more commonly known as Baits. It is used to kill the scent of your traps, and to offset human scent. Baits are more profitably used to draw animals to traps than they are to kill the scent of the traps. Good Baits always serve the double purpose. While the trap without bait, arouses the animal's suspicion and makes it cautious, The trap with the bait arouses the animal's passion and draws it to the trap. Certain odors causes the male to think that a female has frequented the place, and he gets careless and is caught. This is also true with females, and is true with all species. Animals like human beings like to appear well. They will instinctively follow certain trails, go certain places at certain times; and the trapper who learns what is appealing to an animal is sure of success. The old trappers had to manufacture their own compounds. They got their meager supply from the wombs, testicles and musk-bags of animals. but they experienced great difficulty in mixing it to bait the several kinds of animals. For a trapper today to try to extract his bait from the animal would be sheer folly. only the unsuccessful ever resort to such a process. Let every man who catches fur bearing animals for a living learn among the earliest lessons, that he must resort to some kind of bait; else he will fare slim. I have never known one identical specialist in any phase of trapping who did not use baits, and the fellow who comes to this imperative, soonest is safe. I have many friends who deal in baits. And I know that they would like to have me favor them by speaking about, and recommending their commodity; but I am exhibiting for the education of the public, and not for the benefit of dealers; hence I shall refrain from recommending anything that has the least degree of sham about it. I am writing this book to sell, and that on merits and information, so I feel it my duty to fill it with facts, and useful information, So regardless of personal friendships, without fear or favor I shall give the public the benefit. I have used many kinds of baits, and on many occasions, but after years of testing, and a dozen of different mixtures, I can recommend but one Animal Bait--and that is Manufactured by Funsten Bros, and Co, In their large Fur House at St. Louis Mo. It is also sold exclusively by them. Not as a money maker but to aid their many trappers to succeed; because their success depends upon the trapper. This compound is the best mixed because Funsten Bros & Co, secured every recipe from old and experienced trappers, paying a large price for each kind. so it was not manufactured by them as they are not trappers but dealers, To go well prepared is to be supplied with excellent baits, and if you have Funsten Animal Baits you have the best. I have charged you to go well supplied, I should also add that in order to do this Traps should also be considered.--I have suffered severe losses because I secured poor traps, Buy the New House Victor or Jump Traps, advertised in Funsten Bros. & Co Catalogue No. 10 or 11. As these men have the exclusive sale of them, it is enough to warrant their quality. Funsten Bros. & Co at St. Louis Mo. Have the largest Fur House in the world, and in order to be the largest they had to prove to be the best. In all my dealing with them I have been courteously treated, honestly classified, and promptly paid. It is with pleasure I recommend this house which is an honor to Furriers in America. Well to return to my narrative,--this was the most excitable and profitable winter we had ever known, we sold our furs after we broke camp and took a very extensive vacation. The Roving Trapper I came to a turning point in my career--I was to Travel and specialize: as a roving trapper. Only experts can catch a special kind of fur and make it profitable. I discharged all my old time laborers; and With The Coyote Kidd set out after Mink--There are three or four distinct species of mink but the Dark are by far the most valuable, these inhabit the colder regions, they are worth between six dolars and fifteen per skin, according to the shade and size. The mink is a keen observer, he lives on meat and eggs, being somewhat like a weasel, also loving blood. The mink is used for collarettes, boas, and ladies coats. A boa made from black water mink is worth about 50 dollars, a collarette about $100,00 and a coat reaching down to the hips would cost about $250,00. We took our way to the old rendavous near the sweet water mountains. While hunting one day I shot a Black tail deer. I was skining him for meat and was very hungry, I heard a limb crack, turned around; and behold a large grizzly was coming after my meat; or myself. I thought best to push the deer forward to him, so I made a rather hasty retreat: and old bruin stopped when he struck the deer. My gun was uncomfortablly near the dead dear, and the live bear, so I had to go home disarmed. This was a great grizzly, and he was great. I supposed he would tip the scales at about 1,200 lbs. although some have been caught that weighed 2,250, lbs. these great bears live in the rocky mountains from Wyoming to Mexico. Their favorite meat is colts, deer and sheep. Their nails are often found seven inches long, their fur is best in Feb. and March. valued at about 35, dollars apice. their pelts are used for rugs, robes and overcoats. We trapped from the Sweetwater to the Atlantic peaks, then westward across Horse creek, to the Colorado desert. then up to Salmon river. We followed salmon river through the seven devil mountains and left our horses at the XL, ranch and started for the Indian war. Now we were told by a trapper that there was a bad war on in Montana So we intended to go--for we loved an excuse to hunt the cunning game--Indians. But when we reached Mont. the war was in British Columbia. So we sailed up into the cold region and settled at Silver Creek Canada. We began about October the first setting our traps on spruce river. The Tahoo and Blackfeet indians inhabit these parts, they are a very jealous class of indians. owing to the great number of half-breeds. the half breed indian is the smartest, most troublesome of all indians. they ordered us off their grounds but I had been ordered off hunting and trapping grounds so many times by indians that I payed no more attention to their threats than I did to mosquito bites. So they got mad, bristled up, surrounded our camps one night,--well we got away--that is more than some of them did. Moving down the river and overland about one hundred and seventy miles we camped on the Blackwater river about fifty miles from the telegraph range. here I had my first experiences with Work Dogs. we ran out of grub about the tenth of March, and lived the rest of the winter on Big-horn and Moose. We next moved to Mt. Norris Idaho and after trapping there a few weeks we sold out and began to prepare for our long contemplated trip to the Amazon river South America. We sailed from Frisco in July For Brazil Via Cape horn. We landed seventeen days later in the good port Para, and from there reshipped for Obidos and from there fitted out for a new experience. It would be foolish to try to explain the real customs and traits of animals after only having forty days experience for that covers our trapping and hunting in South America. I did learn considerable about that much discussed animal Monkey. I was taught by a native how to trap him, the simple remedy I'll give my reader without any extra cost, although I gave a mexican hat for that recipe. To catch a monky take a ripe cocoa-nut dig out the three eyes and the meat Fill up the unbroken shell with almost any kind of edibles; then tie a cord through the two holes and tie the nut fast to a tree or a stake. The monk sees the nut puts his hand in the tight hole gets a handful of food shuts up his hand this forms a lump so big that it cannot be drawn back, the monk could at any time get away by simply letting go the food, but he never will, and hence is easily taken prisoner--how like man is the monky. I cut my stay short one day when I came nearly having to shoot the pass of a mammoth Boa constrictor--I concluded I was a fair trapper a common hunter, but no snake charmer--I enjoyed the fruits and foliage of that summer land, but was glad to get back to Galveston, Texas. Back Among the Rockies After we arrived from South America we planned on trapping one winter for Bob-cat Civit Cat and Mountain Lion. Providing no catastrophes happened bigger than a cat. We trapped the Arkansa, Big Sandy, Bayou creek and on to poverty flats. Then we crossed over to the Black Hills landing at Buffalo Gap. Here a Ranchman hired us to kill Black bear which were killing his colts. The Black bear of North America is the most harmless of all bears. His average weight is about four hundred pounds. He lives on honey, grass, berries, weeds, roots, ants, and insects of all kinds. He is the hardest specie to hunt. When a hunter is on his trail he invariably is next to it, and will climb upon all the high roots, and logs and peep back on his track to discern the hunter. It is hard to get a shot at him unless the wind is blowing so you may circle him and shoot from the windward side. He will stuff a bullet hole with moss to prevent the flow of blood and many other cute sagacious tricks. He dens up about the 15teenth of Dec. and comes out about the middle of March, as is usually supposed he comes out poor. But this is a bit of missinformation. On the other hand he usually crawls out after his long snooze fat as mud. Well as usual we had a lot of work, accompanied with our usual success. we were well paid for our hunt, and moved up to the Musselshell river In Montana. In Montana we caught fine beaver, The beaver is a very instinctive animal. There are several varieties, The Dam Builder, The Bank Beaver, The Bachelor Beaver and the Drone Beaver. The beaver ranges in color from white to black. I never saw a white one, and but one black one except when I looked in the glass. The Beaver weighs from twenty to thirty pounds in the United States, and from forty to fifty in Alaska. His food is bark, young grass and such foods, They cut timber down and know where it will fall. I ascertained this because I have known them to leave trees alone which leaned the wrong direction for them to use. I saw on the North Platte trees cut down by beaver which were four feet in diameter. They make chips resembling a chopper with a dull ax. He cuts his timber for winter and anchors it down four feet under water with mud useing his tail as a scow and also for a spade. Beaver dams are great hindrances to the man with a conoe, Beaver meadows are splendid feeding grounds for deer and other animals. I have seen beaver meadows--that is a place where the trees were all cut down and used--covering hundreds of acres. After breaking Camp we went to Cordelane Idaho, and from here to Frisco then over to Austrailia, We sailed out from the Golden gate on the 5th day of June and on the 20th day we reached Bellmont Aus. From here we went by rail up the Darling river. We spent about fourteen or fifteen days prospecting for a catch but found nothing inticing but hot winds and hot sunshine, so we cut our visit short and returned to 'Frisco the latter part of July-- We next went to Idaho and raked up our old gang with new accessories and began trapping on the Clearwater and camped just below the Continental Divide. We trapped to the St. Joe Divide and as far south as Bald Mountains. The snow fall in this part is very heavy, we were making a Deadfall one day when Billy Thorn made a miss cue with his heavy sharp ax and severed his shin bone and nearly looped off his leg. The ax struck about four inches below the knee, and nearly cut his leg completely off. We were thirteen miles from headquarters camp. We made a litter and carried him all the way. He nearly bled to death on the way. There was no Dr. with in sixty miles. I thought it was up to me their old Chief to perform an operation. I washed the wound out as clean as posible, cutting away all shreads of flesh with my beaver knife, I hewed out some sweet birch splinters and tied the limb tight with moose wood bark from his ankle to his thigh. In three months he was able to walk and after six months he was trapping as usual. While Thorn was layed up I had a double dose of work to do and grew a little careless, so mush so that something happened which never happened before--I was cleaning my gun and rooled it over on my knee. I had forgotten to remove the loads and off she went tearing a big hole in our camp. I had had a great deal of trouble in my life teaching my men to always be careful about accidents. This same thing had happened severl times to the other fellows but never to me before. Most all old trappers and hunters get into trouble of their own, sooner or later because of carelessness. I never cover up a trap with my hand. I found a trapper starved to death, caught in his own bear trap by both hands; because he was in the habit of covering up his traps by hand. I always school the lads to cover every trap with a stick. It is better because the animal can smell hand marks readily. After the accident of my gun explosion in camp I went out to look at A trap I had set for a wolverine. I came to the spot and found the chain broken and the trap gone, I began brushing away the snow supposing he had dodged into a hole near by, the trap was set at the root of a tree Suddenly I heard a growl and down from the limb leaped the darn skunk upon my left shoulder while the trap struck me fair in the face, I did some tall scrambling shook him off and empied my revolver in his skin. My shoulder was very sore for three months so we had two cripples at once. The next streak of ill luck, another of the gang got lazy and would not wash well in cold water and contracted cold and then Pneumonia--this layed him off for nearly three weeks. Our catch this winter was Wolverine, Lynx, Marten, Ermine, a few Beaver and Otter. but my Marten were of all more valuable. I was engaged the next summer in Colorado by a ranchman to trap Mountain Lion. The Mountain Lion is a specie of the Eastern Panther they weigh from 80 to 150 lbs. Their color in winter is a steel grey and in summer is a greyish brown. Their food is rabbit and grouse. Their haunts are the Rocky mountains. Their hides are used for rugs and robes and worth from 5-to 15 dollars. They also feed on calves and colts. are very hard on a Horse Ranch-Man. They often attack men, I have known three men to have been killed by Mountain Lions. The Mountain Lion is very shy he can be poisoned the best of any way of taking his life. to trap a Lion you must set all bait traps and deadfalls horse back and be sure your horse has no shoes nor horse nails in their hoofs, if they have the Lion will steer clear of the trap they are very clever in every way. One time I was delayed from Camp it grew dark and I had an awful time to pick my way home I soon discovered that I had more than the dark and difficult roads to battle, For I was being followed by a Lioness five whelps and an old Dog Lion. I was on my Favorite Horse Old Gotch. He feared Lions equally as great as I hated Squaws, They followed me for about three miles and when I reached an open space in the woods I halted near an old fir stub, I dismounted cautiously I could hear the old Dog growl and the whelps squeal like a flock of young pups. I found some dry leaves and struck a fire breaking off the limbs of the old stub for fuel, After an hour these limbs were all burned up and I had to go about thirty feet to another stub for wood. I had to be pretty foxy for both lioness and Dog kept uncomfortably close to me all the time I carried my six shooter in one hand, and wood on the other arm; just as I was returning with a load of wood the moon broke through a cloud and the old Dog was standing about forty five feet away in a bunch of weeds. I pulled my gun and took a chance shot and as luck would have it I broke his for shoulders and he could leap around but not direct his course. I never heard such a tearing racket; he would leap ten feet high and fall on his head when he struck ground, by this I knew I had fixed his front limbs. At this the Lioness and whelps retreated and after an hour I mounted Gotch and rode up near the tired and crippled Dog and sent a ball through his heart. I returned to the fire and had a little sleep before day-break. I skined the old fellow next morning he was a monster old, rugged, brawny & covered with (23) wounds. he had also been shot three times before. After we broke camp we went to Mexico and rode a Horse Ranch. following this for several months we worked our way northward taking carefull notation of the changes in Saddles, Horses and riders. I have ridden many wild horses and used many kinds of saddles but the king of all saddles is the Meany. We could tie on to a steer that wieghed a ton and not be afriad of tearing this saddle to pieces. We loved wild horse riding but we got so beastly full of lice that we quit. We have caught lice several times from the tourists, and tenderfeet but could always get rid of them other places by the cowboy method--At night take off your shirt turn it inside out spread it over an ant-hill, and in the morning the ants have all you company preserved for the coming winter. The cowboys are a clean lot of brave loyal lads. They carry guns--but not as is supposed to use on one-another--but to shoot wild horses which they are riding--suppose your foot gets fastened in a stirrup and your are thrown, you will not go far till you are dragged to death. this is where the Gun does its intended work. I have had to take my hat and strike the top of the water to drive the bugs down so I could drink without swallowing bugs, I used to cook and thought nothing of taking my water from a slough where several carcasses of cows wrere putrying. Sometimes I ran short of Soda then I would use the ashes of Buffalo chips for Soda. All this is as harmless to health; as eating asparagrass grown in a manure pile. Well life grew monotnous, each succeeding year brought but old time haunts and the accostomed experiences. So as we sat at midnight in Portland Oregon in a grand ball room indulging in our only bad habit--smoking, simultaneously The Coyote Kidd and Myself proposed--to the gang let us go up to Alaska" To this we all shook hands. Off for New Fields of Adventure--Going to Faraway Alaska We went direct to the Little horn river Montanna and sold our Horses to the Crow Agency. Went to Deadwood S. Dak. picked up our Old Dog "Chum." and some other property went back to Billings Montana settled up our Business and went to Seattle Wash. In Seattle we fitted out for a three year expedition. And on the 20th day of April at 2 P.M. we shipped out of the Harbor on the Old James Dollar--She was agood old ship built in South America made of meteec--.; but had her back broken while being launched Was patched up and yet hardly fit for rough seas. Our first four days were very pleasant till we struck Millbank sound There we were hit with a heavy sea on our starboard-beam. The old ship would leap almost out of the ocean and then fall back like a wounded duck. she would flounder, pitch, rool and dive come to the surface and wipe off the brine slick as a mole. I felt a little disturbed in the locality of my abdomen, also my appetite failed me for a few days; I was standing one morning on deck by the hand rail just leaning over for convenience--near by stood an Irishman spewing in the sea, a sailor came allong and said to the Irishman" You seem to have a weak stomache." "I don't know" Said the Irishman" I think I can throw it as far as the next one" Over that same rail engaged at the same pass-time was a young lady, leaning on the arm of her old Dad Between times she repeated" I'me a fathers only daughter, Casting bread upon the water, In a way I hadent oter, I guess yes. Casting it like rain, Into the troubled main, Hoping this sour bread will not return again" We landed in Skagway on the fifth day of May. Now there were no docks in Skagway at that time; so we were unloaded by lighters and run up where the water was about three feet deep, there we had to get on a man's back and be carried ashore. We were charged two dollars for the lighters and two dollars for the man craft, so it cost each of us four dollars to land after we had landed. We arose early the following morning in another world. We knew the wild parts of the States and the beasts and the men, the lay of the cities, the course of thousands of the important rivers The climate, snow fall, cyclones and all other important things to know when your life is an outdoor life; but here we were in a new untried world. One of my failures is when I see a mountain to wish to know how the land lays on the other side, naturally given to adventure I had indulged, and it grew very rapidly upon me, till it got beyond my controll, so I was delighted to discover new fields. After proper preparations we set out for White horse. After a few days we arrived at the Chilkoot Pass. The Chilkoot Pass, is a high pass about a mile high and steep as a house roof. And is also subject to very heavy snowslides. It was here where a short time before 148 soldiers in the British Army were all burried forever without any Sky-Pilot or Undertaker's assistance. We crossed through Jacobs Ladder where were six-hundred steps cut into the solid ice. There were several Men known as packers who lived at the foot of the ladder, they packed over loads for 45cts per lb. they wore spurs on the bottom of their moccasins; we were not tenderfeet, but used to the heaviest kinds of packing and you should have seen those sharks look with disdain on us when we made the pass carrying twice as many pounds up as they could. On this Trip I had The Coyote Kidd, The Galloping Swede, Taxas Tom. and Old Ed Scott. Four just as good men as I had had the pleasure of meeting during twelve years of rough life. And I was pretty sound then--my eyes were keen, my hearing alert my aim acurate, not like I am at this writing. On the top of this Pass I had my last opportunity of buying a piece of mince pie which I never neglect--but this piece cost me a Pan or one dollar. The other fellows took lemonade paying the same price per glass. I had hunted all kinds of game, common or uncommon in the Western Hemisphere. had led the most daring and dangerous kind of a life, but little did I realize the tiresome dedious and indiscribable journey that now lay before me. As we crossed Chilkoot pass and descended through the long indentations leading northward and eastward amid snow ice and severe weather Old Texas Tom. The terror of the West, the old steel man as he was often called grew tired for the first time since our acquaintance. Together we rode the great roundup, together we had braved danger hard-ships scores of times, at every other event he was cool faithful and ever on the spot; but now he sickened from fatigue to a terrorable back ache and head ache. That night he seemed to recover a little and the next morning shouldered his load and with less of his old time vigor and lightness began the day's journey. But about an hour later he had a relpase and we divided his load among us and he was able to travel till noon. then we camped as he grew worse and wrapped him in our blankest made him a good thick bed out of boughs, and fixed him up just as comfortable as possible. Four days later in the afternoon he called me up to his bed and began to talk about sunny Texas about his dear old mother his sweet young sister and his boyhood days. I tried to encourage him I told him he would soon get well and that he had only a bad cold--but he smiled and said he was not long for this world. He said this feeling was strange and unearthly and he felt the approach of death. Then he rested an hour and then called me up to him and said" Old Chief give me a pull at your pipe--I did he lay back on my knee where he seemed to rest the easiest gasped twice and died. This was a hard blow on me and the other boys. The snow was deep and the ground frozen down a great depth, so we were forced to bury Our dear old Tom in the beautiful white purified crystal snow A purer and lovlier grave man never filled. we marked the place and summoned our courage and left the Old Texan who was reared amid the flecy cotton, sleeping his last long sleep amid the white flakes in far away Alaska. We were unfamiliar with this kind of sickness but after we were experienced we knew our pard was afflicted with Spinal Fever. This is caused by the rubbing of a heavy load on the back, it causes perspiration then followed with fatigue the patient in weariness is constrained by this fatighue to lie down upon the ground, and a severe cold is contracted resulting in death. No traveler in that cold barren region should ever under any circumstances lie down upon the naked earth. Tom and we were all used to lying on the earth and thought nothing of. ignorance and eagerness caused his death, as it has the untimely death of many a mother's boy. We took up our march sorrowfully and silently till we rached the Horalinqua River. Here he halted and searched for Gold. May I add that the craze for gold lead us into this region of ice and snow. We were unsuccessful but in our rambles we came to Pelley River and found Marten very thick, so we concluded to trap there the next winter. We left our outfit here and began the journey down to Dawson, we had to shoot the far famed Whitehorse rapids. there are seven of them and they are about 3 miles long, and run like lightling, we boarded a raft were cut loose by a half breed Mucklock and away we went almost a mile a minute riding on the crest of the rapid rooling river. Here after the passing of the rapids we first met Swift water bill. so named by the Sourdoughs because he would never shoot the rapids. His was a queer experience. he dug out his fortune amid the bars of the river and then went back to Seattle and married a daughter having three homely sisters, and his wife was twice as holely as them all. each year following for four years he returned to Seattle and married a sister every time. and at last having wed the last girl, he broke all rules of life and married his Motherinlaw. In this locality we made quite a stay mining and prospecting for hunting and trapping till the following spring. which hardly shows his face when autumn drives him off. It was necessary for us to larn a few lessons so here we began to study. first we were taught how to bridle a boat. this is done by tieing a rope around the nose of the boat about one third the way aft. then we learned how to make what they call portages--that is--when you come to falls or rapids, relieve the boat of all contents and carry contents and boat around the rapids. Then we were taught how to know quicksand and how dangerous the Overflow is to dogs, and men in extrems winter. an overflow is where the water bursts through the ice in the rivers and for a few feet runs on the top. it cannot run far for it soon freezes. If you put your foot in water or if your dogs step in water your feet and their feet would freeze in two minutes. The next winter we built a line of camps up the Pelley river about sixty miles, and another line up the McMillian. October 10th we began to set traps for Marten, ermine and wolf. Here we learned that Marten were called Sable they are much larger and more valuable than the Marten of United States Of America. In color they are dark brown and some are almost black, they feed upon grouse and mice and never go near the water, they inhabit the cold regions and breed but once a year. They resemble the house cat in features but have long body like a mink. We took that winter seven hundred, the largest catch ever known to have been taken by any one gang in the world. The weather was exceedingly cold for we were only three hundred miles from the Arctic Circle. Spring came we broke camp and moved down to Dawson, sold our fur and drifted down the Yukon river to the mouth of forty mile creek. Here we turned up in search of placer mining, the short summer soon past and we returned to Dawson and fitted out for the winter. After we chucked up we turned up toward Steward river, on this trip we met and formed the acquaintance of Geo. MacDonald, a wide world character. At one time he came to Dawson with twenty mules packed with gold. Three years later he died in Circle city a pauper. Here also we first met the noted Montana Kidd--he swung his team of a dozen dogs around the corner of the road house and shouted to the landlord" Thirteen steaks dam the cost the Kidd always has the price" It cost him thirteen times ten dollars--or one hundred and thirty dollars; ten for himself and one hundred and twenty for his dogs. After another successful winter we returned to Dawson sold our furs and went first to Eagle and chucked up and journeyed to Fort Yukon. Now Fort Yukon stands in the Arctic Circle and the Steel registers during cold weather 65° below zero. From here we went up the Porcupine river to Rampart Ho on the Eastern boundery of Alaska We did not like the country in this part so we returned to Fort Yukon; and turned down the Yukon river to the Tanana river then we up this last named stream to Fairbanks. We reached Fairbanks in the early fall and trapped that winter on Beaver creek. having many experiencs but none which I shall record here.--After we broke Camp we sold our fur in Fairbanks and started for the head of Copper river. We followed this stream down till we struck Ambercunbo canyon. Not being acquainted with the river we were into the rapids before we knew it: I shouted to the boys to pull while I leaped for the steering oar, we got through all right but the boat was half full of water--and all the boys pretty badly scared, it was a close shave one adventure I do not care to repeat. We floated down to Katello; and here took a boat for Cook's inlet. We reached Shushitna station And started up Shushitna river till we came to the mouth of the Talketaa: here in search of trapping we failed to find the object of our search--but found something far better a splendid Quartz mine, which averages $93.00 gold per ton of quartz. From here we went to Seldovia and then to Dutch Harbor and on to St. Michels. It might be well to say briefly that I had considerable exprience during my time with mining, and was no green horn, The Kidd was a natural miner, he would stick his pick, spade or knife into every bit of mother earth to ascertain if there was any color, we not only knew fur, beasts and birds, reptiles, fish, insects, but we knew the earth over which we walked, on which we slept and so contineud for sixteen years. We were full fledged Sour Doughs. We were citizens and Claim holders. I should also mention that I have but briefly outlined our travel, we had traveled much more than one would naturly suppose from reading these few pages, I ought to say too that We had become expert Dog-teamsters. And I need not say that not a man in Alaska nor an Indian could beat us on snow shoes. We incidently fell in with a half breed who was looking for a husband for a half sister I made him believe I was looking for a Wife So he feel in toe. I according to his pleasure met his sister she was a cross between an Eskomo and a Mucklock, she was a charming biddy her eyes were sore, she was terrorably deformed having a large bone resembling a horn growing out of her right shoulder, she was about twenty four years old. and indians at that age are as old as white women are at fifty. if there is any beauty in Creoles, or Indians believe me it fades before they are thirty, and leaves you a homely hag. Well Her brother told me he had heard about me and If I would consent to wed his sister he would tell me the road to a fortune. I saw he was smart and disclosed considerable truth and displayed considerable inteligence of the interior. He said he would go to that place but owing to physical inability he could not. What could a trapper from the flowery fields of the rockies, and broad basins of the Platte now of the Snow hidden mountains ice bound rivers of Alaska do but inmediately without consulting any parents--become engaged. We sat down I dismissed the boys and he related to me the following "For a thousand years my people have been kings in these parts. A Few indians have been through the interior of Alsaka from Mt Mckinley to Point Barrow. But no white man ever was. It is well nigh impossible but a giant like you and like your men could go if you prepare properly And have the money to chuck up for two years. Now the fortune lies in what you could tell and what you would know and see rather than in what you could bring back. But should you gain Point Barrow remember there is plenty of gold.--but it can only be mined during the summer while the frost is wore out of the ground by the sea. Now half way through this wilderness of ice, snow, and bursting glasciers is a cave not in a valley but on a mountain above timberline. This mountain lies about ten miles westward of you main course as you go down Dead mans gulch. you will know this gulch by its first horrorable appearance. it makes even an indian shudder to look at it. After you emerge from the gulch take the first indentation leading westward and by all means go to black mountain and find the cave. Now why I wish you to find the cave is I wish you to live. the Wether is extremely cold, you and your men will need a relief from this extreme incessant atmosphere. this cave is of black rock and is as warm underfoot as any soap stone you ever touched. and when once in the cave you feel warm as in an oven. Here you may recuperate patch up your clothes and make your journey safely." I thought this was hash so parting said I would return and tell him how I prospered. While time and weather would permit we went to Gnome and picked up Black Dave. And purchased severel good Huskeys. sailed back to St. Michals stocked up and set out on our trapping and hunting trip. But finding we had miss judged the lay of the land on the western slope of Alaska we again sailed back to Gnome and then crossed overland to Candle creek. We experienced some very hard travels in crossing the Seward Peninsula when we struck the south west side of the Kalzetpue Sound, from there we went west to Salawak river, then to the lake of that same name here we pitched camp and set our traps. Our game was Polar bear, Arctic Fox, Reindeer and Sable. Now I was used to all kind of bear except--the Polar which I am free and frank to confess is the worst man eater on earth, not one beast of any country excepted. The Polar averages to weigh about seven hundred pounds his build is different from any other bear, he is long and lanky having giant legs, his color is pure white. Except at times he is yellow around the neck, and shoulders. His food is Walrus and whale which have been killed and cast upon the ice by tremendous storms. They breed but once a year and seldom have more than one cub. he lives exclusively in the Arctic regions. His fur is used for rugs and robes and is worth about $150.00 per pelt. But it is so hard get these skins to civilization that they are rare, often other bear is colored and sold for real Polar. Between the Polar Bear and Siberian Wolves we had to watch our dogs all night to keep them from being killed, as well as ourselves. This country was poepled with Eskomos a sort of a cross between them and Mucklock indians. they were very friendly to us. I could address them in their own language which pleased them and we prospered fine. On the first day of Feb. we started back to Gnome. And for the first time suffered total darkness by day and by night. We had enjoyed the midnight sun, and now must suffer the mid-day dark. The thermoneter lay about seventy below zero and the wind blew a gauger, On this trip back to Gnome I first learned what it was to neglect for hours to wait upon Nature, owing to the suffering of even exposing you bare hand for ten seconds. On this trip our old Chum, the playmate of Texas darling of Wyoming and the tramp of Deadwood So. Dak. got so cold he whined and refused to go. We took him and put him in our sleeping bag. I had taken him because he was fat and I kept him as a reserve food, rather than for actual work. We had a great jag on our sleighs we had to draw fish to feed our dogs, fish for fuel and lights, and with our traps, guns sleeping bags and truck we had great loads. We reached Gnome without any serious accidents or over severe suffering sold our furs and felt fine over our grand success. Into the Unknown The following summer I fell in with a Miner by the Name of Jack Freeman. he was well known as a penetrator, He told us that up at point Barrow was all kind of shot gold. this aroused our curiosity again and I thought of my Squaw down at St Michals. Which I felt if I went to Point Barrow I would be obliged to wed. So we evaded the northern fever and planned to trap again somewhere near Candle Creek. We left Gnome in early autumn and went straight to our old camps. after our usual luck we started in a circuitous route for Gnome. We came to the Buckland River and started up intending to strike the mouth of the Koyukuk but missed our mark striking forty miles above the mouth we had hard times crossing the snow-capped mountains and climbing over Glaciers breaking trails for our dogs, fixing broken sleighs and mending worn out harnesses. tieing up stranded Snow-shoes and facing death in many forms. Here for the first time in my life I realized I was indeed a very reckless man. Often the boys would get cold and sleepy and I would have to make them march at the point of old glory--my Gun--they would swear and blame every bit of hard luck to me. I held my nerve and had good controll over my men and after a waery march reached the Mouth of the Koyukuk and sold our furs at Rampart, Here Black Dave quit us saying he was going back to Arizonia. Three months later we took a boat and floated down to the mouth of the Yukon followed on to the Lake and after about fifteen days we reached Pay Creek. here we placer mined the whole summer. and agin fell in With Jack Freeman and all planned a trip beyond the haunts of men. We beat down the river that early autumn traded our gold-dust for food, went back to the mouth of the Mullen River, then began our march up mullen river. Always before in my life I had been stepping in the footsteps of some predecessor; but now I was to make tracks where man had never been. Before begining the Arctic Expedition I called all the men up and explained what it might mean--death hardships were all discussed but they willingly agreed to go, in fact urged the expedition. then I said if you loose your life your blood will be upon your own judgement and not upon my head. If we go we shall brave all-together the severe hardships, if we loose like many others, our funerels will be tearless, and inexpensive, If we win then each shall share a like in the spoils. We had an elegent supply of foods. Of Flour, Salt, sugar, rice, corn-starch, block-matches, candles, We had forty pounds of chewing tobacco, and eighty pounds of smoking, we had six bottles of Paroxide--six bottles of Lemon-extract, Blue ointment, Castor oil, ten Irish potatoes, and other medicines in our chest, But I wish the reader to notice that on no trip did I ever allow one drop of liquor in any form to be packed in my load. The worst thing for any man who is fighting cold to do; is to bowl up on red-eye. he is only the worse for it. I was bragging one day on this when a fellow said "I have heard this but how do you get allong when your whole crew are dam drunkards except the Kidd. Well I said I cannot keep them from it in town; but Black Beaver can keep it off the sleigh and when men are where it cannot be secured they do not drink. And further I argued that I never tasted intoxicants. That The Kidd Tom Bardine and Old Ed Scott were also tetotalers--so the only chance he had for argument was that Black Dave, And a few other lads from Alaska were the only drinkers I ever had. In addition to our rations we had a great deal of dried fish for our dogs, we had severel candle fish for lights, and a large quantity of dried fish for fuel. Early in September We started out for Point Barrow through the interior overland where to my present knowledge man has never traveled. After we reached the head of Mullen river we started up the Arctic divide; and on fifteenth day of October we gained the top of the divide. This was many miles north of the Arctic Circle. Now I had looked upon many charming scenes in my wild and wandering life; but while standing on the ridge of this great divide which seems to separate the green world and the land of sunshine and birds and flowers from the land of almost intolerable cold crisp snow, giant Iceburgs glaciers and snow-slides--I saw the fairest sight I had ever looked upon. Far westward the dying sun was painting the lofty snow-capped mountains, Northward the borrowed beams were shimering on the polar ice-bergs, in the Arctic Sea, Eastward were the last broken prongs of the defiant mountains known to the world as the rockies; and southward in all its modest beauty lay the mammoth valley of earths greatest river the Yukon. I bid farwell to the known world and sang the old old song--"In far away Alaska, where the Yukon river flows" And then started down the great Arctic slope into the black bosom of the north. As we waved our hands in parting at southern civilization we hailed with a new delight the mystic and unruly regions of the north. The first day of our descent the weather lost controll of its furious temper, and how things did hum, Cyclones in Iowa and Colorado, Blizzards in Newbraska and the Dakotas, all which have raged for a thousand years melted into one could not furnish the momentum nor terror of this storm for a second. We camped under the shelter of a great glacier on top of the south side and there let the weather howl, When the weather abated we took up the march in earnest with all our vigor and after several days we came to a branch of a river--which we have since found out was called by the indians coa-ville river. you could tell that at certain seasons water ran down here, it was by no means a river in the sense of rivers such as they appear in other countries even in the dead of winter. We followed in this water trail about forty miles till we came to a pair of great glaciers which met in the center of the river then we were forced to go back and circle around them which took us two days. When we were again back on the bed of the river and had got along safely for about ten miles suddenly our back sled broke through the ice, and was caught by a mighty current and hurled under the ice--quicker than you could say Jack Rabbit. On this sled was most of our flour--this was ill luck we then named the Stream Lost flour river. Still we continued to go toward the north, the days grew short about three hours of daylight every twentyfour hours. So we had to use what is known as The "Arctic Bug" A tin can with a candle stuck in one side and lighted. Night after night we were surrounded by Siberian Wolves they hungred for our flesh. It was so cold that We had to sleep in our Reindeer sleeping bags through the night--so occasionally we would have to unlace our bags and smoke up the wolves and then depend upon a little rest till they got too fresh again. Our dogs stood the trip well we fed them once a day gave them a single fish each evening after the days work was done, it is always best to feed in the evening the Husky or Malimouth is a very ferocious dog and if you do not keep them hungry they get lazy and will not mind but will defy you. many a dog-teamseer has accidently fallen down near his team while breaking trail and been eaten up. if you fall down they will jump on you like a lion. It is spectacular to see us feed them we remove the muzzle and harness take our gun in one hand unlock the fish box and call the dogs by name one by one at the same time throwing a fish at the one we mention, they will catch their fish like old Cy Young would a league ball even if it goes much higher than you intended they will climb the sky for fish. The Work dog is a great asset to the travelers in that region. a good team will travel over a broken trail seventy five miles a day. it is a very pretty sight to see a well trained team travel. These dogs can pull a load weighing from one hundred to two hundred pounds according to the road and hills. Examine our big team two of which we had with us on this famous journey. Each day brought its new dangers and difficulties, each night had its terrors the inevitable howl of the wolves, the sneaking glacier bears, the extreme cold, the brilliant glow of the Aurora Borealis Which hissed high over our heads and shot like lightling in varigated rays, in sound resembling a turkey gobbler unfolding his wings. I cannot go into all the details of this trip into the unknown it was up and down glaciers, following often in the path where just recently a great snowslide traveled, carrying hundreds of tons of snow and ice and breaking and crashing like a ruined world. The snow slide is the greatest of all dangers in this region, I have seen as many as five all at one time, some are known as annuals or old faithfulls, others are known as untimely, and treacherous. many an Alaskan lies burried in valleys hundreds of feet below the surface in mountains of snow. I have always escaped the snow slide, I always test the snow as I go. If I get on a slope where Snowslides are frequent I prod deep into the snow to ascertain its actual depth, where the snow is thick it is most apt to slide. The cry is keep close to the rocks and you are safe. After many days of severe suffering and fighting cold we came to a perpendicular ridge of ice which we discovered was a long ridge, there seemed to be no way around so we prepared to let over each other. It was about one hundred feet down to the ice. I was the first to test the ropes, then one by one the dogs, sleighs, guns and all was over except the last man. we had provided for him, the rope was fastened under a huge piece of ice; and after he slid down we all pulled on the rope it brought cake and all over. We were traveling the next day down the river when one of the boys saw a sleigh setting up a gainst a hill of ice, I went over to examine it and found it to be an Eskimo's Igloo. I got down on my knees and crawled into the hole on the south side. Inside were nine Eskimos, they quickly grabbed their lances, but I spoke to them in their language and they seemed pleased and soon layed down their spears and made me welcome. I backed out of the door and told the boys what I had found, we all went into the house and in less than ten minutes at least one hundred Eskimos were around the hut. Manny of them had never seen a white man and we were to them a wonder they would walk around us and look at us like a batch of monkeys. I gave the Chief's wife a small hand glass and they all looked into it and behind it like so many animals. I presented the chief with a watch and he gave me a Silver Fox in return. The Eskimos are great Pot-latchers That means givers to each other. they are very free hearted They seldom own anything very long at one time it is given from one to another constantly. We were planning to go on toward the Mouth of Gold river but the Chief told me his daughter was to be married in two moons: we stayed to attend the wedding. So I had a privelege to ascertain how the Eskimos make love and are married. If a girl is in love with an Eskimo she sends for him and combs his hair with her fingers. If he loves her he returns again if not he does not. they are engaged exclusively by the parents, then afterward are informed they are to be married. They are usually married in the moonlight the parents of the bride and groom pronounce the cerimony. The bride and groom stand in the center, over a lamp, around them are their parents. around the parents are the next nearest relatives, them around them again are the friends. All form a circle and the inner circle march to the right the next circle march to the left--thus alternating As many times as there are circles. at this wedding there were about ten big circles and they looked funny enough under those bright stars and the great moon painting the ice and snow as far as the eye could reach, all dressed in fur going in opposite directions. They were given an ice house and the bottom was covered a foot thick with fine furs. I explained to the chief whose name was Snatch-bow, about the warm weather in the south, he watched me in wonder and then stood up and said "Injun have no house he all melt. I no go there" Of course he said this in Eskimo. In his house was a few pieces of furniture. In the center was the knuckle bone of a macedon with a nice dish shaped top this was filled with oil, a string was laid in this; and one end lighted this was their only light. This lamp served also as a nurseing bottle for the babies. They had two round pieces of driftwood they used for chairs. In another hut I found they used hollow bones filled with oil for lamps with a cover over them and a wick made of a sea-weed. The squaws would lift the cover and take a sip out of the lamp and then go on with their work. Oil is their favorite drink. The Eskimos are very hardy so far as enduring cold is concerned--I saw an Eskimo bobbing--that is how they fish--hold a fish on a string just under water and as the big fish comes after it they spear it with a spear they hold in their other hand--This man was bobbing and his squaw was sitting on the shore watching him. on her bosom lay a babe about three months old, it was rapped around with a piece of fur its face was partly bare, it was snowing fine snow resembling frost, it was about 65° below zero, as I passed I saw they snow in the babies face and wondered it was not dead just think of a babe under such an temperature sleeping with the snow falling in its tender face. It seems utterly impossible but it is true. But when you look for strength long life endurance or inteligence in the Eskimo you seek in vain. They all have sore matterated eyes, one fifth of them are deformed. one in ten has the consumption. and the average life of the Eskimo is about 30 years. They average to weigh about 90 pounds and stand about four feet and six inches high. They are perfectly friendly even if they never saw a white man. They wrap up the dead in skins and hang them up, they freeze still and so remin till eaten by some wild beast. The Eskimos are beyond doubt the happiest people on earth, they never lie, steal, cheat, murder nor mix in family intercourse so common among all other indians. They have absolutely no religion, no expectation of ever coming to life when once dead. They are very ignorant and dirty their huts are black with smoke, their faces are oiled and covered with black from the oil smoke. Their huts never get warmer than the freezing point. they undress when they sleep. and use fish to cook their food, when they cannot get driftwood. A great deal of driftwood floats in around the river mouth which is carried to the Arctic Ocean by the Great Mackinzie river and is distribuated all allong the shore and picked up in the summer and used in the winter. This wood providentialy sent is certainly a blessing to the Eskimos of this region. As I passed from hut to hut trading, I chanced to run across some indians from Candle Creek where I first learned to talk Eskimo. They were very glad to see me and used me fine making it very pleasant for us. One night while traveling from one town to another--for it was nearly all night at that time--two of my men were robbed--that was a piece of wonderment in these parts and in the life of the oldest indian it had never happened. As soon as the boys reported I took the Kidd and we set out to stop the thief--we went less than five miles when we overtook a rather unusual large Indian which I at once reconized as The worst Desperado in Alaska--he had killed several white men and about fifty of his own tribe, I first met him at Candle Creek, I pulled my gun and ordered him to put up his dukes--he did and I said John Spoon I know you and I guess you know me, unload that gold and those furs you took from my men or, I'll let daylight through you--He did a great stunt of obeying he was scared half to death, I had a notion to kill the other half. I was a fool to let him off so easy--But I always hate to shoot even an indian. Well we worked down to the Sea, and a few hours each day dug at placer mining. after forty eight days we took our gold about $4,455,00 and set out for the mouth of the Mackinzie river. This was a terrorable trip The sea had piled up ice-burgs so we had to travel allong the mountain side--Our hardships had been extreme and as we neared the Delta of the great River one day I noticed The Galloping Swede was loosing his mind, or getting crazy with hardships, which is the most incurable of all diseases, He had been snow blind, had had sore eyes, was homesick and lonesome, and the added over exposeures had ruined that bright and cultured mind. Lee Wilda--for this is his name had been with me a long time. his home was in Minnesota, his father was dead but he had a mother and a sister. Twice on our way we had to let our dogs and plunder over ice precipreses, with our lash ropes. Finaly we reached Coleville river and crossed over. it was about a half mile wide at the mouth. Just after crossing over this stream we saw 148 Polar bears on one cake of ice feeding on a dead whale. Allong this trip so near the sea we saw hundreds of seals, and walrus and killed a Muskox the most rare animal in the world. After over forty days we reached the mouth of the Mackinzie river, it is about eight miles across the mouth, and drains The great baer lake, the great slave lake, the lesser slave lake, The peace river the Athabaska river and hundreds of tributaries in to the Sea. It was nearing spring, we had no calendar, and did not even know the month of the year. We were glad: our sleighs were getting worn out, so were our snow shoes, and our provission was nearly gone and Lee was a raving maniac. We still had the main range of the Rocky mountains to cross. We came to a small station about one hundred miles up the Teal river: but the frenchman refused us anything to eat. He was buying fur for a fur Co. and wanted to kill off all indipendent traders. Without his consent I took what grub I wanted, he did not like it much permit me to say--but he choose this in preference to cold lead, I left him his full pay and begn our weary march to head of the Porcupine river. just before we reached the porcupine We met an indian prospector and gave him ten dollars for a pan of flour, and so got on to Fort Yukon. Our feet were sore, so were our eyes, we were tired and worn out. We rested a few days and agin hit the road, we follwed down the Yukon to the Tannana and up this river a long ways and then struck across The mountains to the Kuskakwim river. And as we were going down marten creek One of my dogs bit me: he tore off the hole end of my finger. It was a bad bite the weather was very cold, and I could not give it proper care. Four days later blood poison set in, my hand began to swell and pain me, worst of all we were loaded with Polar bear seal and white fox. My hand grew worse and worse I could not travel any longer so we had to throw away all our Polar bear and the dogs had to draw me. It was so cold that I had to walk at times, this lasted for eleven days. And for eleven nights, I walked around while the other boys slept. After this time we struck Shushitna Station then we made Knik. from here we started for Seldovia but were foundered for two days near Fire Islands. when Maud the Moose picked us up and took us to Seldovia. Here a Government nurse operated on my finger and by her skill and my nerve she saved my life. After four weeks I shipped on the Portland for Seattle leaving my men to go back to the claims and stay till I could return. With the exception of Lee Wilda he we sent to Seward to a doctor. During the most excruciating pain I sold my Mine known as the Roving Trapper and completed my Journey to the States, carrying with me a Dr. and A Trained Nurse. After a long and dedious journey we reached Seattle and there I was confined to a room in the Hospital for four weeks--after which I took the overland limited for Michigan. One the fourth day of June I landed in the old town of my Childhood--Fife Lake. I learned that my Father and mother still lived but had long since sold the farm and kept a small store in town. Once I could have named every individual I met--but now as I walked up the hill from the depot I was an entire stranger--Twenty years makes a great change, Many were my meditations as I walked over the little marsh where I had so often passed when a mere child. I entered the old store, the one in which I spent my babyhood--where Father ran store before he bought the farm An old lady stooped, and seamed came in to ascertain that which I wanted, had I have been any other place I could not have gussed who she was, I told her I wanted a quarters worth of Cigars, I sat down upon the old chest which I still remembered, and began to smoke, memory was busy--Could this be my mother, I saw her last twenty years before, her locks were black as a raven's wing, her eyes like stars in mid-winter, her form straight agile and graceful--A horrorable thought seized me--I threw away the cigar and walked over to mother and told her I was her baby--I took her in my arms--It was a severe shock to mother, she had long mourned me dead, together we wept, she for joy, but I for the greatest mistake of my lifetime those twenty long years of prodigality. No man ever repented more bitterly over his rash and careless actions than I did that fourth day of june. Presently my Father came in--he too was old and gray--that step which had ever been so nimble and elastic was now abated, he did not recognize me--till he saw mother had been crying then his suspiction was aroused and I broke down--father took me one his lap; kissed me and welcomed me home.--Boys I have made a great mistake,--I can never recover the loss connected with this carelessness by all means never patron my example. When the town folks found out who I was and that I was back from far-away Alaska they began to come in to see me--they had a right too They had watched over my dear old mother and father when they were sick as only the best friends on earth know how, how much I owe those dear old neighbours at Fife Lake. They filled the house and store and we had a great time for several days. I had to leave the old folks again without their consent, but not without their knowledge. successively I visited my relation not one of them ever guessing who I was till I informed them. While visiting among the haunts of civilization I conceived the idea that a splendid outfit of furs, dogs, and other educative curios would be of interest to the folks of the States. so to morrow I set sail for Alaska to secure such an outfit which I hope you may satisfactorly inspect before reading my book. Yours truly--Black Beaver. Webster So. Dak. April 17, teenth 1911. Bits of Information--Characteristics of Black Beaver Black beaver was never lost but once in his life And that was in Cordalane Idaho. It had a peculiar effect upon him, it made him, sick to his stomach, sleepy and gave him the head ache. He never carried a compass in his life. can awaken at any hour of the night and point north south east or west. Black beaver gives a recipe for cureing gray hair. this alone is worth the price of this book--"When I went up to Alaska I was quite gray headed I was crossing Jumbo Glacier, going North-west, they wind was cold and exceedingly stout my steel registered over seventy below zero--I was making good time--I became warm and perspired a little--for about ten seconds I removed my cap when I discovered my scalp was frozen. for nearly a year my hair was all out around my ears--at last it came in just as black as it was when I was a child--(Se my head seeing is believing) Ladies, gentemen freeze your scalp if you are gray" Black Beaver is a natural tarveler in cold regions because; he is always feeling of himself to see if he is freezing. which is the only way one can tell in extreme cold. An excciting place to sleep--on a Glacier which moves about ten feet a day--it is cracking, bursting exploding, trembling, groaning and together with the Glacier Bears and howling dogs, and Siberian wolves, and rolling around to keep from freezing is very soothing. Now I have fought buffalo flies in Michigan, Bed Bugs in Wisconsin, Lice in Wyoming, Rattlesnakes in Colorado, Coyotes in North Dakota, Rats in Australia, Spiders in South America,--But Glaciers are of all places I ever attempted the most exciting and difficult to get a little sleep. The Glacier is moved forward by the compressed air which gets into the crevices behind the glaciers when it is split open by frost--then it freezes again and explodes which moves the great mountain into the river. The Glaciers not only furnish the water supply for the world--but also keep it fresh. The term Mushing has been used in the book that means to walk. The term Pan, means one dollar, Bum Pan means a half dollar. Hit means five dollars. A great manny hunters have severe accidents with their guns--often they burst when they are fired off--this is caused by dirt accidently getting into the end of the barrel which so many inexperienced hunters unconscouusly do. I have known an explosion caused by snow in the end of the muzzle. There was a very bad bear in Wyoming known as "Old Three points" There was an Irishman crossing over his territory and while sitting on a rock he looked up and saw "Old Three Points" coming toward him evidently on his track--for he was putting his noose to the ground seemingly in every track--"The Irishman said" Oh! its tracks ye want--then be gorry I'll make ye some" and he did. as many have done. I was employed by a Ranchman to kill Three Points--so named because he had a nail torn off and left but three points to his track with his right paw. I took two of the best marksman I had and we rode over into his territory--after we had cooked our meat partly because we were hungry, and partly to draw the old fellow on by the scent--and before we had time to eat our meal the old plough hove in sight-- He was certainly in fighting trim, he came down over the hill--like a Newbraska cyclone--every log he came to he would knock clean out of his road the stones were flying right and left, he would knock rotton logs all to pieces, he would not turn aside for anything, he had been in a fight his hair was ruffled up, he was all covered with blood, and had been wounded several times, all at once we opened up on his with three bullets in his pelt driven there by guns which struck thirty eight hundred pound apiece--he just groaned and staggered a little, and made for us, We split up and gave him dope from three quarters which was more than old Three points had expected; and before he could claw any of our meat he lost his appetite because we had fed him too much lead. Black Beaver--knows how to live outdoors better than we know how to live indoors. He never catches cold, he positively knows every time just where to sleep, he never sleeps on his back if the ground is cold or damp--always upon his stomache. He could teach the U.S. Army something worth knowing--about living out doors. Black Beaver knows what animals think. Can tell just what maneuver a dog, wolf deer, or even a fish will go through on almost every occasion. The Eskimos at Point Barrow--think the Aurora Borealis is caused by the Great Icebergs toppling over into the water, and the water is so much warmer than the great lump of ice covered with frost that an explosion takes place--caused by the coming together of these two substances so different in temperature. Then the ice splits and the explosion causes light ans makes a noise which is always heard in the Arctics. The Eskimo scoffs at the idea of man reaching the North Pole. They say the place where the pole is supposed to be, is an unfinished part of creation, and how can man find that which has not been created. They say the north Pole is one continous upheavel of indisscribable explosions. That not a bear, owl, tomigan, fox, indian or even a whale or fish could live, nor do they live beyond the hut of the Eskimo. Could you if you could not write, write a better book? I have no vain idle catchy words, but news in a nude form do you appreciate news, gold dug out of mud? then give me credit for what I have done rather than for what I have said. Read my later publications. So excuse the errors of a sourdough, keep track of me I want to talk to you later. Good bye for this time. I shall enjoy being a true friend to every reader of Black Beaver the Trapper. Ask me questions, if you have my address, write to me while I am in the wilderness. I once stopped and listened for an hour to the disputed music of a Baby's cry.--then if this consoled--perhaps you can, I start tomorrow for the Golden shore Of Alaska, over rough seas, swollen rivers, rocky coasts and shaggy hillsides. But I shall return again--From that wilderness, to enjoy and make glad the gentle loving people in the States where the stars and stripes defend, And where maidens and lovers, husbands and wives, enjoy sweet life and charities beyond the possibility of any race in any other land under God's girdling skies. THE END. Black Beaver's Address Permanently, is Fife Lake, Grand Traverse Co., Mich. [Illustration: WASHING GOLD AT POINT BARROW, ALASKA] [Illustration: ARCTIC JIM AT ST. MICHAELS] THE LARGEST AND MOST SUCCESSFUL FUR SELLING ESTABLISHMENT IN THE WORLD [Illustration] If you will write to us today we will send you FREE A VALUABLE BOOK ON TRAPPING and A HANDSOME PICTURE IN COLORS showing the correct way to stretch and prepare furs for market. IF YOU WANT THE MOST MONEY FOR YOUR FURS IN THE QUICKEST TIME SHIP YOUR FURS TO FUNSTEN BROS. & CO. ST. LOUIS, U.S.A., 2nd and ELM STREETS 
28574	----	Transcriber's Note The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully preserved. Only obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Connie Morgan in the Fur Country [Illustration] _By_ James B. Hendryx · ILLUSTRATED · _By James B. Hendryx_ The Promise The Gun Brand The Texan The Gold Girl Prairie Flowers Connie Morgan in Alaska Connie Morgan with the Mounted Connie Morgan in the Lumber Camps Connie Morgan in the Fur Country [Illustration: "For there, standing close beside the fire, his head and huge shoulders thrust into the doorway, his eyes gleaming like live coals, stood the great grey leader of the wolf pack." Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover] CONNIE MORGAN IN THE FUR COUNTRY BY JAMES B. HENDRYX AUTHOR OF "CONNIE MORGAN IN ALASKA," ETC. [Illustration] _ILLUSTRATED_ G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK AND LONDON The Knickerbocker Press 1921 Copyright, 1921 by James B. Hendryx Made in the United States of America [Illustration] CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I.--DOG, OR WOLF? 1 II.--'MERICAN JOE 17 III.--NERVE 32 IV.--BRASS 49 V.--THE PLAGUE FLAG IN THE SKY 76 VI.--AT THE END OF RENÉ'S TRAIL 95 VII.--AT FORT NORMAN 111 VIII.--BAIT--AND A BEAR 123 IX.--OUT ON THE TRAP LINE 138 X.--THE TRAIL OF THE _CARCAJO_ 149 XI.--THE CARIBOU HUNT 168 XII.--THE TRAIL IN THE SNOW 184 XIII.--AT THE CAMP OF THE _HOOCH_-RUNNERS 200 XIV.--THE PASSING OF BLACK MORAN 216 XV.--SETTING THE FOX TRAPS 238 XVI.--THE VOICE FROM THE HILL 254 XVII.--THE-LAKE-OF-THE-FOX-THAT-YELLS 269 XVIII.--THE MAN IN THE CAVE 290 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE "FOR THERE, STANDING CLOSE BESIDE THE FIRE, HIS HEAD AND HUGE SHOULDERS THRUST INTO THE DOORWAY, HIS EYES GLEAMING LIKE LIVE COALS, STOOD THE GREAT GREY LEADER OF THE WOLF PACK" _Frontispiece_ "IN THE WHIRLING BLIZZARD, WITHOUT PROTECTION OF TIMBER, ONE PLACE WAS AS GOOD AS ANOTHER TO CAMP, AND WHILE THE INDIAN BUSIED HIMSELF WITH THE DOGS, CONNIE PROCEEDED TO DIG A TRENCH IN THE SNOW" 54 "THE THIRD DAY DAWNED COLD AND CLEAR, AND DAYLIGHT FOUND THE OUTFIT ON THE MOVE" 70 "IT WAS A TERRIBLE THING TO LOOK UPON TO THOSE TWO WHO KNEW ITS SIGNIFICANCE--THAT FLAG GLOWING LIKE A SPLOTCH OF BLOOD THERE IN THE BRAZEN SKY" 80 "THE SNARE WAS SET ONLY A FOOT OR TWO FROM THE STUFFED RABBIT SKIN AND STICKS AND BRUSH SO ARRANGED THAT IN ORDER TO REACH THE RABBIT THE LYNX MUST LEAP STRAIGHT INTO THE SNARE" 130 "'MERICAN JOE CLIMBED THE TREE AND A FEW MINUTES LATER CONNIE HEARD THE BLOWS OF HIS BELT AX AS HE HACKED AT THE LIMB THAT HELD THE CLOG" 156 "AS DARKNESS SETTLED OVER THE NORTH COUNTRY, A LITTLE FIRE TWINKLED IN THE BUSH, AND THE ODOUR OF SIZZLING BACON AND FRYING LIVER PERMEATED THE COZY CAMP" 182 "AS HE STEPPED THROUGH THE DOORWAY HE WAS SEIZED VIOLENTLY FROM BEHIND" 218 Connie Morgan in the Fur Country CHAPTER I DOG, OR WOLF? In the little cabin on Ten Bow Waseche Bill laid his week-old newspaper aside, knocked the ashes from his pipe against the edge of the woodbox, and listened to the roar of the wind. After a few moments he rose and opened the door, only to slam it immediately as an icy blast, freighted with a million whirling flakes of snow, swept the room. Resuming his seat, he proceeded very deliberately to refill his pipe. This accomplished to his satisfaction, he lighted it, crammed some wood into the little air-tight stove, and tilted his chair back against the log wall. "Well, son, what is it?" he asked, after a few moments of silence during which he had watched his young partner, Connie Morgan, draw rag after rag through the barrel of his rifle. "What's what?" asked the boy, without looking up. "What's on yo' mind? The last five patches yo've drug through that gun was as clean when they come out as when they went in. Yo' ain't cleanin' no rifle--yo' studyin' 'bout somethin'." Connie rested the rifle upon his knees and smiled across the little oilcloth-covered table: "Looks like winter has come in earnest," he said. "Listen to her trying to tear the roof off. I've been wishing it would snow for a week." "Snow fer a week?" "No. Wishing for a week." "Well, now it's come, what yo' goin' to do with it?" "I'm going out and get that Big Ruff." "Big Ruff! Yo' mean kill him?" Connie shook his head: "No. I'm going to catch him. I want him." Waseche laughed: "What in thunder do yo' want of him, even pervidin' he's a dog, which the chances is he ain't nothin' but a wolf. An' yo' don't even know they's any such brute rompin' the hills, nohow. Stories gits goin' that-a-way. Someone, mebbe, seen a dog or a wolf runnin' the ridge of Spur Mountain late in the evenin' so he looked 'bout half agin the size he was, an' they come along an' told it. Then someone else sees him, er another one, an' he recollects that he heard tell of a monstr'us big wolf er dog, he cain't recollect which, so he splits the difference an' makes him half-dog an' half-wolf, an' he adds a big ruff onto his neck fer good measure, an' tells it 'round. After that yo' kin bet that every tin-horn that gits within twenty mile of Spur Mountain will see him, an' each time he gits bigger, an' his ruff gits bigger. It's like a stampede. Yo' let someone pan out mebbe half a dozen ounces of dust on some crick an' by the time the news has spread a hundred mile, he's took out a fortune, an' it's in chunks as big as a pigeon's aig--they ain't nary one of them ever saw a pigeon's aig--but that's always what them chunks is as big as--an' directly the whole crick is staked an' a lot of men goes broke, an' some is killed, an' chances is, the only ones that comes out ahead is the ones that's staked an' sold out." "But there are real wolf-dogs--I've seen plenty of 'em, and so have you. And there are real strikes--look at Ten Bow!" "Yeh, look at it--but I made that strike myself. The boys down to Hesitation know'd that if I said they was colour heah it was heah. They didn't come a kihootin' up heah on the say-so of no tin-horn." "Yes, and there's a big wolf-dog been over on Spur Mountain for a week, too. I didn't pay any attention when I first heard it. But, Dutch Henry saw him yesterday, and today when Black Jack Demeree came up with the mail he saw him, too." Waseche appeared interested: "An' did they say he was as big as a cabin an' a ruff on him like the mainsail of a whaler?" "No, but they said he was the biggest dog they ever saw, and he has got the big ruff, all right--and he was running with two or three wolves, and he was bigger than any of them." "Well, if Dutch Henry an' Black Jack seen him," agreed Waseche with conviction, "he's there. But, what in time do yo' want of him? If he was runnin' with wolves he's buildin' him up a pack. He's a bad actor. You take them renegade dogs, an' they're worse than wolves an' worse than dogs--an' they're smarter'n most folks." "That's why I want him. I want to make a leader out of him." "You can't catch him--an' if you could, you couldn't handle him." "I'll tell you more about that after I've had a try at him," grinned the boy. "Who's going along?" "No one. I don't want to divide him up with anyone, and anyone I could hire wouldn't be worth taking along." "He'll eat you up." "I hope he tries it! If he ever gets that close to me--he's mine!" "Or yo'll be his'n," drawled Waseche Bill. "Howeveh, if I was bettin' I'd take yo' end of it, at that." Connie rose, laid the rifle upon the table, and began to overhaul his gear. Waseche watched him for a few moments, and blew a cloud of blue smoke ceilingward: "Seems like yo' jest nach'lly cain't set by an' take things easy," he said; "heah's yo', with mo' money than yo' kin eveh spend, gittin' ready to hike out an' live like a Siwash in the bush when yo' c'd go outside fer the winteh, an' live in some swell _hotel_ an' nothin' to do but r'ar back in one of them big leatheh chairs with yo' feet in the window an' watch the folks go by." Connie flashed him a grin: "You've got as much as I have--and I don't notice you sitting around any swell hotels watching the folks go by." Waseche's eyes twinkled: and he glanced affectionately at the boy: "No, son. This heah suits me betteh. But, yo' ain't even satisfied to stay heah in the cabin. When my laig went bad on me an' I had to go outside, you hit out an' put in the time with the Mounted, then last winteh, 'stead of taking it easy, you hit out fo' Minnesota an' handed that timbeh thievin' bunch what was comin' to 'em." "Well, it paid, didn't it?" "Sho' it paid--an' the work with the Mounted paid--not in money, but in what yo' learnt. But you don't neveh take things easy. Yo' pa was like that. I reckon it's bred in the bone." Connie nodded: "Yes, and this winter I've got a trip planned out that will make all the others look piking. I'm going over and have a look at the Coppermine River country--over beyond the Mackenzie." Waseche Bill stared at the boy in astonishment: "Beyond the Mackenzie!" he exclaimed, then his voice dropped into a tone softly sarcastic. "Yo' ought to have a right pleasant trip. It ain't oveh a thousan' miles oah so, an' only about fifteen er twenty mountain ranges to cross. The trail ought to be right nice an' smooth an' plain marked. An' when yo' git theah yo' sho' ought to enjoy yo'self. I caint' think of no place in the world a man had ought to keep away from worse than right theah. Why, son, they tell me that beyond the Mackenzie they ain't _nothin'_!" "There's gold--and copper," defended the boy. "Did Dutch Henry an' Black Jack Demeree tell yo' that, too?" Connie laughed: "No, I read about it in a book." Waseche snorted contemptuously, "Read it in a book! Look a heah, son, it don't stand to reason that if anyone know'd they was gold an' coppeh up theah they'd be foolin' away theah time writin' books about it, does it? No suh, they'd be be right up amongst it scoopin' it out of the gravel, that's wheah they'd be! Books is redic'lus." "But the man that wrote the book didn't know where the gold is----" "You bet he didn't! That's the way with these heah fellows that writes books. They don't know enough about gold to make 'em a livin' diggin' it--so they write a book about it. They's mo' ways than one to make a livin' out of gold--like sellin' fake claims, an' writin' books." "I'm going to roll in, now, because I want to get an early start. It's that book up there on the shelf with the green cover. You read it, and when I come back with Big Ruff, we'll talk it over." Again Waseche snorted contemptuously, but a few minutes later as he lay snuggled between his blankets, Connie smiled to himself to see his big partner take the book from the shelf, light his pipe, and after settling himself comfortably in his chair, gingerly turn its pages. Spur Mountain is not really a mountain at all. It is a long sparsely timbered ridge only about seven hundred feet in height that protrudes into the valley of the Ten Bow, for all the world like a giant spur. The creek doubles sharply around the point of the spur which slants upward to a deep notch or pass in the range that separates the Ten Bow from the valley of the Tanana. It was past noon when Connie Morgan swung his dogs from the creek-bed and headed back along the base of the spur toward the main range. He had covered the fifteen miles slowly, being forced almost constantly to break trail ahead of the dogs through the new-fallen snow. He turned into a patch of timber that slanted obliquely upward to the crest of the ridge, and working his outfit halfway to the top, pitched his tent on a narrow ledge or shoulder, protected from every direction by the ridge itself, and by the thick spruce timber. The early darkness had settled when he finished making camp and as he ate his supper he watched the stars appear one by one in the heavens. After replenishing his fire, he removed his _mukluks_ and mackinaw, and slipped into his sleeping bag. Two hours later he opened his eyes and listened. From beyond the ridge--far down the valley of the Ten Bow, floated the long-drawn howl of a wolf. A moment of silence followed, and from across the valley sounded an answering call. Outside the little tent a dog whined softly. The boy smiled as his eyes rested for a moment upon the glowing coals of his fire. "What anybody wants to live in a city for when they can lie out in the timber and listen to that, is more than I know--I love it!" The next moment he was sitting bolt upright, his hands fighting his sleeping bag, as the hair of his scalp seemed to rise like the quills of an enraged porcupine, and a peculiar tickly chill ran down his spine. The silence of the night was shattered by a sound so terrible that his blood seemed to chill at the horror of it. It was a wolf cry--but unlike the cry of any wolf he had ever heard. There was a swift rush of dark bodies and Connie's four dogs dived into the tent, knocking him over in their haste, their feet scratching up a shower of snow which caused the glowing coals of the little fire to sizzle and smoke. The cry of the wolves had floated--but this new cry seemed to hurl itself through the night--a terrifying crescendo of noise that sounded at once a challenge and wail. For a full minute after the sound ceased the boy sat tense and motionless, staring wide-eyed beyond the fire, while behind him, in the farthest corner of the tent the _malamutes_ huddled and whined. Then he shook himself and laughed. "Some howl!" he muttered, "I bet they heard that in Ten Bow. That's the Big Ruff, all right--and he ain't far away." Hastily wriggling from his sleeping bag the boy drew on his _mukluks_ and mackinaw and stepped from the tent. Overhead the stars glittered brilliantly, and he noted with satisfaction that objects were visible at a distance of several hundred yards against the background of new-fallen snow. Drawing a heavy parka over his mackinaw, he fastened on his snowshoes, caught up his rifle, and headed upward for the crest of the ridge. "Maybe I can get a look at him anyway," he thought. "He'll gather his wolves and the chances are that sometime before morning they'll run the ridge." A half-hour later the boy slipped into a tangle of brush that marked the upper end of his patch of timber. The bare summit of the ridge stretched away in the half-light to merge in a mysterious blur with the indistinct valley of the Ten Bow. The wind was blowing gently from the ridge and the boy figured that if the wolf pack followed the summit as he hoped, they must pass within twenty yards of him. "If it don't go and cloud up before they get here I can see 'em plain as day," he thought, as he settled himself comfortably for his long wait. An hour passed and the boy was thankful he had thought to bring his parka. Mushing a hard trail, a man can dispense with his parka at twenty degrees below zero, but sitting still, even at zero, the heavy moosehide garment is indispensable. For another hour Connie divided his attention between watching the fantastic changes of pale aurora and scanning the distant reach of the ridge. He shifted his weight to his other hip to stretch a cramped leg; and suddenly became motionless as a stone. Far down the ridge his trained eye had caught a blur of motion. His fists clenched in anticipation as he stared into the dim distance. Yes, there it was again--something moving, like a swift shadow along the bald surface of the snow. Again the silent shadow shape vanished and again it appeared--nearer, now--near enough so that the boy could distinguish not one, but many shapes. In fascination he watched that silent run of the wolf pack. Nearer they swept, running easily and swiftly along the wind-swept ridge. Instinctively Connie reached for his rifle but withdrew his arm before his hand touched the weapon. There were ten or twelve wolves in all, but his attention was riveted upon the leader. Never in his life had he seen such an animal. In the starlight his coat gleamed like molten silver in contrast with the dark tawny coats of the pack that ran at his heels. They reached a point nearly opposite to the boy's hiding place, and distant not more than fifty yards, when suddenly the huge leader halted in his tracks. So sudden was his action that the wolves running behind him were unable to stop until they had carried six or eight yards beyond. One or two jostled the leader in passing and were rewarded with swift, silent slashes of his great jaws. Luckily for themselves, the culprits escaped death by inches, and leaping swiftly aside, mingled with their companions, while the great grey leader stood squarely upon his feet sniffing the air. Connie's heart raced wildly as he stared at the magnificent animal. It seemed incredible that the brute had caught his scent against the wind, and yet, if not, why had he halted so suddenly? And why did he stand there sniffing the air? The wolves settled upon their haunches with tongues a-loll and eyed their leader, or moved nervously back and forth in the background sniffing inquisitively. During this interval the boy took in every detail of the great brute he had set out to capture. More conspicuous even than his great size was the enormous ruff of long hair that covered the animal's neck and shoulders--a feature that accentuated immeasurably the ferocious appearance of the pointed wolfish muzzle and gleaming eyes. Every detail of coat, of muzzle, of eyes, of ears, or of legs bespoke the wolf breed--but there were other details--and the heart of the boy leaped as he noted them. The deep, massive chest, the peculiar poise of the head, and the over-curl of the huge brush of the tail showed unmistakably the breed of the dog. "I wonder what his heart is?" thought Connie. "Is it wolf, or dog, or part wolf and a part dog?" As these thoughts flashed through his mind the boy saw the great grey shape turn abruptly and trot toward the opposite side of the ridge at a right angle to his former course. The wolves followed at a respectful distance and as they disappeared over the crest Connie wriggled from his place of concealment and crawling to the top, peered down the slope. The wolves had vanished completely. Nothing was in sight except the long white sweep of snow, with here and there a black patch of bushes and scrub. He was about to return to his camp when, from one of the patches of scrub burst a scattering of tawny shapes. Singly, and in groups of two or three, crowding each other in their mad haste, they fled into the open and ranging themselves in a semicircle, waited expectantly. Presently another wolf emerged from the thicket, dragging himself on his belly, ploughing the snow. As Connie watched curiously he noticed that the wide, flat trail left by the slowly crawling wolf showed broad, dark streaks and blotches. The waiting wolves knew the meaning of that darkened trail and the next moment they were upon him. Connie shifted his position for a better view of this midnight tragedy of the wild, when his foot caught under a root concealed by the snow and he pitched heavily forward. To save himself he grasped the dead branch of a stunted tree. The branch snapped with a report that rang through the silence of the night like an explosion and the boy pitched headforemost into the snow. The great grey leader shot from the scrub, and with the pack at his heels disappeared in the thicker timber at the base of the ridge. CHAPTER II 'MERICAN JOE When Connie regained his feet Spur Mountain was silent as the tomb, and for several moments he stood motionless gazing at the tawny shape that lay still at the end of the stained trail, and at the patch of scrub from which the shape had emerged. What was in that dark patch of brush? Why had the wolves burst from it in terror? Why had the great leader stayed until the snapping of the limb had frightened him away? And what had happened to the wolf that lay dead in the snow? Slowly the boy returned to his hiding place, picked up his rifle, and descended the slope toward the patch of scrub. He stooped to examine the body of the wolf. As he rolled it over his thoughts leaped to the great grey leader. "Maybe his heart's all wolf," he muttered thoughtfully, as he stared at the long slash that extended from the bottom of the flank upward almost to the backbone--a slash as clean as if executed with a sharp knife, and through which the animal's entrails had protruded and his life blood had gushed to discolour the snow. "What did he do it for?" wondered Connie as he turned from the carcass and proceeded cautiously into the scrub. Ten yards in he stumbled over a snow-covered object. It was a sledge of curious design. "That's no Alaska sled," he muttered, as he stared about him, his eyes seeking to pierce the darker gloom of the scrub. A few feet from him was a curious white mound. Before the mound were many wolf tracks, and there it was that the blotched trail began. Moving cautiously, the boy examined the irregular snow-covered mound. At the point where the wolf tracks converged he noticed a small triangular patch of darkness close to the ground. Stooping he examined it closely and found to his surprise that it was the opening of a shelter tent or wikiup. Dropping upon his hands and knees he peered inside. In the darkness he could make out nothing. Throwing off his mittens, he lighted a match, and as the tiny flame threw its feeble light upon the interior he made out at the farther side a gruesome looking mound of blankets. The match burned his finger tips and the miserable shelter was once more plunged in blackness. Involuntarily Connie shuddered. His first inclination was to leave that place--to return to his camp and harness his dogs and hit the back trail for Ten Bow--then, tomorrow--Even with the thought his jaw stiffened: "If I do it'll be because I'm afraid," he sneered. "What would my dad have done? What would Waseche do? Or Dan McKeever? Or any of the boys? The very last thing in the world they would do would be to run away! And I won't either. The first thing is to find out who he is and how he comes to be lying dead way up here on Spur Mountain." Methodically the boy kicked the snow back from the door of the low shelter tent, and gathering some dry branches built a fire. Then he crawled inside, and by the light of the crackling flames proceeded to examine the interior. One glance told the story. A battered aluminum kettle, a small frying pan, and a canvas bag which contained nothing but a small handful of tea, and the blankets he was wrapped in, constituted the man's whole outfit. There was no grub--no weapon of any kind with which to procure grub. He laid a hand on the blanket to roll the man toward the light--and started so violently that he sent the frying pan rattling against the kettle. For, instead of the rigid corpse of solid ice he had expected to find, the blanket yielded beneath the pressure of his hand! Either the man was alive, or had died so recently that his body had not had time to freeze! Recovering himself instantly, Connie ran his hand beneath the blanket. Yes, he was alive--there was heat there--not much--but enough body-warmth to show that he still lived. Scooping up a kettle of snow the boy set it upon the fire and, as it melted, without uncovering the man, he fell to beating him with his fists, to stimulate the lagging circulation. Heating the frying pan he thrust it into the canvas bag and slipped it under the blankets and went on with his beating. When the water began to boil, he withdrew the bag and threw the tea into the kettle. Then he removed the outer blanket and succeeded in rolling the unconscious form nearer to the fire. When he uncovered the face he saw that the man was an Indian--a young buck of twenty-five or thirty, and he wondered the more at his plight. Removing the kettle from the fire, he set it beside him and succeeded in propping the Indian's head upon his knees. With a tin cup, he dipped some scalding tea from the kettle and allowing it to cool a little, dropped a small quantity between the man's lips. At the third dose, the Indian shuddered slightly, his lips moved, and he swallowed feebly. The next time he swallowed as much as a spoonful, and then, double that amount. After that his recovery was rapid. Before the cup was half empty he had opened his eyes and blinked foolishly into Connie's face. He gulped eagerly at the hot liquid, but the boy would allow him only a mouthful at a time. When the cup was empty Connie refilled it. The Indian's lips moved. He seemed to be trying to speak. "Talk English?" encouraged the boy with a smile. The other nodded: "Yes--_kloshe wawa_--me spik good." "What's your name--_kahta mika nem_?" The Indian seemed delighted to find that the boy could speak the jargon. He smiled: "_Nika nem_ 'Merican Joe." And having imparted the information, plunged into a rabble of jargon that the boy was at his wit's end to follow. He stopped him in the middle of it: "Look here, 'Merican Joe, you talk English--she best to talk. You know all 'bout English?" "Yes." "Well, you talk it then. Listen--I've got a camp over across the ridge. Plenty grub. I go get grub. You stay here. Half an hour I come back. We eat big." The Indian nodded vigorously, and as Connie turned toward the door he recoiled, and involuntarily drew the knife from his belt. For there, standing close beside the fire, his head and huge shoulders thrust into the doorway, his eyes gleaming like live coals, stood the great grey leader of the wolf pack! 'Merican Joe struggled to his elbow and stretched his hand toward the superb brute: "Ah, come Leloo! _Nika skookum tkope leloo!_" (My big white wolf). With a bound the great animal was at the Indian's side, nuzzling, rooting at him, licking his hands and face with his long red tongue. Connie sat fascinated at the sight, as the Indian tugged playfully at the pointed ears and buried his hand in the long shimmering hair of the enormous ruff. Then the great brute settled down close against the blanket and, raising his head, eyed Connie indifferently, and as if to emphasize his indifference he opened his huge jaws in a prodigious yawn--a yawn that exposed the interior of his cavernous mouth with its wealth of gleaming fangs. The Indian thumped the brute on the ribs and pointed to the boy. "_Skookum tillicum._" Leloo rose, stalked to the boy, deliberately sniffed him over from top to toe, and resumed his place. "Is he yours?" asked Connie eagerly. "Where did you get him? Have you got any more of 'em?" 'Merican Joe laughed: "No--no more! No more lak heem een de worl'. Leloo you frien', now. You com' een de daytam--een de night--Leloo no hurt." "I hope you're right," laughed the boy, "I'm going after that grub now." And throwing some more wood on the fire, he slipped from the scrub. As he did so, there was a scattering of tawny shapes, and where the carcass of the dead wolf had been, there were only gnawed fragments of bones. When he returned Leloo met him at the edge of the scrub, eyed him for a moment, and turning deliberately, led the way to the shelter tent. Connie viewed 'Merican Joe's attack on the food with alarm. In vain he cautioned the Indian to go slow--to eat lightly at first--but his only answer was a grin, and a renewed attack on the grub. The boy had brought with him from the camp, three cans of baked beans, a bag of pilot bread, and several pounds of pemmican, and not until the last vestige of food was consumed, did 'Merican Joe even pause. Then he licked his fingers and asked for more. Connie told him that in the morning they would break camp and hit for Ten Bow. Also, that when they crossed the ridge he could have all the grub he wanted, and with that the Indian had to content himself. While 'Merican Joe ate the boy cooked up some fish for Leloo, who accepted it from his hand and then settled himself beside him upon the blanket. "Where did you come from? And where are you are going? And how did you come to be out of grub?" asked Connie, when 'Merican Joe had lighted a villainous looking black pipe. "Me--I'm com' far," he pointed toward the east. "I'm goin' to Kuskokwim. A'm liv' on Kuskokwim--be'n gon' t'ree year. I'm los' my outfit w'en de ice brek on Charley River, 'bout ten day 'go." "And you kept on for the Kuskokwim without any grub, and with no rifle!" "Yes--I'm lucky I'm hav' my blankets an' kettle on de front of de sled--de ice no ketch." "But where did you get the dog--or wolf--or whatever Leloo is?" "I'm git heem ver' far--" again he paused and pointed to the east. "Beyond the big mountains?" "Yes." "Beyond the big river--the Mackenzie?" "Yes. I'm desert from de whaler wan year 'go. I com' on de--w'at you call Innuit. I liv' wit dem long tam. All tam snow. All tam ice. All tam col'. 'Cross de big water--de sea--" he pointed north. "Cross on ice. Com' on de lan'--beeg lan', all rock, an' snow an' ice. We hunt de musk ox. T'ree, four day we mush nort'. _Spose_ bye-m-bye we fin' ol' _igloo_. Woof! Out jomp de beeg white wolf! Mor' bigger as any wolf I ever seen. I take my rifle an' shoot heem, an' w'en de shot mak' de beeg noise, out com' anudder wan. She aint' so beeg--an' she ain' white lak de beeg wolf. She ron an' smell de dead wolf. She look on us. She look on our sled dogs. She com' close. Den she run off agin. An' she mak' all de tam de leetle whine. She ain' no wolf--she dog! Bye-m-bye she ron back in _igloo_. Ol' Sen-nick him say dat bad medicine--but me, I ain' care 'bout de Innuit medicine, an' I fol' de dog. I start to crawl een de _igloo_ an' dat dog she growl lak she gon eat me oop. I com' back an' mak' de snare an' pull her out, an' I gon' on een, an' I fin' wan leetle pup. He ees de gran pup. Him look lak de beeg white wolf an' I ketch um. Een de snow w'ere de roof cave een sticks out som' seal-skin _mukluks_. Lays a dead man dere. I tak hol' an' try to pull um out but she too mooch froze. So I quit try an' lef' heem dere." "Was it a white man?" cried Connie. 'Merican Joe shook his head: "I ain' know--I can't pull heem out. Dat good plac' to lef' heem anyhow. He frooze lak' de iron. I hont roun' an' he ain' lef' no grub. Him starve an' freeze, an' hees dogs is all dead but wan, an' she mate oop wit' de beeg white wolf. I giv' ol' Sen-nick de dog an' I kep' de pup. See, Leloo ees de pup. Mos' two year ol'--an' de bes' sled dog een all de worl'!" As Connie watched 'Merican Joe refill his pipe he thought how near history had come to repeating itself. The boy studied Leloo as he lay quiet upon the edge of the blanket. He had heard of the great white wolves that inhabit the drear lone lands that lie beyond the arctic coast--larger even than the grey caribou wolves of the barren lands. He knew, now, that these stories were true. "You called Leloo a dog," he said, "but he's only half dog, and sometime he may turn wolf." 'Merican Joe shrugged: and eyed the great wolf-dog sombrely: "No, him ain' never turn wolf--Leloo. Him half-wolf--half-dog, but de wolf an' de dog ain' separat', lak de front legs, an' de hin' legs. De wolf an' de dog is mix', lak de color een de hair. You savvy? Leloo ain' never all wolf--an' he ain' never all dog. All de tam' he wolf an' dog mix'." Connie nodded eagerly. "I see!" he answered, and his thoughts flew to the great brute he had seen only a few hours before running at the head of the wolf pack. No hint of the dog in that long-drawn wolf-howl that had brought him tensely erect in his tent and started the hair roots to prickling along his scalp, and no hint of the dog in the silent slashes with which he had resented the crowding of the pack. And yet a few moments later he had defended his helpless master from that same wolf pack--and in defending him with the devotion of the dog, he had ripped with the peculiar flank-slash that is the death thrust of the wolf. Later, in the tent, he had fawned dog-like upon his master--but, wolf-like, the fawning had been soundless. "You know Leloo well," he said. 'Merican Joe smiled: "I raised heem from de pup. I learn heem to pull. He ees de gran' leader. I train heem to hont de caribou--de moose--de deer. I show you som' tam. He kin fight--kill any dog--any wolf. He ain' never git tire. He work all day lak de dog--an' all night mebbe-so he ron wit' de wolf-pack." "You say you've been over east of the Mackenzie; is there gold over there?" "I ain' see no gold." "I'm going over there." "W'en you go?" "Just as soon as I can get an outfit together." "Me--I'm goin' 'long." "Going along! Will you go?" 'Merican Joe nodded: "You _skookum tillicum_. 'Merican Joe, she dead--she starve--she froze--you com' 'long, mak' de fire--give de grub--I ain' dead no mor'. I go 'long." "Do you think there's a good chance to prospect over there? What's the formation?" "I ain' know mooch 'bout dat, w'at you call, fo'mation. Plent' riv--plent' crick. Mebbe-so plent' gol'--I ain' know. But, on de barrens is Injuns. W'en I com' way from de Innuit, I fin' um. Dey got plent' fur. Eef you got nuff stake for tradin' outfit you mak' de beeg money--you ain' care eef de gol' aint' dere." "You meaning trading with the Indians--free trading?" "Yes--de free traders skin 'em--dey cheat 'em--an' sell de hooch----" "But--the Hudson's Bay Company! How about them?" "De H.B.C. all right--but dey ain' go out after de Injun. Dey got de reg'lar post. De Injun got to mush mebbe-so mor' as hondre mile--two hondre. _Spose_ de free traders ketch um firs'. De Injun never git to de post. You got nuff for de stake?" Connie laughed: "Yes, I've got enough for the stake, all right. But I'm not so keen for the trading outfit. We can take along some traps, though, and if there isn't any gold--we'll take out some fur. And, you'll sure go with me? When can you start?" The Indian glanced out of the low door. "It daylight--le's go." "But, how about the Kuskokwim?" 'Merican Joe shrugged. "Kuskokwim kin wait. She ain' no good. Me--I'm stay 'long wit' you. You pay me wages w'at you want. I good man--me. You wait--I show you. You good man, too. I seen plent' good man--plent' bad man--I know--me." The Indian reached out his hand, and Connie shook it--and thus was the bargain struck. "Will you sell Leloo?" asked the boy. The Indian shook his head: "No!" "Five hundred dollars?" "No! Fi' hondre dolla--fi't'ousan' dolla--no!" The Indian crawled out the door followed by Connie and Leloo. Going to the sled, 'Merican Joe picked up a loop of _babiche_ line and threw it about Leloo's neck. He handed the end of the line to Connie. "Leloo heem you dog," he said. "What!" cried the boy. "Heem b'long you--I giv' heem----" "No! No! Let me buy him." The Indian drew himself erect: "I ain' sell Leloo. You giv' me my life--I giv' you Leloo. Me--'Merican Joe good man. You good man. Wan good man wit' anodder. It ees frien's." So Connie Morgan took the line from the hand of 'Merican Joe and as his eyes rested upon the superb lines of the great silver brute, his heart thrilled with the knowledge that he was the possessor of the greatest wolf-dog in all the North. CHAPTER III NERVE On the morning after Connie Morgan had hit the trail for the avowed purpose of capturing the huge wolf-dog that had been reported on Spur Mountain, his big partner, Waseche Bill, lighted his pipe and gazed thoughtfully through the window of the little log office which was situated on the bank of Ten Bow Creek, overlooking the workings. His eyes strayed from the intricate system of pipes and flumes to the cloud of white vapour that rose from the shaft house where the never-tiring steam-point drills forced their way slowly down, down, down into the eternal frost. "Jest three years ago since me and the kid staked this valley," he mused. "An' now we're rich--an' I'm an 'office miner' with a game laig, an' more gold than I could spend if I lived to be as old as Methooslum." His glance strayed to the modern building across the creek with its iron roof, and white painted siding. In this building, erected a month before, were the general offices of the partners, the construction and hydraulic engineers, the chemist, the purchasing agent, the paymaster, the bookkeeper, and a score of clerks and stenographers. There, also, Waseche Bill had had his own office, as general manager of the mine, but after an uncomfortable four weeks of hardwood floors, ground glass doors, and polished desk tops, he moved his office into the one-roomed log cabin across the creek, and upon this, the first day of his installation in his new quarters, he grinned happily out of the window as he watched Cain, the construction engineer, wallow through the new-fallen snow and climb the slippery bank, on his first trip of consultation. And Waseche's grin widened as he heard the engineer endeavouring to remove the snow and sticky mud from his boots before entering. "Stomp 'em off inside, Cain," he called. "The floor's solider, an' you'll have better luck." "Beastly place for an office!" growled the engineer, as he unrolled a blue print, spread it upon the rough pine desk, and glanced with disapproval about the room. "Your office in the main building was so much more convenient." "Yup," answered Waseche. "That was the trouble. About every five minutes in would pop one of you birds an' pester me with some question or 'nother. What I hire you-all for is to get results. What do I care whether you use a double-jointed conniption valve, or a reverse English injector on the donkey engine, so you get the water into them sluices? Or what do I care whether the bookkeeper keeps all the accounts separate, or adds gum-boots, an' cyanide, an' sandpaper, an' wages all up in one colyumn? Or whether the chemist uses peroxide of magentum, or sweet spirits of rawhide, so he gits the gold? The way it is now, you-all's goin' to do a little figgerin' fer yourself before you'll wade through the water an' mud, or waller through the snow, to git over here. An' besides I cain't think right without I can rare back with my feet on the table an' my back ag'in' a good solid log wall." Cain, who understood and loved his employer, chuckled heartily. A few minutes later he rolled up the blue print and buttoned his mackinaw. "By the way, Waseche," he said, with his hand in the door latch, "I'm sending you over a stenographer----" "_Me_ one!" cried Waseche Bill in alarm. "Yes, you need one. Be reasonable, and let me talk for a minute. Here you are, one of the gold magnates of Alaska, and a lot of the correspondence that comes in you've got to handle yourself. You know your spelling and Mr. Webster's don't always agree, and your handwriting is almost illegible in pencil--and worse in ink----" "Well, ain't we got a half dozen stenographers now?" "Yes, but they're all up to their ears in work, and we've been paying them overtime to transcribe your scrawls into readable English. So I heard of this fellow in Fairbanks, and sent for him. He came in yesterday, with Black Jack Demeree's mail team." Cain's eyes twinkled as he paused and grinned. "He's only been in the country a few weeks--a rank _chechako_--but try to put up with him, because stenographers are hard to get and he seems to be a good one. I'll send him over with a couple of men to carry his outfit. I thought I ought to break the news to you----" "An' I ort to break your neck," growled Waseche. "But send him along--mebbe my spellin' an', as the fellow says, chiropody, aint what it ort to be--anyway we'll try him." A few minutes later the door opened and a couple of miners entered with a chair and a table, upon which they deposited a typewriter. Waseche glared as the miners withdrew, and a young man of twenty-one or-two stepped into the room. He was a tall, pale young man with store clothes and nose glasses. Waseche continued to glare as the newcomer addressed him: "Is this Mr. Antrim? I'm the new stenographer. You were expecting me, sir?" Waseche eyed him from top to toe, and shook his head in resignation. "Well--almost, from what Cain said--but not quite. Was you born in servitude?" The newcomer shifted his weight to the other foot. "Sir?" he asked, doubtfully. Waseche deliberately filled his pipe and, tilting his chair against the wall, folded his arms. "Yup--that's what I meant--that 'sir,' an' the 'Mister Antrim.' I ain't no Englishman. I'm an American. I ain't no 'sir,' nor likewise 'mister.' My name's Waseche Bill. It's a good name--good enough to live by, an' to be called by--an' good enough to write at the bottom of a check. What's yourn?" "Percival Lafollette." "Percival Lafollette," repeated Waseche, gravely rolling the name upon his tongue. "'Was you in the original Floradora Sextette?" "Why, no, sir----" "No what?" "No--no--" stammered Percival, in confusion. "That's it--no!--just plain _no_! When you've got that said, you're through with that there partic'lar train of thought." "No--they were girls--the Floradora Sextette." "So they was," agreed Waseche, solemnly. "Did you bring the mail over?" "Yes, s--yes, here it is." He placed a handful of letters on the pine table that served as Waseche's desk. "All right, just take off your cloak an' bonnet, an' pry the lid off that there infernal machine, an' we'll git to work." A few minutes later the new stenographer stood at attention, notebook in hand. Waseche Bill, who had been watching him closely, noted that he shivered slightly, as he removed his overcoat, and that he coughed violently into a handkerchief. Glancing into the pale face, he asked abruptly: "Sick--lunger?" Percival nodded, and Waseche motioned him close, and when he stood at his side reached out and unbuttoned his vest, then his thin shirt, and took his undershirt between his thumb and finger. Then he snorted in disgust. "Look a-here, young fellow, you an' me might's well have it out. I aint' a-goin' to have no lunger workin' fer me!" At the words, the other turned a shade paler, buttoned his clothing, and reached for his overcoat. "Come back here! Where you goin'?" "Why--I thought----" "You ain't hired to think. I've got a shanty full of thinkers over acrost the crick. You're hired to spell. An' after a while you'll learn that you'll know more about what I'm sayin' if you wait till I git through. In the first place, fire that there book an' pencil over in the corner, an' put on your coat an' hat an' hit over to Scotty MacDougall's store an' tell him to give you a reg'lar man's outfit of clothes. No wonder you're a lunger; dressin' in them hen-skins! Git plenty of good thick flannel underwear, wool socks, _mukluks_, a couple of pairs of good britches, mackinaw, cap, mittens, sheep-lined overcoat--the whole business, an' charge 'em up to me. You didn't come through from Fairbanks in them things?" "Yes, Mr. Demeree----" "You mean Black Jack?" "Yes, Black Jack loaned me a parka." "Well, git now--an' put them new duds on, an' come back here, pausin' only long enough to stick them hen-skins in the stove--shoes, overcoat, an' the whole mess. You're in a man's country, now, son," continued Waseche in a kindly tone. "An' you've got to look like a man--an' act like a man--an' _be_ a man. You've got a lot to live down--with a name like that--an' a woman's job--an' a busted lung--an' a servant's manners. I never seen anyone quite so bad off to start with. What you'll be in a year from now is up to you--an' me. I guarantee you'll have good lungs, an' a man's name--the rest is fer you to do. Git, now--an' hurry back." The young man opened his lips, but somehow the words would not come, and Waseche interrupted him. "By the way, did you tell anyone your name around here?" he asked. The other shook his head, and as he turned to get his overcoat a commotion drew both to the window. A dog team was climbing the creek bank. Connie Morgan was driving, urging the dogs up the deep slope, and on the sled was an Indian wrapped in blankets. Neither Connie nor the Indian received more than a passing glance, for in the lead of the team, sharp pointed muzzle low to the ground and huge shoulders heaving into the harness, was the great wolf-dog that Connie had found guarding the unconscious form of his master from the attack of the wolf pack. A cry escaped the stenographer's lips and even Waseche gasped as he took in the details of the superb animal. Percival instinctively drew closer. "It's--it's--the great wolf we saw on the trail! Black Jack Demeree said he'd never seen his like. Oh, he can't get in here, can he?" Waseche shook the speaker roughly by the shoulder. "Yes--he can," he answered. "He'll be in here in just about a minute--an' here's where you start bein' a man. Don't you squinch back--if he eats you up! The next ten minutes will make or break you, for good an' all." And hardly were the words out of his mouth than the door burst open and Connie entered the office, closely followed by the Indian and Leloo, the great ruffed wolf-dog. "I got him, Waseche!" he cried. "He's mine! I'll tell you all about it later--this is 'Merican Joe." The Indian nodded and grinned toward the boy. "_Skookum tillicum_," he grunted. "You bet!" assented Waseche, and as Connie led the great dog to him, the man laid his hand on the huge ruff of silvered hair. "Some dog, son," he said. "The best I ever seen." He flashed a swift glance at Percival who stood at his side, and saw that his face was white as death, that his lips were drawn into a thin, bloodless line, and that little beads of sweat stood out like dew on the white brow. But even as he looked, the stenographer stretched out his hand and laid it on the great dog's head, and he, too, stroked the silvery hair of the great ruff. Waseche, noticing that Connie cast an inquiring glance at the newcomer, introduced him, abruptly: "Son, this here's Roarin' Mike O'Reilly, from over on the Tanana. He's our new stenographer, an' while he goes an' gits on his reg'lar clothes, you an' me an' the Injun will knock off fer noon, an' go over to the cabin." During the preparation of the midday meal Connie told Waseche of how he had found 'Merican Joe, starved and unconscious in his little snow-covered shelter tent, and of how, out of gratitude, the Indian had presented him with Leloo. Waseche eyed the great ruffed animal sombrely, as Connie dwelt upon his curiously mixed nature--how he ran the ridges at night at the head of the wolf pack, and of how, ripping and slashing, he had defended his helpless master against the fangs of those same wolves. "Well, son," he drawled, when the boy had concluded, "he's the finest brute I ever seen--barrin' none. But keep your eye on him. If he ever gits his dates mixed--if he ever turns wolf when he'd ort to be dog--_good-night_!" "I'll watch him," smiled the boy. "And, Waseche, where do you think 'Merican Joe came from?" "Well," grinned his big partner, "fetchin' such a lookin' brute-beast as that along with him--I'd hate to say." "He came from beyond the Mackenzie! He knows the country." "That's prob'ly why he come away," answered Waseche, dryly. "But he's going back--he's going with me. We're going to hit the trail for Dawson tomorrow, and hit across the mountains by way of Bonnet Plume Pass, and outfit at Fort Norman on the Mackenzie, and then strike out for the eastern end of Great Bear Lake, and the barren grounds. We're going to trap the rest of the winter and next summer we're going to prospect and figure on starting a trading post. We've got it all worked out." "Oh, jest like that, eh? It ort to be right smart of a little ja'nt. With nothin' between Dawson an' Fort Norman--an' nothin' beyond." "We might make another strike. And if we don't we can trap." "Yup, that's a great idee--that trappin'. If you both work like a dog all winter out in them there barren lands, an' freeze an' starve, an' have good luck with your traps, you'd ort to clean up as much as two dollars a day." "But look at the country we'd see! And the fun we'd have!" "Ain't they country enough to see here in Alaska? An' as fer fun--some folks idee of humour gits me! Who ever heard of anyone goin' 'leven hundred miles into nowheres for to have fun? I tell you, son, I've know'd stampedes to start on mighty slim information, but never as slim as what you've got. I read your book, an' all them old parties had to go on was the stories of some Injuns--an' the whole mess of 'em's be'n dead most two hundred years! An' I think the book's a fake, anyhow--'cause I don't believe gold's been invented that long! No, sir, take it from me, it's the dog-gonedest wild goose chase ever undertook by anyone--but, at that--if it wasn't for this game laig of mine, I b'lieve I'd go 'long!" After dinner Connie started to overhaul his trail outfit while Waseche looked on. After a while the man rose, and put on his mackinaw. "I've got to go back to the office," he said. "Me an' Roarin' Mike O'Reilly has got to tackle that mail." Connie shot his big partner a long, sidewise glance. "He must be some rough bird to earn a name like that over on the Tanana." "Rough as pig iron," answered Waseche solemnly. "He eats 'em alive, Roarin' does." "What--pancakes?" "Yup--pancakes, an' grizzlies. Roarin' Mike, he takes 'em as they come. Didn't you see him lay holt of your wolf-dog?" "Yes," answered the boy, as solemn as an owl. "And I don't like folks to be so rough with Leloo." "He promised he wouldn't hurt your dog when we seen you comin' up the hill." "It's a good thing you've got him where you can keep your eye on him. If he ever gets loose he's liable to run the crew off the works." "Yup. I'll watch out for that. He's a stenographer. It's claimed he kin spell--better'n what I kin. An' when he gits a letter wrote down, it kin be read without a jury." "I think you've picked a winner, at that, Waseche. I was watching him when he put out his hand to touch Leloo. He would rather have shoved it into the fire. There's something to him, even if the names did get mixed on the package when they shipped him in. I suppose that somewhere over on the Tanana there's a big, red-eyed, double-fisted roughneck charging around among the construction camps packing a name like 'Nellie.'" Waseche grinned. "Percival Lafollette, to be exact. I furnished the Roarin' Mike O'Reilly part, along with a full an' complete outfit of men's wearin' apparel. When he gets to where he can live up to the Roarin' Mike name, he can discard it an' take back his own. Might's well give the boy a chanct. Cain thought he'd put it over on me, 'count of my movin' my office where he'd have to waller acrost the crick to it. But I'll fool him good an' proper. The kid's a lunger, an' the first thing to do is to git him started in to feelin' like a man. I figured they was somethin' to him when I first seen him. If they wasn't, how did he get up here in the middle of Alaska an' winter comin' on--an' nothin' between him an' freezin' but them hen-skin clothes? An' I was watchin', too, when he laid his hand on the dog's head. He was so scairt that the sweat was jest a-bubblin' out of him--an' yet, he retch out an' done like I done--an' believe me, I wasn't none too anxious to fool with that brute, myself. I done it to see if he would. I'm goin' to take holt an' make a reg'lar man out of him. I figger we kin git through the office work by noon every day. If we don't, them birds over in the thinkers' shack is in for more overtime. In the afternoons I'm goin' to keep him out in the air--that's all a lunger needs--plenty air, an' good grub. We'll tromp around the hills and hunt. We'll be a pair to draw to--him with his busted lungs, an' me with my game laig. We was all _chechakos_ onct. They's two kinds of _chechakos_--the ones with _nerve_ an' the ones with _brass_. The ones with the real nerve is the kind that stays in the big country. But the other kind of _chechakos_--the ones with brass--the bluff an' bluster--the counterfeit nerve that don't fool no one but theirself--the luckiest thing that can happen to them is they should live long enough to git back to the outside where they come from--an' most of 'em's lucky if they live long enough to starve to death." "I guess he's the first kind," opined Connie. "When I come back I expect he'll be a regular sourdough." "When you're gone I reckon I'll jest have him move his traps up here. I won't be so lonesome, an' I can keep cases on him----" "But--" interrupted Connie. Waseche divined his thoughts and shook his head. "No, they ain't no danger. My lungs is made of whang leather, an' besides, he ain't no floor spitter--I watched him in the office. Even if he was it wouldn't take mor'n about a minute to break him of that." By nightfall Connie and 'Merican Joe had the outfit all ready for the trail, and the following morning they departed at daylight, with half of Ten Bow waving good-bye, as the great silver wolf-dog swung out onto the long snow trail at the head of the team. CHAPTER IV BRASS It was high noon, just two weeks from the day Connie Morgan and 'Merican Joe pulled out of Ten Bow, and the two halted their dogs on the summit of Bonnet Plume Pass and gazed out over the jumbled mass of peaks and valleys and ridges that lay to the eastward. The first leg of the long snow trail, from Ten Bow to Dawson, had been covered over a well-travelled trail with road houses at convenient intervals. Over this trail with Connie's team of seven big malamutes, headed by the great ruffed wolf-dog, they had averaged forty miles a day. At Dawson they outfitted for the trip to Fort Norman, a distance of about five hundred miles. Connie was fortunate in being able to purchase from a prospector eight Mackenzie River dogs which he presented to 'Merican Joe, much to the Indian's surprise and delight. The Alaska sled was replaced by two toboggans, and 'Merican Joe nodded approval at Connie's selection of supplies. For from now on there would be no road houses and, for the most of the way, no trail. And their course would thread the roughest country on the whole continent. Therefore, the question of outfitting was a problem to be taken seriously. Too little grub in the sub-arctic in winter means death--horrible, black-tongued, sunken-eyed death by starvation and freezing. And too much outfit means overstrain on the dogs, slower travel, and unless some of it is discarded or _cached_, it means all kinds of trouble for the trail mushers. The surest test of a sourdough is his outfit. Connie figured the trip should take thirty-five days, which should put them into Fort Norman on the fifth of November. But Connie had been long enough in the North to take that word "should" none too literally. He knew that under very favourable conditions the trip might be made in twenty days, and he knew also that it might take fifty days. Therefore although the month was November, a very favourable month for hunting, and the country to be traversed was good game country, he did not figure his rifle for a single pound of meat. If meat were killed on the journey, well and good. But if no meat were killed, and if they lost their way, or encountered blizzard after howling blizzard, and their journey lengthened to fifteen or twenty days beyond the estimated time, Connie was determined that it should also be well and good. He remembered men who had been found in the spring and buried--_chechakos_, most of them who had disregarded advice, and whose outfits had been cut down to a minimum that allowed no margin of safety for delay. But some of them had been sourdoughs who had taken a chance and depended on their rifles for food--it had been the same in the end. In the spring the men who buried them read the whole story of the wilderness tragedy in visiting their last few camps. Each day the distance between them shortened, here a dog was killed and eaten, here another, and another, until at the very last camp, half buried in the sodden ashes of the last fire, would be found the kettle with its scraps of moccasins and bits of dog harness shrivelled and dried--moccasin soup, the very last hopeless expedient of the doomed trail musher. And generally the grave was dug beside this fire--never far beyond it. And so Connie added a safety margin to the regular sub-arctic standard of grub for the trail, and when the outfit pulled out of Dawson the toboggans carried three and one half pounds of grub apiece for each of the thirty-five days, which was a full half pound more than was needed, and this, together with their outfit of sleeping bags, clothing, utensils, and nine hundred pounds of dog food, totalled thirteen hundred and fifty pounds--ninety pounds to the dog, which with good dogs is a comfortable load. The summit of the Bonnet Plume pass is a bleak place. And dreary and bleak and indescribably rugged is the country surrounding it. Connie and 'Merican Joe, seated in the lee of their toboggans, boiled a pot of tea over the little primus stove. "We've made good time so far," said the boy. "About three hundred miles more and we'll hit Fort Norman." 'Merican Joe nodded. "Yes, but we got de luck. On dis side we ain' gon' hav' so mooch luck. Too mooch plenty snow--plenty win'. An' tonight, mor' comin'." He indicated the sky to the northward, where, beyond the glittering white peaks, the blue faded to a sullen grey. "You're right," answered Connie, dropping a chunk of ice into his cup of scalding tea. "And I'd sure like to make a patch of timber. These high, bare canyons are rotten places to camp in a blizzard. If you camp in the middle of 'em you've got to tie yourself down or the wind might hang you on a rock somewhere, and if you camp out of the wind against a wall, a snow cornice might bust loose and bury you forty feet deep." 'Merican Joe grinned. "You sourdough--you know. I know you sourdough w'en I seen you han'le de dogs--an' I know w'en you buy de grub. But mos' I know w'en you pack de toboggan--you ain' put all de grub on wan toboggan an' all de odder stuff on de odder toboggan----" Connie laughed. "Lots of men have made that mistake. And then if they get separated one dies of starvation, and the other freezes to death, or if they lose one toboggan they're in the same fix." 'Merican Joe returned the dishes and stove to the pack and glanced at the sky. "I ain' t'ink we mak' de timber tonight. She git dark queek now--seven, eight mile mor' we got to camp." "Yes," assented Connie. "And the days are getting so short that from now on we'll quit camping at noon. We'll pull once and make a day of it--anyway till we get a moon." [Illustration: "In the whirling blizzard, without protection of timber, one place was as good as another to camp, and while the Indian busied himself with the dogs, Connie proceeded to dig a trench in the snow." Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover] To this plan the Indian readily agreed and a moment later struck out ahead as "forerunner" to break trail for the dogs. Despite the fact that there was more snow on the eastern slope, the two soon found it insufficient to check the toboggans upon the series of steep pitches and long slopes they now encountered. At the end of a mile a halt was made, Connie's dogs were turned loose to follow, both toboggans were hitched behind the Mackenzie River dogs, and while 'Merican Joe plodded ahead, Connie had all he could do at the tail rope. An hour later the wind suddenly changed and came roaring out of the north. The whole sky became overcast and stinging particles of flinty snow were driven against their faces. The storm increased in fury. The stinging particles changed to dry, powdery snow dust that whirled and eddied about them so thickly that Connie could not see the dogs from the rear of the toboggans. Covering their noses and mouths, the two bored on through the white smother--a slow moving, ghostly procession, with the snow powder matted thick into the hairy coats of the dogs and the clothing of the mushers. Not until darkness added to the impenetrability of the storm did 'Merican Joe halt. In the whirling blizzard, without protection of timber, one place was as good as another to camp, and while the Indian busied himself with the dogs Connie proceeded to dig a trench in the snow. This trench was as long as the toboggans, and wide enough to accommodate the two sleeping bags placed side by side. Three feet down the boy struck ice. The sleeping bags, primus stove, and part of the food were dumped into the trench. The loaded toboggans were tipped on edge, one along either side, and the heavy canvas shelter tarp was stretched over these and weighted down by doubling its edges under the toboggans. The open ends were blocked with snow, the dogs fed and left to make their own beds, and the two crawled into their snug quarters where by the light of a candle they prepared a good hot meal on the little stove and devoured it in warmth and comfort while the storm roared harmlessly over their heads. For two days they were storm bound, venturing out only to feed the dogs and from time to time to relieve the tarp roof of its burden of snow. The third day dawned cold and clear, and daylight found the outfit on the move. They were following a creek bed, and the depth of the snow, together with the easing of the slope, permitted the use of both teams. No halt was made at noon and when they camped at dark they estimated they had made fifteen miles. Five days of fair cold weather followed and each night found them from fifteen to eighteen miles from the camp of the night before. No game had been sighted, but on two of the nights Leloo had left camp, and once, from some ridge far to the northward, they had heard his long-drawn howl of the kill. On the sixth day another storm broke. They were following the snow-covered bed of a fair-sized river which Connie hoped would prove to be the head-waters of the Gravel, which empties into the Mackenzie some forty-five miles above Fort Norman. They had left the highest mountains behind, and patches of timber appeared at frequent intervals along the banks of the stream. As the storm thickened they camped, setting up their tent in the shelter of a thicket, and in the morning they pushed on despite the storm. It was nearly noon when Connie called to 'Merican Joe, and when the Indian made his way back, the boy pointed to Leloo. The great wolf-dog had halted in the traces and stood with nose up sniffing the air, while the huge ruff seemed to swell to twice its size, and the hair along its spine bristled menacingly. They had stopped opposite a patch of timber taller than any they had passed, the tops of the trees being visible between the gusts of whirling snow. "Moose or a bear in there," ventured Connie. "Let's go get him." 'Merican Joe shook his head. "No. Leloo, he ketch de man scent. He ain' ac' lak dat for moose an' bear." "Man scent! What would any men be doing up here?" The Indian shrugged. "Hunt, trap, mebbe-so prospeck. Com' on, le's go. It ain' no good we go in dere." He paused and pointed to the dog. "Bad mans in dere--Leloo, he know. Bad mans smells one way--good mans smells anudder way. Leloo ain' git mad for good mans." "We can't go away and leave them," Connie answered. "They may be out of luck--may need help." Again 'Merican Joe shrugged, but offered no further objection, and releasing Leloo from his harness the two followed him into the timber. A short distance back from the edge they came upon a rude log cabin, glaringly the work of inexperienced builders. No tracks were seen about the door, and no smoke rose from the stovepipe that served as a chimney. 'Merican Joe pushed open the door. "It's 'bout time you was comin'--an' me crippled," came a petulant voice from the bed. "But what do you care--" The voice ceased suddenly, and 'Merican Joe sprang back from the doorway so swiftly that he knocked Connie into the snow. As the boy picked up himself he again heard the voice. "Git out of here, you thievin' Injun or I'll blow yer head off!" Ignoring the protest of 'Merican Joe, Connie thrust his head in at the doorway. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, sharply. "Are you crazy?" The man in the bed stared a moment and with seeming reluctance lowered his rifle. "Who're you?" he asked, sullenly. "If you want grub y're out of luck. We ain't got none to spare--an' I got a rifle here that says you don't git none of it." Involuntarily, Connie's glance swept the supplies piled along the walls and upon the shelves, and estimated a four-man outfit. "How many of you are there?" he asked. "And why haven't you got a fire?" "They's two of us, an' I ain't got no fire 'cause my partner ain't showed up to build none. I'm crippled--sunk an ax in my foot a couple days back." "Where is your partner?" "I dunno. He went to look at the traps yesterday an' he ain't got back yet." He noticed the snow clinging to Connie's garments. "Is it snowin'?" he asked, in sudden alarm. "Snowing!" exclaimed the boy. "Of course it's snowing--it's been snowing since yesterday noon." The man's voice dropped into a whine. "The winders is frosted so you can't see out. I bet he's lost. Go find him, can't you? What're you standin' there fer?" Righteous indignation succeeded the flash of disgust engendered by the man's first words. And Connie stepped closer. "Look here, who do you think you're talking to? I don't know who you are, and I don't want to. What I can't figure is how you ever got this far. If nobody else had bothered to knock some common sense and decency into you it's a wonder your partner hasn't. But I guess he don't know the difference between you and a man or he wouldn't be your partner." Connie turned on his heel and started for the door. "Hey, where you goin'?" wailed the man on the bunk. "I'm going out and tend to my dogs," answered the boy. "Build a fire first, an' cook me some grub! I ain't had nothin' since yesterday." "After the dogs," said Connie as he banged the door behind him. "Le's mush," said 'Merican Joe, when they returned to the dogs. Connie grinned. "No, we can't do that. I've seen some pretty raw _chechakos_, but never one like him. If we pulled out they'd probably both die." 'Merican Joe gave an expressive shrug. "_S'pose_ we ain't got no grub. He ain' care _we_ die." "No, but we're men, and he----" "He ain' so good lak Injun dog," interrupted 'Merican Joe. "Just about--but we can't go off and leave him, at that." Twenty minutes later Connie and the Indian entered the cabin. "You took yer time about it," complained the man. "Hustle around now an' cook me up a meal of vittles." "Where's your firewood?" asked the boy, smothering his wrath. "Go out an' cut it, same as we do." "Don't you keep any ahead, nor any kindlings?" "Naw, it's bad enough to cut a little at a time." Connie's glance sought the room. "Where's the ax?" "Out in the brush, I guess. My partner cut the wood last. I don't know where he left it." "Well, it's under about two feet of snow now," answered the boy dryly, as 'Merican Joe departed to get their own ax and cut some wood. By the time the cabin was warmed and the man fed, the storm had ceased. "Let me have a look at your foot," said Connie. "I expect it had better be tended to." The man assented, and the boy turned back the covers and, despite much groaning and whining complaint, removed the bandage and replaced it with a clean one. "Pretty bad gash," opined Connie. "How did it happen?" "Cuttin' firewood--holdin' the stick with my foot an' the ax struck a knot." "You've got to learn a lot, haven't you?" "What d'you mean--learn? How you goin' to cut firewood without you hold it with yer foot?" "Nex' tam dat better you hol' de chunk wit' you neck," advised 'Merican Joe. "Is that so! Well, believe me, I ain't takin' no advise offen no Siwash, nor no kid, neither!" Connie pulled his cap down over his ears and drew on his mackinaw and mittens. "We're wasting time here, the days are short and if we're going to find your partner we've got to get at it. How long is your trap line, and where does it run?" "We got about twenty-five martin traps out. They're acrost the river up the first crick--strung along about three or four mile." "Twenty-fi' trap! Three or four mile!" exclaimed 'Merican Joe. "How long you be'n here?" "Just a month. What's the matter with that? We've got eight martin an' a wolverine an' a link!" The Indian gave a snort of contempt. "Me--if I ain' set mor' trap as dat every day I ain' t'ink I done nuttin'." He followed Connie to the door. "You might's well move yer junk in here if you got your own grub. You kin keep the fire goin' nights in case Tom don't show up, an' besides I ain't had no one to talk to fer goin' on two months except Tom, an' we don't git on none too good." "Thanks," said Connie. "But we'll put up the tent when we come back--we're a little particular, ourselves." "They ain't no use of both of you goin' out to hunt him. One of you stay here and tend the fire, an' cook supper in case the other one don't git back in time." Connie glared at the man for a moment, and burst out laughing. "If you had a little more nerve and a whole lot less _brass_, there might be some hope for you yet," he opined. "Did your partner have any dogs with him?" "Naw, we had six when we come in, but they was worked down skin pore when we got here, an' some of 'em died, an' the rest run off. They wasn't no good, nohow." Connie banged the door in disgust and, taking Leloo with them, the two struck across the river. They found the creek without difficulty and had proceeded scarcely a mile when Leloo halted in his tracks and began sniffing the air. This time the hair of his neck and spine did not bristle, and the two watched him as he stood, facing a spruce-covered hill, his head moving slightly from side to side, as his delicate pointed nostrils quivered as if to pick up some elusive scent. "Go on, Leloo. Go git um!" urged 'Merican Joe, and the wolf-dog trotted into the spruce, followed by Connie and the Indian. Halfway up the slope the dog quickened his pace, and coming suddenly upon a mound in the new-fallen snow circled it several times and squatted upon his haunches. It took Connie and the Indian but a few moments to scrape away the snow and disclose the skinned carcass of a moose. 'Merican Joe pointed to the carcass. "It be'n snowin' quite a w'ile w'en he skin de moose. He ain' goin' carry dat hide far. She heavy. He ain' know nuttin' 'bout skinnin', an' lef' lot of meat stick to de hide. He start hom' an' git los'." "Lost!" exclaimed Connie. "Surely he wouldn't get lost within a mile of his cabin!" 'Merican Joe nodded. "Him _chechako_--git los' anywheres. Git los' somtam w'en she snowin' bad, hondre steps from cabin. Me--I know. One git los' an' froze dead, wan tam, he go for water not so far you kin t'row de stone." "Well, he's probably home by this time. If he was lost he'd camp, and he's had plenty of time since it stopped snowing." The Indian was not so hopeful. "No, I'm t'ink he ain' got sense 'nough to camp. He walk an' git scare, an' den he mebbe-so run till he fall down." "He won't do much running with that hide," grinned Connie. "Let's separate and hunt for him. Come, Leloo--go find him!" The two continued to the top of the timbered slope. "I don't see how anyone could possibly get lost here. Surely he would know enough to go down hill to the creek, and follow it to the river, wouldn't he?" "No, w'en dey git scairt dey don't know up an' down an' crossways." As the two were about to separate both suddenly paused to listen. Faintly upon the air, seemingly from miles away, came the call of a human voice. Leloo heard it too, and with ears stiffly erect stood looking far out over the ridges. Raising his rifle, Connie fired into the air, and almost immediately the sound of the shot was answered by the faint call for help. "That's funny," cried the boy. "Sound don't travel very fast. How could he possibly have answered as soon as that?" Placing his hands to his mouth, 'Merican Joe launched a yell that seemed fairly to tear through the spaces, echoing and re-echoing across, the valley. Again came the answering call, faintly, as from a great distance. Locating the direction of the sound which seemed to come from somewhere near the head of a parallel valley, they plunged straight down the opposite slope. At the bottom they paused again, and again the Indian sent his peculiar penetrating yell hurtling through the air. Again it was answered, but this time it came from up the slope. Faintly it reached their ears, seemingly farther away than before. The sound was repeated as the two stood looking at each other in bewilderment. 'Merican Joe's eyes seemed bulging from his head. "_Tamahnawus_," he whispered. "W'at you call, de ghos'. He git froze, an' hees ghos' run 'roun' de hills an' yell 'bout dat! Me--I'm gon'!" Abruptly the Indian turned and started as fast as his webs would let him in the direction of the river. "Come back here!" cried Connie. "Don't be a fool! There ain't any _tamahnawuses_--and if there are, I've got the medicine that will lick 'em! I brought one in once that had run a whole tribe of Injuns off their hunting ground." 'Merican Joe, who had halted at the boy's command, looked dubious. "I ain' huntin' no _tamahnawus_--I ain' los' none!" "You come with me," laughed the boy, "and I'll show you your _tamahnawus_. I've got a hunch that fellow has dropped into a cave or something and can't get out. And he can't be so very far off either." With Connie in the lead they ascended the slope in the direction of the sound which came now from a point upstream from where they had descended. Once more Leloo paused and sniffed, the hair of his back bristling. Whatever the object of his attention, it seemed to lie beneath the outspreading branches of a large spruce. Connie peered beneath the branches where an oblong of snow appeared to have been disturbed from under the surface. Even as he looked the sound of a voice, plain enough now to distinguish the words, reached his ears. "Git me out of here! Ain't you never comin'? Or be you goin' to leave me here 'cause I burnt them pancakes?" "Come on out," called Connie. "What's the matter with you?" "Come on out! How kin I? Who be you?" Connie reached the man's side and proceeded to scrape away the snow, while 'Merican Joe stood at a respectful distance, his rifle at full cock. "Come on Joe!" the boy called, at length. "Here's your _tamahnawus_--and it's going to take two of us to get him out." When the snow had been removed both Connie and the Indian stared in surprise. There lay the man closely wrapped in his moose skin, fur side in, and the heavy hide frozen to the hardness of iron! "I'm all cramped up," wailed the man. "I can't move." The man was wrapped, head and all, in the frozen hide. Fortunately, he had left an air space but this had nearly sealed shut by the continued freezing of his breath about its edges. Rolling him over the two grasped the edge of the heavy hide and endeavoured to unroll it, but they might as well have tried to unroll the iron sheathing of a boiler. "We've got to build a fire and thaw him out," said Connie. "Tak' um to de cabin," suggested the Indian. "Kin drag um all same toboggan." The plan looked reasonable but they had no rope for a trace line. Connie overcame the difficulty by making a hole with his hand ax in a flap of the hide near the man's feet, and cutting a light spruce sapling which he hooked by means of a limb stub into the hole. By using the sapling in the manner of a wagon tongue, they started for the cabin, keeping to the top of the ridge where the snow was shallow and wind-packed. All went well until they reached the end of the ridge. A mile back, where they had ascended the slope, the pitch had not been great, but as they neared the river the sides grew steeper, until they were confronted by a three hundred foot slope with an extremely steep pitch. This slope was sparsely timbered, and great rocks protruded from the snow. Connie was for retracing the ridge to a point where the ascent was not so steep, but 'Merican Joe demurred. [Illustration: "The third day dawned cold and clear, and daylight found the outfit on the move." Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover] "It git dark queek, now. We git um down all right. Turn um roun' an' mak de pole lak de tail rope on de toboggan--we hol' um back easy." The early darkness was blurring distant outlines and the descent at that point meant the saving of an hour, so Connie agreed and for the first twenty yards all went well. Then suddenly the human toboggan struck the ice of a hillside spring and shot forward. The pole slipped from the snowy mittens of the two and, enveloped in a cloud of flying snow, the man in the frozen moose hide went shooting down the slope! Connie and 'Merican Joe barely saved themselves from following him, and, squatting low on their webs they watched in a fascination of horror as the flying body struck a tree trunk, shot sidewise, ploughed through the snow, struck a rock, bounded high into the air, struck another rock and, gaining momentum with every foot, shot diagonally downward--rolling, whirling, sliding--straight for the brink of a rock ledge with a sheer drop of twenty-five or thirty feet. Over the edge it shot and landed with a loud thud among the broken rock fragments of the valley floor. "We ought to have gone back!" shuddered the boy. "He's dead by this time." 'Merican Joe shrugged. "Anyhow, dat com' queek. Dat better as if he lay back onder de tree an' froze an' starve, an' git choke to deat' w'en his air hole git froze shut. He got good strong coffin anyhow." Relieved of their burden it was but the work of a few moments to gain the floor of the valley and hasten to the form wedged tightly between two upstanding boulders, where they were greeted by the voice of the man raised in whining complaint. "Are you hurt?" eagerly asked Connie, kneeling at the man's side and looking at him closely. "Naw, I ain't hurt but can't you pick out no smoother trail? I'm all jiggled up!" In his relief at finding the man unharmed, Connie laughingly promised a smoother trail, and as he and the Indian pried him from between the rocks with a young tree, the boy noted that the frozen moose hide had scarcely been dented by its contact with the trees and rocks. In the cabin the stove was crammed with wood and the man laid upon the floor close beside it, but it was nearly daylight the following morning before the hide had thawed sufficiently for the combined efforts of Connie and the Indian to unroll it. All night the two tended the fire and listened to the petty bickering and quarrelling of the two helpless partners, the man in the bunk taunting the other with being a fool for wrapping up in a green moose hide, and being in turn called a fool for chopping his own foot. It was disgusting in the extreme to Connie but at last the humour of the situation got the better of his disgust, and he roared with laughter, all of which served to bring down the combined reviling of both men upon his head. When at last the man was extricated from his prison and found to be little the worse for his adventure, he uttered no word of thanks to his rescuers. Indeed, his first words were in the nature of an indirect accusation of theft. "Whur's my marten?" he asked, eying them with suspicion. "What marten? We didn't see any marten," answered the boy. "Well, I hed one. Tuk it out of a trap just before I seen the moose. It's funny you didn't see it." Connie answered nothing, and as the man devoured a huge breakfast without asking his rescuers to join him, he continued to mutter and growl about his lost marten. Daylight was breaking and Connie, bottling his wrath behind tight-pressed lips, rose abruptly, and prepared to depart. "Whur you goin'?" asked the man, his cheeks distended with food. "You lay around here soakin' up heat all night; looks like you could anyways cut a little wood an' help worsh these dishes! An', say, don't you want to buy some moose meat? I'll sell you all you want fer two-bits a pound, an' cut it yerself." For a moment Connie saw red. His fists clenched and he swallowed hard but once more his sense of humour asserted itself, and looking the man squarely in the eye he burst into a roar of laughter, while 'Merican Joe, who possessed neither Connie's self-restraint nor his sense of humour, launched into an unflattering tirade of jumbled Indian, English, and jargon, that, could a single word of it have been understood, would have goaded even the craven _chechakos_ to warfare. Two hours later, as they sat in their cozy tent, pitched five miles down the river, and devoured their breakfast, Connie grinned at his companion. "Big difference in men--even in _chechakos_, ain't there, Joe?" "Humph," grunted the Indian. "No one else within two hundred miles of here--his partner crippled so he never could have found him if he tried, and he never would have tried--a few more hours and he would have been dead--we come along and find him--and he not only don't offer us a meal, but accuses us of stealing his marten--and offers to _sell_ us moose meat--at two-bits a pound! I wish some of the men I know could have the handling of those birds for about a month!" "Humph! If mos' w'ite men I know got to han'le um dey ain' goin' live no mont'--you bet!" "Anyway," laughed the boy, "we've sure learned the difference between _nerve_ and _brass_!" CHAPTER V THE PLAGUE FLAG IN THE SKY It was nearly noon of the day following the departure of Connie Morgan and 'Merican Joe from the camp of the two _chechakos_. The mountains had been left behind, and even the foothills had flattened to low, rolling ridges which protruded irregularly into snow-covered marshes among which the bed of the frozen river looped interminably. No breath of air stirred the scrub willows along the bank, upon whose naked branches a few dried and shrivelled leaves still clung. 'Merican Joe was travelling ahead breaking trail for his dogs and the boy saw him raise a mittened hand and brush at his cheek. A few minutes later the Indian thrashed his arms several times across his chest as though to restore circulation of the blood against extreme cold. But it was not cold. A moment later the boy brushed at his own cheek which stung disagreeably as though nipped by the frost. He glanced at the tiny thermometer that he kept lashed to the front of his toboggan. It registered zero, a temperature that should have rendered trailing even without the heavy parkas uncomfortably warm. Connie glanced backward toward the distant mountains that should have stood out clean-cut and distinct in the clear atmosphere, but they had disappeared from view although the sun shone dazzlingly bright from a cloudless sky. A dog whimpered uneasily, and Connie cracked his whip above the animal's head and noted that instead of the sharp snap that should have accompanied the motion, the sound reached his ears in a dull pop--noted, too, that the dogs paid no slightest heed to the sound, but plodded on methodically--slowly, as though they were tired. Connie was conscious of a growing lassitude--a strange heaviness that hardly amounted to weariness but which necessitated a distinct effort of brain to complete each muscle move. Suddenly 'Merican Joe halted and, removing his mitten, drew his bare hand across his eyes. Connie noticed that the air seemed heavy and dead, and that he could hear his own breathing and the breathing of the dogs which had crouched with their bellies in the snow whimpering uneasily. Wild-eyed, the Indian pointed aloft and Connie glanced upward. There was no hint of blue in the cloudless sky. The whole dome of the heavens glared with a garish, brassy sheen from which the sun blazed out with an unwholesome, metallic light that gleamed in glints of gold from millions of floating frost spicules. Even as the two stood gazing upward new suns formed in the burnished sky--false suns that blazed and danced and leaped together and re-formed. With a cry of abject terror 'Merican Joe buried his face in his arms and stood trembling and moaning, "_Hyas skookum kultus tamahnawus--mesahchee tamahnawus!_" (a very strong bad spirit--we are bewitched). The words puled haltingly from lips stiff with fright. The next moment the boy was beside him, thumping him on the back and choking him roughly: "_Tamahnawus_ nothing!" he cried. "Buck up! Don't be a fool! I've seen it before. Three years ago--in the Lillimuit, it was. It's the white death. Waseche and I hid in an ice cave. Tonight will come the strong cold." The boy's voice sounded strangely toneless and flat, and when he finished speaking he coughed. 'Merican Joe's hands had dropped to his side and he stood dumbly watching as Connie loosened the heavy woollen muffler from his waist and wound it about the lower half of his face. "Cover your mouth and don't talk," the boy commanded. "Breathe through your muffler. We can still travel, but it will be hard. We will be very tired but we must find shelter--a cave--a cabin--a patch of timber--or tonight we will freeze--Look! Look!" he cried suddenly, pointing to the northward, "a mirage!" Both stared awe-struck as the picture formed rapidly before their eyes and hung inverted in the brassy sky just above the horizon foreshortened by the sweep of a low, snow-buried ridge. Both had seen mirages before--mirages that, like a faulty glass, distorted shapes and outlines, and mirages that brought real and recognizable places into view like the one they were staring at in spell-bound fascination. So perfect in detail, and so close it hung in the heavy, dead air that it seemed as though they could reach out and touch it--a perfect inverted picture of what appeared to be a two or three mile sweep of valley, one side sparsely wooded, and the other sloping gently upward into the same low-rolling ridge that formed their own northern horizon. Each stunted tree showed distinctly, and in the edge of the timber stood a cabin, with the smoke rising sluggishly from the chimney. They could see the pile of split firewood at its corner and even the waterhole chopped in the ice of the creek, with its path leading to the door. But it was not the waterhole, or the firewood, or the cabin itself that held them fascinated. It was the little square of scarlet cloth that hung limp and motionless and dejected from a stick thrust beneath the eave of the tiny cabin. It was a horrible thing to look upon for those two who knew its significance--that flag glowing like a splotch of blood there in the brazen sky with the false suns dancing above it. "The plague flag!" cried Connie. And almost in the same breath 'Merican Joe muttered: "De red death!" [Illustration: "It was a terrible thing to look upon to those two who knew its significance--that flag glowing like a splotch of blood there in the brazen sky." Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover] Even as they spoke the cabin door opened and a man stepped out. His features were indistinguishable, but both could see that he was a large man, for his bulk had filled the doorway. He swung a heavy pack to a toboggan which stood waiting before the door with the dogs in harness. The next moment the form of a woman appeared in the doorway. She evidently called to the man, for he halted abruptly and faced about, shook his fist at her and, turning, resumed his course, while with an appealing gesture the woman stretched out her arms toward him. Then rapidly as it had formed, the picture faded and the two awe-struck watchers stood gazing at the frost spicules that glittered brassily in the unwholesome light of the false suns. Once more the Indian buried his face in his arms and muffled, moaning words fell from his lips: "De red death--de white death! It is _mesahchee tamahnawus_! We die! We die!" Again Connie shook him roughly, and meeting with no response, beat his arms from his face with the loaded butt of his dog whip. "You're a crazy fool!" cried the boy, with his lips close to the Indian's ear. "We're _not_ going to die--anyway, not till we've had a run for our money! We're going to mush! Do you hear? _Mush!_ And we're going to keep on mushing till we find that cabin! And if you hang back or quit, I'm going to wind this walrus hide whip around you till I cut you in strips--do you get it?" And, without another word, the boy turned, whipped the dogs to their feet, and leaving the river abruptly, led off straight into the north across the low, snow-covered ridge. * * * * * Of the two brothers Bossuet, Victor, the elder, was loved in the North; and René was hated. And the reason for this lay in the men themselves. Both were rivermen--good rivermen--and both laboured each year during the long days of the summer months, together with many other rivermen, in working the Hudson's Bay brigade of scows down the three great connecting rivers to the frozen sea. For between Athabasca Landing and Fort McPherson lie two thousand miles of wilderness--a wilderness whose needs are primitive but imperative, having to do with life and death. And the supplies for this vast wilderness must go in without fail each year by the three rivers, the Athabasca, the Slave, and the Mackenzie. These are not gentle rivers flowing smoothly between their banks, but are great torrents of turbulent waters that rush wildly into the North in miles upon miles of foaming white water, in sheer cascades, and in boiling, rock-ribbed rapids. So that the work of the rivermen is man's work requiring skill and iron nerve, and requiring also mighty muscles for the gruelling portages where cargoes must be carried piece by piece over rough foot trails, and in places even the heavy scows themselves must be man-hauled around cascades. Seeing the two brothers together, the undiscriminating would unhesitatingly have picked René, with his picturesque, gaudy attire, his loud, ever-ready laughter, his boisterous, bull-throated _chansons_, and his self-confident air, as the typical man of the North. For beside him Victor, with faded overalls, his sockless feet thrust into worn shoes, his torn shirt, and his old black felt hat, cut a sorry figure. But those who know recall the time that old Angus Forgan, the drunken trader of Big Stone, fell out of a scow at the head of the Rapids of the Drowned. They will tell you that of the twenty rivermen who witnessed the accident only two dared to attempt a rescue, and those two were René and Victor Bossuet. And that René, being the stronger, reached the struggling man first and, twisting his fingers into his collar, struck out for a flat shelf of rock that edged the first suck of the rapids. They will tell you how he reached the rock and, throwing an arm upon its flat surface, endeavoured to pull himself up; but the grip of the current upon the two bodies was strong and after two or three attempts René released his grip on the drowning man's collar and clambered to safety. Then they will tell you how Victor, who had managed to gain shore when he saw René reach the rock, plunged in again, straight into the roaring chute, of how he reached Forgan in the nick of time, of how the two bodies disappeared completely from view in the foaming white water, and of how a quarter of a mile below, by means of Herculean effort and a bit of luck, Victor managed to gain the eddy of a side channel where he and his unconscious burden whirled round and round until the rivermen running along the bank managed to throw a rope and haul them both to safety. Also, they will tell you of Gaspard Petrie, a great hulking bully of a man, who called himself "The Grizzly of the Athabasca," whose delight it was to pick fights and to beat his opponents into unconsciousness with his fists. And of how the mighty Petrie whose ill fame had spread the length of the three rivers, joined the brigade once at Fort McMurry and of how the boisterous René became the bright and shining mark of his attentions, and of the fight that sent René to the brush before he was "licked," after which René stood the taunts and insults of "The Grizzly of the Athabasca" for many days like the craven he was, before the eyes of all men, until one day Petrie used words that brought insult upon the mother of René--who was also the mother of Victor. René paid them no heed but Victor rose from his place beside the fire and slowly removed his mackinaw and his torn felt hat and, walking over to Petrie, demanded that he retract the words. "The Grizzly of the Athabasca" eyed him in astonishment, for Victor had been a figure in the brigade so insignificant as to have entirely escaped his attention. The ramping one threw out his huge chest and roared with laughter. "See!" he taunted, "the weasel defies the bear!" And with that he reached out and with his thumb and forefinger grasped Victor by the nose and jerked him roughly toward him. The next instant the air rushed from his throat in a grunt of agonized surprise for the violent jerk on his nose seemed to release steel springs in Victor's body and before Petrie could release his grip both of Victor's fists and the heel of one shoe had been driven with all the force of mighty muscles directly into the bully's stomach. The unexpected onslaught staggered the huge bully, and then began the fight that ridded the rivers of Gaspard Petrie. In and out flashed the lighter man, landing a blow here and a kick there--round and round, and in and out. "The Grizzly of the Athabasca" roared with rage, and struck mighty blows that, had they landed, would have annihilated his opponent on the spot but they did not land. Victor seemed tireless and his blows rained faster and faster as his opponent's defence became slower and slower. At last, from sheer exhaustion, the heavy arms could no longer guard the writhing face and instantly Victor began to rain blow after blow upon eyes and nose and mouth until a few minutes later "The Grizzly of the Athabasca" collapsed entirely, and whimpering and puling, he retracted his words, and then amid the frenzied jeers of the rivermen, he made up his pack and slunk away into the bush--and the fame of Victor Bossuet travelled the length of the three rivers. Thus it was that Victor became known as the better man of the two. But it was in the winning of Hélène Lacompte that he gained his final triumph. René had boasted upon the rivers that he would marry her,--boastings that reached the ears of the girl in her father's little cabin on Salt River and caused her to smile. But as she smiled her thoughts were not of René and his gaudy clothing, his famous blue _capote_, his crimson scarf, and his long tasselled cap of white wool--but of Victor--who spoke seldom, but saved his money each year and refrained from joining in the roistering drinking bouts of the rivermen. Then one day at Fort Norman in the hearing of all the rivermen René boldly told her that he was coming to take her when the scows returned, and she laughingly replied that when she changed her name from Lacompte, she would take the name of Bossuet. Whereat René drank deeper, bragged the more boisterously, and to the envy of all men flaunted his good fortune before the eyes of the North. But Victor said nothing. He quit the brigade upon a pretext and when the scows returned Hélène bore the name of Bossuet. For she and Victor had been married by the priest at the little mission and had gone to build their cabin upon a little unnamed river well back from the Mackenzie. For during the long winter months Victor worked hard at his trap lines, while René drank and gambled and squandered his summer wages among the towns of the provinces. When René heard of the marriage he swore vengeance, for this thing had been a sore blow to his pride. All along the three rivers men talked of it, nor did they hesitate to taunt and make sport of René to his face. He sought to make up in swashbuckling and boasting what he lacked in courage. So men came to hate him and it became harder and harder for him to obtain work. At last, in great anger, he quit the brigade altogether and for two summers he had been seen upon the rivers in a York boat of his own. The first winter after he left the brigade he spent money in the towns as usual, so the following summer the source of his income became a matter of interest to the Mounted Police. Certain of their findings made it inadvisable for René to appear again in the towns, and that autumn he spent in the outlands, avoiding the posts, stopping a day here--a week there, in the cabins of obscure trappers and camping the nights between, for he dared not show his face at any post. Then it was he bethought himself of his brother's cabin as a refuge and, for the time being laying aside thoughts of vengeance, he journeyed there. He was welcomed by Victor and Hélène and by the very small Victor who was now nearly a year old. Victor and Hélène had heard of the threats of vengeance, but knowing René, they had smiled. Was not René a great boaster? And the very young Victor, who knew nothing of the threats, thought his big uncle a very brave figure in his blue _capote_, his red muffler, and his white stocking cap of wool. René worked willingly enough side by side with Victor upon the trap line, and with the passing of the days the envy of his brother's lot grew, and in his heart smouldered a sullen rage. Here was Victor, a man at whom nobody would look twice in passing, happy and contented with his little family, untroubled by any haunting fear of the hand of the law, enjoying the respect of all men, and a veritable hero the length of the three rivers. And beside him, of his own flesh and blood, was himself, a bold figure of a man, a roisterer and a poser, who had sought to gain the admiration and respect of the men of the rivers without earning it, and who had failed--and failed most miserably. The sullen rage grew in his heart, and he plotted vengeance by the hour--but his hand was stayed by fear--fear of Victor and fear of the law. And so a month passed, and one day as the two brothers finished their lunch and lighted their pipes upon a log beside a tiny fire, Victor spoke that which for several days had been passing in his mind: "It has been good to have you with us, my brother," he began, being a man of indirect speech. "The joy has been all mine, I assure you," replied René, wondering what would come next. "But three people eat more than two, and I laid in supplies for two to last until the holiday trading." "I have no money, but I will leave the pay for my keep at Fort Norman next summer." A swift flush of anger reddened the cheek of Victor. "Pay! Who talks of pay? Think you I would accept pay from my own brother?" "What then?" "Only this, you must make the trip to Fort Norman for food. I will give you a note to McTavish, and the stuff will be charged to me. It is three days travelling light, and four on the return. You can take my dogs. They know the trail." There was a long pause before the younger man spoke. "I cannot go to Fort Norman. I cannot be seen on the river." Victor glanced up in surprise. "Why?" René shifted uneasily. "The police," he answered. "They think I have broken their law." "Have you?" The older man's eyes were upon him, and René groped in his mind for words. "What if I have?" he blurted. "What was I to do? I cannot work with the brigade. They will not have me. Because I am a better man than the rest of them, they are jealous and refuse to work beside me." René rose from the log and began to strut up and down in the snow, swinging his arms wide and pausing before his brother to tap himself upon the chest, thrown out so the blue _capote_ swelled like the breast of a pouter pigeon. "Behold before you one whose excellence in all things has wrought his ruin. Julius Cæsar was such a man, and the great Napoleon, and I, René Bossuet, am the third. All men fear me, and because of my great skill and prodigious strength, all men hate me. They refuse to work beside me lest their puny efforts will appear as the work of children. I am the undisputed king of the rivers. Beside me none----" Victor interrupted with a wave of his hand. "Beside you none will work because of your bragging!" he exclaimed, impatiently. "You are a good enough riverman when you mind your business, but there are plenty as good--and some better. What law have you broken?" "I have traded _hooch_ upon the rivers." "And when you found that the men of the Mounted were upon your trail you came here," continued the older man. "You thought you would be safe here because the police, knowing of your loud-bawled threats against me, would think we were mortal enemies." "You knew of that--of my threats?" gasped René in surprise, "and you allowed me to stay!" Victor laughed shortly. "Of course I knew. But what are threats between brothers? I knew they were but the idle boastings of a braggart. You would not dare harm me, or mine. You are a great coward, René, and it is to laugh and not to fear. You strut about like a cock partridge in the springtime, you clothe yourself with the feathers of the bluejay, and speak with the tongue of the great grey wolf but your heart is the heart of the rabbit. But talk gets us nowhere. We will go to the cabin, now. In the morning I will start for Fort Norman, and you will remain to look after Hélène and the little Victor." The older man rose and faced his brother. "And if harm comes to either of them while I am gone _may the wolves gnaw your bones upon the crust of the snow_. That little cabin holds all that I love in the world. I never boast, and I never threaten--nor do I ever repent the work of my hands." He paused and looked squarely into his brother's eyes, and when he spoke again the words fell slowly from his lips--one by one, with a tiny silence between--"_You have heard it, maybe--scarcely disturbing the silence of the night--that sound of the crunching of bones on the snow._" A hand of ice seemed to reach beneath René's blue _capote_ and fasten upon his heart, there came a strange prickling at the roots of his hair, and little chills shot along his spine. Somewhere back in the forest a tree exploded with the frost, and René jumped, nervously. Then, side by side, the brothers made their way to the cabin in silence. CHAPTER VI AT THE END OF RENÉ'S TRAIL The ridge up which Connie Morgan laboured at the head of his dogs was a sparsely timbered slope which terminated in a rounded crest a mile away. To the boy that smoothly rolling sky line looked ten miles ahead of him. No breath of wind stirred the stinging dead air. His snowshoes became great weights upon his feet which sought to drag him down, down into immeasurable depths of soft warm snow. The slope which in reality was a very easy grade assumed the steepness of a mountain side. He wanted above all things to sleep. He glanced backward. 'Merican Joe's team had stopped, and the Indian was fumbling listlessly with his pack. Halting his own dogs, the boy hastened back. The effort taxed his strength to the limit. His heavy whiplash swished through the air, and 'Merican Joe straightened up with a howl of pain. "Come on!" cried Connie, as he prepared to strike again. "That cabin's only just over the ridge, and if you stop here you'll freeze!" "No use," mumbled the Indian. "De red death--de white death. We goin' die annyhow. Me--I'm lak I'm sleep." "You mush!" ordered the boy. "Get up there and take my dogs and I'll take yours. No more laying down on the job or I'll lay on this whip in earnest. If we mush we'll be there in an hour--_Skookum_ Injun! Where's your nerve?" 'Merican Joe smiled. "_Skookum tillicum_," he muttered gravely, pointing his mittened hand toward the boy. "Me I'm go 'long wit' you till I die. We mak' her, now. We speet on de _kultus tamahnawus_ in hees face!" "You bet we will!" cried the boy. "Get up there now, and keep those dogs moving. I'll follow along with yours." A half hour later the two stood side by side upon the crest of the ridge and looked down into the valley. Both were breathing heavily. Each had fallen time out of number, but each time had scrambled to his feet and urged on his dogs. As they stood now with the false suns dancing above them, the cold seemed to press upon them like a thing of weight. Connie glanced at his thermometer. It had dropped forty degrees! Across a half mile of snow they could see the little cabin in the edge of the timber. Only, now the smoke did not rise from the chimney but poured from its mouth and fell heavily to the roof where it rolled slowly to the ground. Motioning with his arm, 'Merican Joe led off down the slope and Connie followed, holding weakly to the tail rope of his toboggan. The going was easier than the ascent had been, but the "strong cold" seemed to strike to the very bone. After what seemed hours, the boy found himself before the door of the cabin. Beside him 'Merican Joe was bending over unharnessing the dogs. Connie stooped to look at the thermometer. "Seventy-two below!" he muttered, "and she only goes to seventy-six!" Frantically the boy worked helping 'Merican Joe to unharness the dogs and when the last one was freed he opened the door and, closely followed by the Indian, stumbled into the cabin. The next thing Connie knew he was lying on a bunk and a woman was seated beside him holding a spoon to his lips while she supported his head on her arm. The boy swallowed and a spoonful of hot liquid trickled down his throat. He felt warm, and comfortable, and drowsy--so drowsy that it was with an effort that he managed to swallow other spoonfuls of the hot liquid. Slowly he opened his eyes and then struggled to a sitting posture. 'Merican Joe sat upon the floor with his back against the log wall. He became conscious of a stinging sensation in his face and he prodded his cheek with an inquisitive finger. The woman noticed the action. "It is not bad," she explained. "Your nose and your cheeks they were frozen but I thawed them out with the snow." Suddenly her expression changed and a look of fear haunted her eyes. She pointed toward the door. "But--what is it--out there? The sky is all wrong. There are no clouds, yet it is not blue, and there are many suns that move and jump about. It is a time of great evil. Did you not see the plague flag? And my man is away. Maybe it is the end of all things. I am afraid. Why are there many suns?" "It is the white death," answered the boy. "You needn't fear. Only stay in the house and don't breathe the outside air. I have seen it once before. Tonight will come the northern lights and they will hiss and pop and snap. And they will be so bright it will look like the whole world is on fire. Then the wind will come, and tomorrow it will be gone, and everything will be the same as before." "I have heard of the white death," said the woman. "My father and some of the old men have seen it--beyond Bear Lake. My father and some of the others crawled under their blankets and lay for more than a day but some of the old men died." The thin wail of an infant sounded from a pole crib at the other end of the room, and the woman rose quickly and crossed to its side. Connie saw her stoop over the crib and mutter soft, crooning words, as she patted the tiny bed clothing with her hand. The wailing ceased, and the woman tiptoed back to his side. "It is the little Victor," she explained, and Connie noticed that her eyes were wet with tears. Suddenly she broke down and covered her face with her hands while her body swayed to and fro. "Oh, my little man! My little soft baby! He must die--or be terribly scarred by the hand of the red death! So beautiful--so little, and so good, and so beautiful! And I have nothing to feed him, for René has taken the milk. René is a devil! I would have killed him but he took the gun." The woman stopped speaking, and the silence of the little cabin was punctuated by the sound of her muffled sobs. Connie felt a strange lump rising in his throat. He swallowed and attempted to speak, but the result was a funny noise way back in his throat. He swallowed several times and when he finally spoke his voice sounded hard and gruff. "Quit crying, mam, and help me get this straight. I don't believe your little kid's got the smallpox." He paused and glanced about the room. "This ain't the kind of a place he'd get it--it's too clean. Who told you it was the red death?" "Oh, no one told me! Who is there to tell? René is a liar, and my man has gone to Fort Norman. But," she leaped to her feet and regarded Connie with a tense, eager look, "can it be that you are a doctor?" The next instant she turned away. "No--you are but a boy!" "No," repeated Connie, "I am not a doctor. But I used to be in the Mounted and I learned all there was in the manual about smallpox and I've seen a good deal of it. What makes you think it's smallpox?" "I have seen, on his little chest--the red blotches. What else could it be?" "How long has he been sick?" "Since day before yesterday." "Did he have any fits? Did he vomit? Did he run up a high fever?" "No--none of these things. But he has not wanted much to eat--and on his chest are the blotches." "Let's look at 'em." The woman led the way to the crib and lifting the baby from it, bared his chest. Connie examined the red marks minutely. He felt of them with his fingers, and carefully examined the forehead along the roots of the hair. Then he turned to the woman with a smile. "Put him back," he said quietly. "He's a buster of a kid, all right--and he ain't got smallpox. He'll be well as ever in three or four days. He's got chicken pox--" The woman clutched at his arm and her breath came fast. "Are you sure?" she cried, a great hope dawning in her eyes. "How can you tell?" "It's all in the manual. Smallpox pimples feel hard, like shot, and they come first on the face and forehead, and there is always high fever and vomiting, and the pimples are always round. This is chicken pox, and it ain't dangerous, and I told you I used to be with the Mounted, and the Mounted is always sure. Now, what about this Rainy person that stole the little kid's milk?" But the woman was paying no attention. She was pacing up and down the floor with the baby hugged to her breast--laughing, crying, talking to the little one all in the same breath, holding him out at arm's length and then cuddling him close and smothering him with kisses. Then, suddenly, she laid the baby in his crib and turned to Connie who, in view of what he had seen, backed away in alarm until he stood against the door. "Ah, you are the grand boy!" the woman exclaimed. "You have saved the life of my little Victor! You are my friend. In four days comes my man--the little one's papa, and he will tell you better than I of our thanks. He is your friend for life. He is Victor Bossuet, and on the rivers is none like him. I will tell him all--how the little one is dying with the red death, and you come out of the strong cold with the frost in the nose and the cheeks, and you look on the little Victor who is dying, and say '_non_,' and pouf! the red death is gone, and the little baby has got only what you call chickiepok! See! Even now he is laughing!" "He's all right," smiled Connie. "But you're way off about my curing him. He'd have been well as ever in a few days anyhow and you'd have had your scare for nothing." The woman's voluble protest was interrupted by a wail from the infant, and again her mood changed and she began to pace the floor wringing her hands. "See, now he is hungry and there is nothing to feed him! René is a devil! He has taken the milk." "Hold on!" interrupted Connie. "Was it canned milk? 'Cause if it was you don't need to worry. I've got about a dozen cans out there on the toboggan. Wait and I'll get it." He turned to the Indian who had been a silent onlooker. "Come on, Joe, crawl into your outfit. While I get the grub and blankets off the toboggans, you rustle the wood and water--and go kind of heavy on the wood, 'cause, believe me, there ain't any thermometer going to tell us how cold it will get tonight." A quarter of an hour later Connie dragged in a heavy canvas sack and two rolls of blankets just as 'Merican Joe stacked his last armful of wood high against the wall. "I fed the dogs," said the boy as he rummaged in the bag and handed the cans of milk one by one to the woman, "and I could tell your husband is an old-timer by the looks of his dog shelter--warm and comfortable, and plenty of room for two teams. I can find out all I want to know about a man by the way he uses his dogs." "He is the best man on the rivers," repeated the woman, her eyes shining, as she opened a can of milk, carefully measured an amount, added water, and stirred it as it heated on the stove. Connie watched with interest as she fed it to the baby from a spoon. "Again you have saved his life," she said, as the last spoonful disappeared between the little lips. "Aw, forget that!" exclaimed the boy, fidgeting uncomfortably. "What I want is the dope on this Rainy--how did he come to swipe the kid's milk? And where is he heading for? I'm in something of a hurry to get to Fort Norman, but I've got a hunch I'm due for a little side trip. He ain't going to be far ahead of me tomorrow. If he holes up today and tonight I'll catch up with him along about noon--and if he don't hole up--the white death will save me quite a bit of trouble." "Ah, that René!" exclaimed the woman, her face darkling with passion, "he is Victor's brother, and he is no good. He drinks and gambles and makes the big noise with his mouth. Bou, wou, wou! I am the big man! I can do this! I can do that! I am the best man in the world! Always he has lived in the towns in the winter and spent his money but this winter he came and lived with us because his money was gone. That is all right he is the brother of my husband. He is welcome. But one does not have to like him. But when my husband tells him to go to Fort Norman for food because we did not know there would be three, he made excuse, and my husband went and René stayed. Then the next day the little Victor was sick, and I saw the hand of the red death upon him and I told René that he should run fast after Victor and tell him. But he would not! He swore and cursed at his own ill luck and he ran from the house into the woods. I made the plague flag and hung it out so that no traveller should come in and be in danger of the red death. "By and by René came in from the woods in a terrible rage. He began to pack his outfit for the trail and I stayed close by the side of my little one for fear René would do him harm in his anger. At last he was ready and I was glad to see him go. I looked then and saw that he had taken all the food! Even the baby's milk he had taken! I rushed upon him then, but I am a woman and no match for a big man like René, and he laughed and pushed me away. I begged him to leave me some food, and he laughed the more--and on my knees I implored him to leave the baby's milk. But he would not. He said he had sworn vengeance upon Victor, and now he would take vengeance. He said, 'The brat will not need the milk for he will die anyway, and you will die, and Victor will follow me, and I will lead him to a place I know, and then he will die also.' It was then I rushed for the gun, but René had placed it in his pack. And I told him he must not go from a plague house, for he would spread the terrible red death in all the North. But he laughed and said he would show the North that he, René Bossuet, was a god who could spread death along the rivers. He would cause it to sweep like a flame among the rivermen who hated him, and among the men of the Mounted." The woman paused and Connie saw that a look of wonderful contentment had come into her eyes. "The good God did not listen to the curses of René," she said, simply, "for as I lay on the floor I prayed to Him and He sent you to me, straight out of the frozen places where in the winter no men are. Tell me, did not the good God tell you to come to me--to save the little baby's life?" There was a look of awed wonder in the woman's eyes, and suddenly Connie remembered the mirage with the blazing plague flag in the sky. "Yes," he answered, reverently, "I guess maybe He did." That night the wind came, the aurora flashed and hissed in the heavens, and early in the morning when Connie opened the door the air was alive with the keen tang of the North. Hastily he made up his pack for the trail. Most of the grub he left behind, and when the woman protested he laughed, and lied nobly, in that he told her that they had far too much grub for their needs. While 'Merican Joe looked solemnly on and said nothing. With the blessing of the woman ringing in their ears they started on the trail of René Bossuet. When they were out of sight of the cabin, the Indian halted and looked straight into the boy's eyes. "We have one day's grub, for a three-day's trail if we hit straight for Fort Norman," he announced. "Why then do we follow this man's trail? He has done nothing to us! Why do you always take upon yourself the troubles of others?" "Where would _you_ have been if I didn't?" flashed the boy angrily. "And where would the trapper have been and that woman and little baby? When I first struck Alaska I was just a little kid with torn clothes and only eight dollars and I thought I didn't have a friend in the world. And then, at Anvik, I found that every one of the big men of the North was my friend! And ever since that time I have been trying to pay back the debt I owe the men of the North--and I'll keep on trying till I die!" With a shrug 'Merican Joe started his dogs and took up the trail. Two hours later Connie took the lead, and pointed to the tracks in the snow. "He's slowing up," he exclaimed. "If we don't strike his camp within a half an hour, we'll strike--something else!" A few minutes later both halted abruptly. Before them was a wide place in the snow that had been trampled by many feet--the soft padded feet of the wolf pack. A toboggan, with its pack still securely lashed, stood at the end of René Bossuet's trail. Small scraps of leather showed where the dogs had been torn from the harness. Connie closed his eyes and pictured to himself what had happened there, in the night, in the sound of the roaring wind, and in the changing lights of the brilliantly flashing aurora. Then he opened his eyes and stepped out into the trampled space and gazed thoughtfully down upon the few scattered bits that lay strewn about upon the snow--a grinning skull, deeply gored here and there with fang marks, the gnawed ends of bones, and here and there ravellings and tiny patches of vivid blue cloth. And as he fastened the toboggan behind his own and swung the dogs onto the back-trail, he paused once more and smiled grimly: "He had always lived in the North," he said, "but he didn't know the North. He ran like the coward he was from the red death when there was no danger. And not only that, but he stole the food from a woman and a sick baby. He thought he could get away with it--'way up here. But there's something in the silent places that men don't understand--and never will understand. I've heard men speak of it. And now I have seen it--the working of the justice of the North!" CHAPTER VII AT FORT NORMAN No trading post in all the North is more beautifully situated than Fort Norman. The snug buildings of the Hudson's Bay Company and the Northern Trading Company are located upon a high bank, at the foot of which the mighty Mackenzie rushes northward to the frozen sea. On a clear day the Rocky Mountains are plainly visible, and a half mile below the post, Bear River, the swift running outlet to Great Bear Lake, flows into the Mackenzie. It is to Fort Norman that the Indians from up and down the great river, from the mountains to the westward, and from Great Bear Lake, and a thousand other lakes and rivers, named and unnamed, to the eastward, come each year to trade their furs. And it was there that Connie Morgan and 'Merican Joe arrived just thirty-seven days after they pulled out of Dawson. Except at the time of the holiday trading, winter visitors are few at the isolated post, and the two were heartily welcomed by the agents of the rival trading companies, and by the two priests of the little Roman Catholic Mission. Connie learned from the representatives of both companies that from all indications fur would be plentiful that year, but both expressed doubt that Fort Norman would get its share of the trading. "It's this way," explained McTavish, a huge, bearded Scot, as they sat about the fur trader's roaring stove upon the evening of their arrival. "The mountain Indians--the moose eaters, from the westward--are trading on the Yukon. They claim they get better prices over there an' maybe they do. The Yukon traders get the goods into the country cheaper, an' they could sell them cheaper, an' I ain't blamin' the Indians for tradin' where they can do best. But, now comes reports of a free trader that has trailed up the Coppermine from the coast to trade amongst the caribou eaters to the eastward. If that's so--an' he gets 'em to trade with him--God help those Indians along towards spring." The man relapsed into silence and Connie grinned to himself. "They've had it all their way up here for so long it makes them mad if anybody else comes in for a share of their profits," thought the boy. Aloud, he asked innocently: "What's the matter with the free traders?" McTavish frowned, and Berl Hansen, the Dane who managed the affairs of the Northern Trading Company's post, laughed harshly. "Go down along the railroads, boy," he said, "if you want to see the handiwork of the free traders, an' look at the Indians that has dealt with 'em. You can see 'em hanging around them railroad towns, that was once posts where they handled good clean furs. Them Injuns an' their fathers before 'em was good trappers--an' look at 'em now!" "Yes," interrupted Connie, "but they are the victims of the bootleggers and the whiskey runners! How about the free trader that won't handle liquor?" "There ain't no such a free trader!" exclaimed Hansen, angrily. "They're a pack of lying, thievin'----" "There, there, Berl, lad!" rumbled McTavish, checking the irate Dane, who had fairly launched upon his favourite theme. "Ye're right, in the main--but the lad's question was a fair one an' deserves a fair answer. I'm an older man, an' I've be'n thirty years in the service of the Company. Let me talk a bit, for there are a few traders that for aught I know are honest men an' no rum peddlers. But, there's reasons why they don't last long." The old Scotchman paused, whittled deliberately at his plug tobacco, and filled his pipe. "It's this way," he began. "We'll suppose this trader over on the Coppermine is a legitimate trader. We will handle his case fairly, an' to do that we must consider first the Hudson's Bay Company. For two hundred an' fifty years we have been traders of the North--we know the needs of the North--an' we supply them. The Indian's interests are our interests, and we trade nothing but the best goods. For two centuries an' a half we have studied the North and we have dealt fairly. And may I say here," with a glance toward Hansen, "that there are several other companies with sound financial backing and established posts that have profited by our experience and also supply only the best of goods, and deal fairly. With them we have no quarrel--honest competition, of course, we have--but no quarrel. Comes now the free trader. He is a man of small capital. His goods are cheap, they are of inferior quality. He cannot give 'debt,' as the credit of the North is called. He cannot carry a large number of Indians for six months or a year as we do. If he attempts it, his creditors press him and he goes to the wall--or the Indians find out before time for payment comes that the goods are inferior, and they repudiate their debt. It is bad all around--bad for the Indians, bad for the free traders, and bad for us----" "I should think it would be good for you," interrupted Connie. The factor shook his head: "I told you the Indians' interests are our interests. I will show you. Take it at this very post. We will suppose that the beaver are becoming scarce around here; what do we do? We say to the Indians, 'Do not kill any beaver this year and next year.' And they obey us--why? Because we will not buy any beaver here during that time. They will not kill what they cannot sell. Then, when the beavers have become numerous again, we resume trade in them. Were it not for this policy, many fur-bearing animals that once were numerous would now be extinct. "But--suppose there are free traders in the country--we will pay nothing for beavers, so they begin to buy them cheap--they can name their own price, and the Indians will keep on killing them. The Indian says: 'It is better that I should sell this beaver now at six skins than that my neighbour should sell him in two years at twelve skins.' Then, soon, there are no more beavers left in that part of the country. Another thing, in the fur posts our word is law. We tell the Indians when they can begin to take fur, and when they must stop. The result is we handle only clean, prime pelts with the flesh side white as paper. With the free trader a pelt is a pelt, prime or unprime, it makes no difference. So the killing goes merrily on where the free traders are--and soon all the fur-bearing animals are exterminated from that section. What does the free trader care? He loads his fly-by-night outfit into canoes or a York boat, and passes on to lay waste another section, leaving the poor Indians to face the rigours of the coming winter with ruined credit, cheap, inadequate clothing, cheap food, and worthless trinkets, and their hunting grounds barren of game." "But," objected Connie, "suppose a free trader dealt in goods as good as yours----" McTavish laughed. "I have yet to see that trader in thirty years' experience. Admit that his goods did measure up to our standard. What would he have to charge for them? We buy in vast quantities--in some cases we take the entire output of factories, and we have an established system of transportation to get it into the wilds. No free trader can compete with us--cost plus freight would ruin him, especially as he must allow the Indians a debt." "How much debt do they get?" "That depends upon several things. First of all upon the Indian--his reputation for honesty, and his reputation as a hunter. It also depends upon the size of his family, the distance of his hunting ground from the post, and his general prospects for the season. It varies from one hundred to five or six hundred, and in exceptional cases even to a thousand skins." "What do you mean by a skin?" "A skin," explained McTavish, "is our unit of trade. Instead of saying a certain thing is worth so many dollars, we say it is worth so many 'skins' or 'made beaver.'. At this post the value of the made beaver is a half-dollar." The factor opened a drawer and drew forth a handful of brass tokens which he handed to Connie for inspection. "These are skins, or made beaver. We offer an Indian so many skins for his pack of furs. He has little idea of what we mean when we tell him he has five hundred skins' worth of fur, so we count out five hundred of these made beaver--he can see them, can feel them--the value of his catch is immediately reduced to something concrete--something he can understand--then we take away the amount of his debt, and if there are still some made beaver remaining, he knows he has something left over to spend for finery and frippery. Rarely does he use these extra skins for the purchase of food or necessary clothing--he contracts a new debt for that. But, wait till spring when the Indians come in, and you will witness the trading for yourself. It is then you will see why it is that the free trader has small chance of doing business at a profit north of sixty." "But, why wouldn't it be just as easy to figure it in dollars?" asked the boy. McTavish laughed. "There were several reasons, although, with the government paying treaty in cash nowadays, the Indians are beginning to know something of money. But the main reason is that when the made beaver was first invented, no one seems to know just when or where or by whom, there was no money in the country--everything was traded or bartered for some other thing. And because the skin, and particularly the beaver skin, was the thing most bartered by Indians, the unit of value came to be known as a 'skin' or 'made beaver.' Another reason why money has never been popular with us is because of its destructibility. Take this post, for instance. Suppose we were compelled to ship silver dollars back and forth between here and Edmonton? Ten thousand of them would weigh close to six hundred pounds! Six hundred pounds would mean, on scows, six pieces--and mighty valuable pieces too, to be loaded and unloaded a dozen times, carried over portages, shot through dangerous rapids, carried up and down slippery river banks and across slippery planks to the scows. Suppose one of these pieces were dropped overboard by one of the none too careful half-breed rivermen? The Company would lose just so many dollars. Or, suppose the riverman very conveniently dropped the piece into the water where he could recover it again? A dollar is a dollar--it can be spent anywhere. But suppose that the piece contained only a supply of these brass 'made beaver'--the whole ten thousand would only make one piece--and if it dropped into the river the Company would lose only so much brass. Then if the riverman afterward recovered it, instead of finding himself possessed of dollars which he could spend anywhere, he would only have a hundred pounds or so of brass tokens whose value had been cancelled. And, again, the expense of transportation, even granted the consignment arrived safely at its destination, would be against the dollar. One hundred pounds, where freight costs sixteen cents a pound to move, is much cheaper to move than six hundred pounds." "Yes," agreed Connie, "but how about using paper money?" "Worse, and more of it!" exclaimed McTavish. "In the first place the piece, or package, would be lighter and of greater value--therefore much easier to make away with. Some lone bandit, or gang of bandits, might find it well worth their while to hold up the scow brigade and make off with that little piece. And, besides, until very recently, the Indians have had no sense of the value of paper money. An Indian cannot see why one piece of paper should be worth five dollars, and another exactly like it in size and colour should be worth ten, or twenty, or fifty--and another piece of paper be worth nothing at all. I am sure no one at the posts would welcome the carrying on of business upon a cash basis--I know I should not. The Canadian North is the cleanest land in the world, in so far as robbery is concerned, thanks to the Mounted. But with its vast wilderness for hiding places and its lack of quick transportation and facility for spreading news, I am afraid it would not long remain so, if it became known that every trading post possessed its cash vault. As it is, the goods of the North, in a great measure, protect themselves from theft by their very bulk. A man could hardly expect to get out of this country, for instance, with even a very few packs of stolen fur. The Mounted would have him before he could get half way to the railroad." "It seems funny," grinned Connie, "to find an outfit that doesn't like to do business for cash!" "Funny enough, till you know the reason--then, the most natural thing in the world. And, there is yet one more reason--take the treaty money. The Indians bring the treaty money to us and buy goods with it. We make the profit on the goods--but if they had bought those same goods for fur--we would have made the profit on the fur, also--and primarily, we are a fur company--although every year we are becoming more and more of a trading company and a land company. I am glad I shall not live to see the last of the fur trade--I love the fur--it speaks a language I know." A short time later the company broke up, Berl Hansen returned to his own quarters, and Connie and 'Merican Joe were given the spare room in the factor's house where for the first time since leaving Dawson they slept under a roof. CHAPTER VIII BAIT--AND A BEAR The business of outfitting for the balance of the winter occupied two whole days and when it was finished down to the last item Connie viewed the result with a frown. "It's going to take two trips to pack all that stuff. And by the time we make two trips and build a cabin besides, we won't have much time left for trapping." "Where you headin' for?" queried McTavish. "Somewhere over on the Coppermine," answered the boy. "I don't know just where--and I guess it don't make much difference." The big Scotchman laughed. "No, lad, it won't make no great difference. What put it in your head to trap on the Coppermine?" "Why, the truth is, it isn't so much the trapping I'm interested in. I want to try my hand at prospecting over there." "Gold?" "Yes--mainly." McTavish shook his head forebodingly. Connie smiled. "You don't believe there's any gold there?" he asked. "'Gold's where you find it,' you know." "There must be lots of it there, then. Nobody's ever found it. But, it's a bad time of year to be hittin' for the Coppermine country. It's bleak, an' barren, an' storm ridden. An' as for trappin' you'll find nothin' there to trap but foxes this time of year, an' you won't be able to do any prospectin' till summer. You might better trap in closer to the post this winter, an' when the lake opens you can take a York boat an' a canoe an' cover most of the distance by water." Connie frowned. "I started out for the Coppermine," he began, but the factor interrupted him with a gesture. "Sure you did--an' you'll get there, too. It's this way, lad. You're a sourdough, all right, I knew that the minute I saw you. An' bein' a sourdough, that way, you ain't goin' to do nothin' that it ain't in reason to do. There's a deal of difference between a determination to stick to a thing an' see it through in the face of all odds when the thing you're stickin' to is worth doin'; an' stickin' to a thing that ain't worth doin' out of sheer stubbornness. The first is a fine thing an' the second is a foolish thing to do." "I guess that's right," agreed Connie, after a moment of silence. "Of course it's right!" interrupted McTavish. "You ought to find a good trappin' ground down along the south shore, somewheres between the Blackwater and Lake Ste. Therese. Ought to be plenty of caribou in there too, an' what with droppin' a few nets through the ice, an' what you can bring in with your rifles you won't need to draw in your belts none." "How far is it from here?" asked the boy. "Not over a hundred an' fifty miles at the outside, an' if you'll wait around a couple of days, there'll be some of the Bear Lake Indians in with some fish from the Fisheries. They're due now. You can hire them for guides. They'll be bringin' down a couple of tons of fish, so they'll have plenty sled room so you can make it in one trip." And so it was decided that Connie and 'Merican Joe should winter somewhere on the south shore of Great Bear Lake, and for a certain band of Indians that had established their camp upon the river that flows from Lake Ste. Therese into the extreme point of McVicker Bay, it was well they did. The Bear Lake Indians appeared the following day, delivered their fish at the post, and Connie employed two of them with their dog teams to make the trip. The journey was uneventful enough, with only one storm to break the monotony of steady trailing with the thermometer at forty and even fifty below--for the strong cold had settled upon the Northland in earnest. Upon the sixth day 'Merican Joe halted the outfit upon the shore of a little lake which lay some five miles from the south shore of Keith Bay. "Build camp here," he said, indicating a low knoll covered with a dense growth of spruce. Connie paid off the guides with an order on the Hudson's Bay Company, and hardly had they disappeared before he and 'Merican Joe were busy clearing away the snow and setting up the tent that was to serve as temporary quarters until the tiny cabin that would be their winter home could be completed. The extra sled provided by the Indians, and the fact that they were to go only a comparatively short distance from the post, had induced Connie to add to his outfit a few conveniences that would have been entirely out of the question had he insisted in pushing on to the Coppermine. There was a real sheet iron stove with several lengths of pipe, a double window--small to be sure, but provided with panes of glass--and enough planking for a small sized door and door frame. Although the snow all about them showed innumerable tracks of the fur bearers, the two paid no attention to them until the cabin stood finished in its tiny clearing. And a snug little cabin it was, with its walls banked high with snow, its chinks all sealed with water-soaked snow that froze hard the moment it was in place, and its roof of small logs completely covered with a thick layer of the same wind-proof covering. On the morning following the completion of the cabin Connie and 'Merican Joe ate their breakfast by candlelight. Connie glanced toward the pile of steel traps of assorted sizes that lay in the corner. "We'll be setting them today, Joe. The fox tracks are thick all along the lake, and yesterday I saw where a big lynx had prowled along the edge of that windfall across the coulee." 'Merican Joe smiled. "Firs' we got to git de bait. Dat ain' no good we set de trap wit'out no bait." "What kind of bait? And where do we get it?" asked the boy. "Mos' any kin'--rabbit, bird, caribou, moose. Today we set 'bout wan hondre snare for de rabbit. We tak' de leetle gun 'long, mebbe-so we git de shot at de ptarmigan." "Why can't we take a few fox traps with us? We could bait 'em with bacon, or a piece of fish." "No, dat ain' no good for ketch de fox. Dat leetle fox she too mooch smart. She hard to trap. She ain' goin' fool wit' bacon an' fish. She stick out de nose an' smell de man-smell on de bacon an' she laugh an' run away. Same lak de fish--she say: 'De fish b'long in de wataire. How he git t'rough de ice an' sit on de snow, eh?' An' den she run 'way an' laugh som' mor'. We ain' goin' trap no fox yet annyhow. Novembaire, she mos' gon'. Decembaire we trap de marten an' de _loup cervier_. In Janueer de marten curl up in de stump an' sleep. Den we trap de fox. She ain' so smart den--she too mooch hongre." At daylight the two started, 'Merican Joe leading the way to a dense swamp that stretched from the lake shore far inland. Once in the thicket the Indian showed Connie how to set snares along the innumerable runways, or well-beaten paths of the rabbits, and how to secure each snare to the end of a bent sapling, or tossing pole, which, when released by the struggles of the rabbit from the notch that held it down, would spring upright and jerk the little animal high out of reach of the forest prowlers. During the forenoon Connie succeeded in shooting four of the big white snowshoe rabbits, and at the noon camp 'Merican Joe skinned these, being careful to leave the head attached to the skin. "I didn't know rabbit skins were worth saving," said Connie, as the Indian placed them together with the carcasses in the pack. "You wait--by-m-by I show you somet'ing," answered the Indian. And it was not long after the snare setting had been resumed that Connie learned the value of the rabbit skins. As they worked deeper into the swamp, lynx, or _loup cervier_ tracks became more numerous. Near one of the runways 'Merican Joe paused, drew a skin from his pack, and proceeded to stuff it with brush. When it had gained something the shape of the rabbit, he placed it in a natural position beneath the low-hanging branches of a young spruce and proceeded to set a heavier snare with a larger loop. The setting of this snare was slightly different from the setting of the rabbit snares, for instead of a tossing pole the snare was secured to the middle of a clog, or stout stick about two inches in diameter and four feet long. The ends of this clog were then supported upon two forked sticks in such manner that the snare hung downward where it was secured in position by tying the loop to a light switch thrust into the snow at either side. The snare was set only a foot or two from the stuffed rabbit skin and sticks and brush so arranged that in order to reach the rabbit the lynx must leap straight into the snare. The remaining rabbit skins were similarly used during the afternoon, as were the skins of two ptarmigan that Connie managed to bring down. "Use de skin for bait de _loup cervier_, an' de meat for bait de marten--dat de bes' way," explained 'Merican Joe, as they worked their way toward the edge of the swamp after the last snare had been set. [Illustration: "The snare was set only a foot or two from the stuffed rabbit skin and sticks and brush so arranged that in order to reach the rabbit the lynx must leap straight into the snare." Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover] The early darkness was already beginning to fall when Connie stopped suddenly and stared down at the snow at the base of a huge mass of earth and moss that had been thrown upward by the roots of a fallen tree. The thing that caught the boy's attention was a round hole in the snow--a hole hardly larger in diameter than a silver quarter, and edged with a lacy filigree of frost spicules. The boy called to 'Merican Joe who had paused to refasten the thongs of his rackets. At the first glance the Indian's eyes lighted: "Bear in dere!" he exclaimed. "We dig um out. We git plenty meat--plenty bait--an' de good skin besides." "Hadn't we better wait till tomorrow and bring the heavy rifle?" Connie asked. "We can't kill a bear with this dinky little twenty-two." "We ain' need no gun. Me--I cut de good stout club, an' you tak' de ax. De bear she too mooch sleepy to do no fightin'. Den we git de toboggan an' haul um in. We only 'bout wan half-mile from camp. Tomor' we got plenty bait, we set de marten trap. We skin de bear tonight we save wan whole day." As he talked, the Indian felled a small birch and trimmed about five feet of its trunk which measured about two inches and a half in thickness. "Dat fix um good, an' den we cut de t'roat," he explained, brandishing the club in the air. "I don't know," replied Connie, dubiously. "Waseche and I have killed several bears, and there was a time or two when a couple of good thirty-forty's came near not being big enough." 'Merican Joe grinned. "Dat was grizzlies. I ain' t'ink de grizzly com' so far from de montaine. Dis leetle black bear, she ain' lak to fight mooch." "I hope you're right," grinned the boy, as he fell to work helping the Indian to trample the snow into good solid footing for a space of ten feet or more about the airhole. This done, they removed snowshoes and coats and with ax and pole attacked the snow that covered their quarry. "I feel um!" cried the Indian, as he thrust his pole deep into the snow after five minutes of hard work. "We wake um up firs', an' when he stick out de head we bang um good." 'Merican Joe continued to ram his pole into the snow where he had felt the yielding mass of the bear's body, all the time haranguing the bear in jargon, addressing him as "cousin," and inviting him to come out and be killed, and in the same breath apologizing for the necessity of taking his life. Then--very suddenly--"cousin" came out! There was a mighty upheaval of snow, a whistling snort, and a mountain of brown fur projected itself into the rapidly gathering dusk. 'Merican Joe struck valiantly with his club at the monstrous head that in the half-light seemed to Connie to measure two feet between the ears. The boy heard the sharp crack of the weapon as it struck the skull, and the next instant he heard the club crashing through the limbs of a small spruce. The infuriated bear had caught it fairly with a sweep of his giant paw. Then Connie struck with his ax, just as 'Merican Joe, with the bear almost upon him, scrambled into the branches of a tree. The boy's blow fell upon the bear's hip, and with a roar the great brute whirled to meet the new attack as Connie gathered himself to strike again. Then, a very fortunate thing happened. When 'Merican Joe had removed his snowshoes he had stuck them upright in the snow and hung his coat over them. The figure thus formed caught the bear's attention, and with a lurch he was upon it. There was a crackling of ash bows as the snowshoes were crushed in the ponderous embrace. And, seeing his chance, Connie darted forward, for the momentum of the bear's lurch had carried him on to all fours in the soft snow at the edge of the trampled space. As the huge animal struggled, belly deep, the boy brought the bit of his ax down with all his force upon the middle of the brute's spine. The feel of the blow was good as the keen blade sank to the helve. The next instant the ax was jerked from his hands and the boy turned to collide with 'Merican Joe, who had recovered his club and was rushing in to renew the attack. Both went sprawling upon the trodden snow, and before they could recover their feet the bear was almost upon them. They sprang clear, the Indian waiting with upraised club, but the bear advanced slowly, ripping and tearing at the snow with his huge forepaws with their claws as long as a man's fingers. Down came the Indian's club upon the broad skull, but there was no rearing upward to ward off the blow, and then it was that both saw that the animal was dragging its useless hinder part. Connie's ax had severed the animal's backbone, and so long as they kept out of reach of those terrible forepaws they were safe. While the Indian continued to belabour the bear's head, Connie managed to slip around behind the animal and recover his ax, after which it was but the work of a few moments to dispatch the huge bear with a few well-directed blows. It was almost dark when the two stood looking down upon the carcass of the great barren ground grizzly. "So that's your little black bear that don't like to fight much!" grinned Connie. 'Merican Joe returned the grin. "All de tam kin learn somet'ing new. Nex' tam we dig out de den bear we bring de big gun 'long. Annyhow, we git mor' bait an' dog feed, an' de good meat, an' de bigger skin, an' we git mor', w'at you call, excite!" He placed his foot upon the head of the dead bear. "Dat too bad we got to kill you, cousin. But Injun an' white boy got to git de meat to eat, an' de bait to ketch de leetle marten. We mooch oblig' you ain' kill us." 'Merican Joe's crushed snowshoes and his coat were dug out of the snow, and together the two managed to work the carcass on to its back. The Indian proceeded to build a fire by the light of which he could skin the bear while Connie fastened on his own rackets and hit out for the cabin to procure the toboggan and dogs, and an extra pair of snowshoes. An hour later he returned, just as 'Merican Joe was stripping the hide from the hind legs. While Connie folded it into a convenient pack, the Indian took the ax and chopped off the bear's head which he proceeded to tie to the branches of a small spruce at the foot of which the animal had been killed. "What in thunder are you doing?" asked the boy. 'Merican Joe regarded him gravely. "Mus' hang up de skull right where he git kill," he answered. "Why?" "Cause _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_, w'at you call, de Great Spirit, he com' 'long an' count de bears in de springtime. He count de Injun, too, an' de moose, an' de beaver' an' all de big people. _S'pose_ he ain' fin' dat bear. He ain' know dat bear git kill. He t'ink dat bear ain' wake up yet, or else he hide in de den. If de skull ain' hang up she git cover up wit' leaves, or sink in de swamp, an' _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ no kin fin'. But, w'en he see skull hang up, he say: 'De Injun kill de bear an' git meat. Dat good. I sen' um nodder bear.' So de bear always plenty in de Injun country. De white men com' 'long an' kill de bear. Dey ain' hang up de skull--an' by-m-by, w'ere de white man live de bears is all gon'." The duty performed to 'Merican Joe's satisfaction, the carcass and skin were loaded on to the toboggan and by the thin light of the little stars they started the dogs and wended their way across the narrow lake to the little cabin in the spruce grove, well satisfied with their first day of trapping. CHAPTER IX OUT ON THE TRAP LINE Connie Morgan was anxious to be off on the trap line early in the morning following the adventure with the bear. But 'Merican Joe shook his head and pointed to the carcass of the bear that for want of a better place had been deposited upon the floor of the cabin. "First we got to build de _cache_. We ain' got no room in de cabin--an' besides, she too warm for keep de meat good. De dog, an' de wolf, an' de _loup cervier_, an' de _carcajo_, w'at you call 'Injun devil,' dey all hongre an' hunt de meat. We got to build de _cache_ high up." The first thing, of course, was to locate the site. This was quickly done by selecting four spruce trees about three inches in diameter and ten feet apart, and so situated as to form the corner posts of a rude square. Taking his ax, the Indian ascended one of these trees, lopping off the limbs as he went, but leaving the stubs for foot and hand holds. About twelve feet from the ground he cut off the trunk just above the place where a good stout limb stub formed a convenient crotch. The other three trees were similarly treated. Four strong poles were cut and placed from one crotch to another to form the frame of the _cache_. These poles were cut long enough to extend about four feet beyond the corner posts. Upon this frame-work lighter poles were laid side by side to form the platform of the _cache_--a platform that protruded beyond the corner posts so far that no animal which might succeed in climbing one of the posts could possibly manage to scramble over the edge. The corner posts were trimmed smooth, and a rude ladder, which consisted simply of a young spruce with the limb stubs left on for the rungs was made. The last step in the completion of the _cache_ was to cut down all trees whose limbs over-hung in such manner that a _carcajo_ could crawl out and drop down upon the platform, and also those trees whose proximity might tempt a lynx to try a flying leap to the _cache_. When the carcass of the bear had been quartered and deposited upon the platform, the brush and limbs cleared away, and the ladder removed, the two trappers gazed in satisfaction at their handiwork. The stout _cache_, capable of protecting several tons of meat from the inroads of the forest prowlers, had been constructed without the use of a single nail, or bit of rope, or thong, and with no tool except an ax! It was noon when the task was completed, and after a hasty lunch of tea, bear's liver, and bannock, 'Merican Joe selected fifteen small steel traps which he placed in his pack sack. He also carried a light belt ax, while Connie shouldered the larger ax and reached for the 30-40 rifle. 'Merican Joe shook his head. "Dat ain' no good to tak' de big gun. Tak' de leetle wan an' mebbe-so you git som' mor' bait." "Yes, and what if we run on to another one of your little black bears that don't like to fight? And what if we should see a caribou? And suppose we found a lynx in one of those snares?" "We ain' goin' hunt no caribou. We goin' set marten traps, an' if we com' on de bear den we wait an' com' back som' odder time." "But suppose there is a lynx in one of those snares?" persisted the boy. "Let um be in de snare. We ain' goin' to de swamp. Dat ain' no good to go 'long de trap line too mooch. Let um be for week--mebbe-so ten day. We go runnin' t'rough de woods every day same place, we scare everyt'ing off. Anyhow, we ain' need de big gun for de _loup cervier_. De leetle gun better, he don' mak' so big hole in de skin. An' if de _loup cervier_ is in de snare, we ain' need no gun at all. She choke dead." A half mile from camp, 'Merican Joe set his first trap. The place selected for the set was the trunk of a large spruce that had been uprooted by the wind, and leaned against another tree at an angle of forty-five degrees. Two blows of the light belt ax made a notch into which the small steel trap fitted perfectly. The bait was placed upon the tree trunk just above the trap and a small barrier of bark was constructed close below the trap in such a manner that the marten in clambering over the barrier must almost to a certainty plant at least one fore foot upon the pan of the trap. The trap chain was secured to the tree so that when the marten was caught he would leap from the trunk and hang suspended in the air, which would give him no chance to free himself by gnawing his leg off above the jaws of the trap. This leaning tree set was 'Merican Joe's favourite with the steel traps. A particularly ingenious set was made upon the trunk of a standing tree whose bark showed tiny scars and scratches that indicated to the practised eyes of the Indian that it was frequently ascended by martens. In this case two short sticks were sharpened and driven into the tree trunk to form a tiny platform for the trap. Some slabs were then cut from a nearby dead spruce and these also were sharpened and driven into the trunk on either side of the trap. Then a piece of bark was laid over the top for a roof, and the bait placed in the back of the little house thus formed. The marten must enter from the bottom and in order to reach the bait, the only possible spot for him to place his feet would be upon the pan of the trap. Several sets were also made on the ground in places where the sign showed right. These ground sets were made generally at the base of a tree or a stump and consisted of little houses made of bark, with the bait in the back and the trap placed between the door and the bait. In the case of these sets, instead of securing the chain to the tree or stump, it was made fast to a clog, care being taken to fasten the chain to the middle of the stick. Three or four sets were made for mink, also. These sets were very simple, and yet the Indian made them with elaborate care. They consisted in placing the trap just within the mouth of a hole that showed evidence of occupation, after first scooping out a depression in the snow. The trap was placed in the bottom of the depression and carefully covered with light, dry leaves that had been previously collected. 'Merican Joe took great care to so arrange these leaves that while the jaws, pan, and spring were covered, no leaves would be caught in the angle of the jaws and thus prevent their closing about the leg of the mink. The leaves were now covered with snow, and the chain carried outward, buried in the snow, and secured to a tossing pole. The short sub-arctic day had drawn to a close even before the last set was made, and in the darkness the two swung wide of their trap line, and headed for the cabin. "Fifteen sets isn't so bad for an afternoon's work," opined Connie, "especially when you had to do all the work. Tomorrow I can help, and we ought to be able to get out all the rest of the marten traps. There are only fifty all told." "Fifty steel traps--we git dem set first. We gon 'bout t'ree, four mile today. We use up de steel trap in 'bout fifteen mile. Dat good--dey too mooch heavy to carry. Den we begin to set de deadfall." "Deadfalls!" cried Connie. "How many traps are we going to put out?" "Oh, couple hondre marten an' mink trap. We git de trap line 'bout fifty mile long. Den we set lot more _loup cervier_ snare." They swung out on to their little lake about a mile above the camp and as they mushed along near shore Connie stopped suddenly and pointed to a great grey shape that was running swiftly across the mouth of a small bay. The huge animal ran in a smooth, easy lope and in the starlight his hair gleamed like silver. "Look!" he whispered to the Indian. "There goes Leloo!" Even as he spoke there came floating down the wind from the direction of the timber at the head of the lake, the long-drawn howl of a wolf. Leloo halted in his tracks and stood ears erect, motionless as a carved statue, until the sound trailed away into silence. A fox trotted out of the timber within ten yards of where the two stood watching and, catching sight of Connie as the boy shifted his twenty-two, turned and dashed along a thin sand point and straight across the lake, passing in his blind haste so close to Leloo that his thick brush almost touched the motionless animal's nose. But the big ruffed wolf-dog never gave so much as a passing glance. "That's funny," whispered Connie "Why didn't he grab that fox?" "Leloo, he ain' fool wit' no fox tonight," answered 'Merican Joe. "He goin' far off an' run de ridges wit' de big people." And even as the Indian spoke, Leloo resumed his long, silent lope. "I sure would like to follow him tonight," breathed the boy, as he watched the great dog until he disappeared upon the smooth, white surface of the lake where the aurora borealis was casting its weird, shifting lights upon the snow. The weather had moderated to about the zero mark and by the middle of the following afternoon 'Merican Joe set the last of the remaining marten traps. Connie proved an apt pupil and not only did he set fourteen of the thirty-five traps, but each set was minutely examined and approved by the critical eye of 'Merican Joe. When the last trap was set, the Indian commenced the construction of deadfalls, and again Connie became a mere spectator. And a very interested spectator he was as he watched every movement of 'Merican Joe who, with only such material as came to hand on the spot, and no tools except his belt ax and knife, constructed and baited his cunningly devised deadfalls. These traps were built upon stumps and logs and were of the common figure-of-four type familiar to every schoolboy. The weight, or fall log, was of sufficient size to break the back of a marten. "De steel trap she bes'," explained the Indian. "She easy to set, an' she ketch mor' marten. Wit' de steel trap if de marten com' 'long an' smell de bait he mus' got to put de foot in de trap--but in de deadfall she got to grab de bait an' give de pull to spring de trap. But, de deadfall don't cost nuttin', an' if you go far de steel trap too mooch heavy to carry. Dat why I set de steel trap in close, an' de deadfall far out." For four days the two continued to set deadfalls. The last two days they packed their sleeping bags, camping where night overtook them, and the evening of the fourth day found them with an even two hundred traps and thirty lynx snares set, and a trap line that was approximately fifty miles long and so arranged that either end was within a half mile of the cabin. "We go over de snare line in de swamp tomor'," said 'Merican Joe, as they sat that night at their little table beside the roaring sheet-iron stove, "an' next day we start over de trap line." "About how many marten do you think we ought to catch?" asked Connie. The Indian shrugged: "Can't tell 'bout de luck--sometam lot of um--sometam mebbe-so not none." "What do you mean by a lot?" persisted the boy. "Oh, mebbe-so, twenty--twenty five." "About one marten for every eight or ten traps," figured the boy. The Indian nodded. "You set seven steel trap an' catch wan marten, dat good. You set ten deadfall an' ketch wan marten, dat good, too." "We've got six lynx snares down in the swamp to look at tomorrow. How many lynx are we going to get?" 'Merican Joe grinned. "Mebbe-so not none--mebbe-so one, two. Dat all tam bes' we count de skin w'en we git hom'." "Don't count your chickens before they're hatched, eh?" laughed Connie. The Indian looked puzzled. "W'at you mean--chicken hatch?" And when the boy explained to the best of his ability the old saw, 'Merican Joe, who had never seen a chicken in his life, nodded sagely. "Dat right--an' you ain' kin count de fur hatch first, nieder." CHAPTER X THE TRAIL OF THE _CARCAJO_ At daylight next morning they crossed the narrow lake, travelling light, that is, each carried only his lunch in his pack sack, and Connie carried the light rifle, while 'Merican Joe dragged an empty toboggan upon which to haul home the rabbits and the lynx if they were lucky enough to get one. The toboggan was left at the edge of the swamp and the two entered and plunged into the maze of rabbit paths that crisscrossed the snow in all directions. The first two snares were undisturbed, the third was pushed aside and had to be readjusted. Where the fourth and fifth snares had been a white snowshoe rabbit dangled from each tossing pole, and they were promptly transferred to the pack sacks and the snares reset. Numerous new snares were set, the old ones adjusted, and the rabbits taken from the tossing poles of the lucky ones. One snare was missing altogether, and 'Merican Joe pointed to the tracks of a large wolf. "He run 'long an' git de foot or de nose in de snare, but she ain' strong 'nough to hold um," he explained. At noon they camped at the place where 'Merican Joe had skinned the rabbits on the first trip. They had twelve rabbits in the packs and these they _cached_ to pick up on the return. It was not long after they resumed operations on the snare line that Connie, with a whoop of delight, dashed toward the spot where the first lynx snare had been set. The sparse underbrush had been broken down, and for a considerable space the snow had been torn up and trampled in a manner that told of a furious struggle. And right in the middle of the trampled space lay the body of a huge lynx doubled into a curious ball and frozen to the hardness of iron. The struggle had evidently been brief but furious, and terminated with the lynx sealing his own doom. Finding himself caught and held by the ever tightening noose, he had first tried to escape by flight, but the clog immediately caught on the underbrush and held him fast. The infuriated animal had then begun a ferocious attack upon the clog, which showed the deep scars of teeth and claws, and had wound up by catching his powerful hind feet upon the clog, one on either side of the center where the snare was fastened, and by straining the great muscles of his legs, literally choked himself to death. More rabbits were added to the packs, and a short time later another _cache_ was made. Connie wanted to set some more lynx snares, but they had shot no rabbits, and it was impossible to skin the frozen ones they had taken from the snares without wasting time in thawing them out. "Let's use a whole one," suggested the boy. "We've got lots of 'em, and a lynx is worth a rabbit, any time." 'Merican Joe objected. "We got plenty rabbit today--mebbe-so nex' tam we ain' got none. It ain' no good we waste de rabbit. S'pose we leave de rabbit for bait; de wolf an' de fox he com' long an' he too mooch smart to git in de snare, but he git de rabbit jes' de sam'. Anyhow, we ain' kin make de rabbit look lak he sittin' down w'en de hine legs is stickin' down straight lak de sawbuck. Nex' tam we got plenty rabbit skin for set de snare--de _loup cervier_ she run all winter, anyhow." The next four lynx snares were undisturbed, but the sixth and last had disappeared altogether. "It held him for a while, though," said Connie, as he gazed in disappointment at the snow which had been scratched and thrown in all directions by the big cat. The Indian laughed aloud at the evident disappointment that showed in the boy's face. "I don't see anything so funny about it!" frowned Connie. "Dat mak' me laugh I see you sorry 'bout lose de _loup cervier_. You rich. You got plenty money. An' when you lose wan _loup cervier_, you look lak you los' de gol' mine." "It isn't the value of the skin!" exclaimed the boy, quickly. "But when I start to do a thing I like to do it. It don't make any difference what it is, and it don't make any difference whether the stakes are high or low. If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right. And if it's worth starting, it's worth finishing." 'Merican Joe nodded: "I know. We go finish um _loup cervier_, now." "What do you mean--finish him?" cried Connie, pointing to the tracks in the snow that led from the scene of the brief struggle with the snare--tracks that showed where the lynx had fled in powerful, fifteen-foot leaps. "That don't look much like we'd finish that fellow, does it? Believe me, he left here in a hurry! He's probably climbing the North Pole right now!" "I ain' know nuttin' 'bout no Nort' Poles. W'ere you t'ink de stick go w'at we fix on de snare?" Connie examined the scene of the struggle minutely, kicking the loose snow about, but failed to find the clog. "Why, he skipped out, clog and all! That clog wasn't very heavy." "No, she ain' heavy, but she fasten in de middle, an' she ketch in de brush an' hol' _loup cervier_ tight, you bet! You ain' see no track w'ere de stick drag, eh?" Connie scrutinized the trail of the lynx, but the snow gave no sign of the clog. He turned a puzzled glance upon the Indian. "That's funny. He certainly didn't leave it here, and he couldn't have dragged it without leaving a trail, even if it hadn't caught on the brush." Again 'Merican Joe laughed. "No, he ain' leave it--an' he ain' drag it. He ol' man _loup cervier_--he smart. He fin' out he ain' kin break loose, an' he ain' kin drag de stick, so he pick him up an' carry him in de mout'. But he ain' so mooch smart lak he t'ink. De firs' t'ing de _loup cervier_ do w'en you chase um--he climb de tree. He t'ink de snare chase um--so he climb de tree. Den, by-m-by he git tire to hol' de stick in de mout' an' he let him go. Den he set on de limb long time an' growl. Den he t'ink he go som' mor', an' he start to climb down de tree. An' den de stick ketch on de limb an' he can't git down. He pull an' fight, but dat ain' no good--so he giv' de big jump--an' den he git hung--lak de mans do w'en dey kill nodder mans. Com' on--he ain' lak to go far. He lak to climb de tree. We fin' um queek." That 'Merican Joe knew what he was talking about was soon demonstrated. For several hundred yards the tracks led straight through the swamp. Suddenly the Indian halted at the foot of a spruce that reared high above its neighbours and pointed to the snow which was littered with needles and bits of bark. There were no tracks beyond the foot of the tree, and Connie peered upward, but so thick were the branches that he could see nothing. Removing his snowshoes and pack, 'Merican Joe climbed the tree and a few moments later Connie heard the blows of his belt ax as he hacked at the limb that held the clog. There was a swish of snow-laden branches, and amid a deluge of fine snow the frozen body of the lynx struck the ground at the boy's feet. Loading himself with as much as his pack sack could hold, the Indian struck off to get the toboggan, leaving Connie to pack the carcass of the lynx and the remaining rabbits back to the noon-time _cache_. This necessitated two trips, and when Connie returned with the second load he found 'Merican Joe waiting. "Thirty-two rabbits and two lynx," counted Connie as they loaded the toboggan. "And let's beat it and get 'em skinned so we can start out in the morning on the real trap line." The rabbits were placed just as they were upon the platform of the _cache_, to be used as needed, and the evening was spent in thawing and skinning the two lynx. "Why don't you rip him up the belly like you did the bear?" asked Connie, as the Indian started to slit the animal's head. "No. Skin um, w'at you call, case. De bear an' de beaver skin flat. Case all de rest. Start on de head lak dis. Den draw de skin down over de body. You see she com' wrong side out. Den you finish on de tail an' de hine legs an' you got um done--all de fur inside, and de flesh side out." Connie watched with interest while the Indian skillfully drew the pelt from the carcass and stretched it upon splints prepared with his belt ax. "Now you skin nex' wan," smiled the Indian. "I bet you mak' de good job. You learn queek." Connie set to work with a will and, in truth, he did a very creditable job, although it took him three times as long as it had taken the Indian, and his pelt showed two small knife cuts. "Now what do we do with 'em?" he asked when he had his skin all stretched. "Dry um." Connie started to place them close to the hot stove, but 'Merican Joe shook his head. [Illustration: "'Merican Joe climbed the tree and a few minutes later Connie heard the blows of his belt ax as he hacked at the limb that held the clog." Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover] "No! Dat ain' no good!" he exclaimed. "Dat fat she melt an' de heat she dry de skin too queek, an' she git, w'at you call, grease burnt. Dat why we nail de bear skin on de outside of de cabin. De skin she got to dry in de cold. W'en de frost dry um, den we mus' got to scrape all de fat an' de meat off, an' wash um, and dry um ag'in--den we got de good prime skin." The Indian fastened a stout piece of line into the nose of each pelt, and climbing the ladder, secured them to one of the poles of the _cache_ in such manner that they hung free to the air, and yet out of reach of any prowling animals. When they returned to the cabin 'Merican Joe proceeded to cut thick slices from the hams of the two lynx carcasses. "Is that good for bait?" asked the boy. 'Merican Joe laughed. "Dat too mooch good for bait!" he exclaimed. "We goin' have dat meat for de breakfas'." "For breakfast!" cried Connie. "You don't mean you're going to eat lynx meat! Why, a lynx is a cat!" "Mebbe-so cat--mebbe-so ain't. Dat don't mak' no differ' w'at you call um. You wait, I fry um an' I bet you t'ink dat de bes' meat you ever eat." "I don't believe I could tackle a cat," grinned the boy. "Dat better you forgit dat cat business. If it good, it good. If it ain' good, it ain' good. W'at you care you call um cat--dog--pig? Plenty t'ing good to eat w'en you fin' dat out. De owl, she good meat. De musquash, w'at you call de mushrat--dat don' hurt de meat 'cause you call um rat! De skunk mak' de fine meat, an' de porkypine, too." "I guess Injuns ain't so particular what they eat," laughed Connie. "De Injun know w'at de good meat is," retorted 'Merican Joe. "By golly, I seen de white mans eat de rotten cheese, an' she stink so bad dat mak' de Injun sick." "I guess you win!" laughed the boy. "I've seen 'em too--but you bet I never ate any of it!" "You try de _loup cervier_ steak in de mornin'," the Indian urged earnestly. "If you don' lak him I bet you my dogs to wan chaw tobac'!" "I don't chew tobacco," Connie grinned, "but seeing you've gone to all the trouble of slicing the meat up, I'll take a chance." "How you lak him, eh?" 'Merican Joe grinned across the little table at Connie next morning, as the boy gingerly mouthed a small piece of lynx steak. Connie swallowed the morsel, and, without answering, took another bite. There was nothing gingerly about the action this time, and the Indian noted that the boy's jaws worked with evident relish. "Well," answered Connie, when the second morsel had gone the way of the first, "if the rest of the things you were telling me about are as good as this, all I've got to say is: Bring 'em along!" Daylight found them on the trap line with sleeping bags and provisions in their packs, for it would require at least two days to "fresh up" the line. At noon they camped for lunch almost at the end of the line of steel traps. So far they had been unusually lucky. Only two traps had been sprung empty, and eight martens and a mink were in the pack sacks. Only two of the martens, and the mink were alive when found and Connie quickly learned the Indian method of killing a trapped animal--a method that is far more humane and very much easier when it comes to skinning the animal than the white man's method of beating him on the head with the ax handle. With the latter practice the skull is crushed with the result that there is a nasty mess which discolours the flesh side of the pelt and makes very disagreeable work for the skinner. The first live marten was in one of the "ground set" traps and upon the approach of the trappers he arched his back and stood at bay, emitting sharp squalls and growls of anger. 'Merican Joe simply planted his snowshoe on him, pressing him into the snow, then with one hand he reached down and secured a firm hold on the animal's neck and gradually worked the fore part of his body from under the snowshoe, taking care to keep the hinder part held fast by the web. Snapping the mitten from his other hand, the Indian felt just behind the lower ribs for the animal's heart, and grasping it firmly between thumb and fingers he pulled quickly downward. The heart was thus torn from its position and the animal died instantly and painlessly. The mink which was suspended by the tossing pole, and the other marten which had fallen victim to one of the "tree sets," of course, could not be held by the snowshoe. As both were caught by the fore leg, a loop of copper wire was slipped about their hind legs and the animals thus stretched out and dispatched in the same manner as the first. As these three animals were not frozen, 'Merican Joe skinned them at the noon camp, thereby doing away with the weight of the useless carcasses. "What are we going to do when we finish up this trap line?" asked Connie. "It won't be time to look at the snares again." "No. We tak' a day an' res' up, an' skin de martens an' stretch um. Den we mus' got to git som' dog feed. We put out de fish nets an' hunt de caribou. Leloo, he be'n killing caribou wit' de wolf pack--he ain' hongre w'en we feed de dogs." But the revelation of the next few miles drove all thought of a day of rest or a caribou hunt from the mind of the Indian, for real trouble began with the second trap visited in the afternoon. This trap which had been set upon the trunk of a leaning tree, was found dangling empty by its chain, and held firmly between its jaws was the frozen leg of a marten. The keen eyes of 'Merican Joe saw at a glance that the animal had neither gnawed nor twisted its own way out of the trap but had been torn from it by violence. The Indian scowled darkly at certain telltale tracks in the snow, and an exclamation of anger escaped him. Connie laughed. "Now who's growling about the loss of a skin? One marten more or less won't make much difference." 'Merican Joe continued to scowl. "No, one marten don't mak' mooch differ', but we ain' goin' to git no more marten on dis trap line _s'pose_ we ain' kill dat _carcajo_! He start in here an' he clean out de whole line. He steal all de marten, an' he bust up de deadfalls. An' we got to ketch um or we got got to move som' nodder place!" And in all truth, the Indian's fears were well justified. For of all the animals of the North, the _carcajo_ is the most hated by the trappers. And he has fairly earned every bit of hatred he gets because for absolute malicious fiendishness this thick-bodied brute of many names has no equal. Scientists, who have no personal quarrel with him, have given him the dignified Latin name of _gulo luscus_--the last syllable of the last word being particularly apt. In the dictionaries and encyclopædias he is listed as the glutton. In the United States he is commonly known as the wolverine. The lumberjacks call him the Injun devil. While among the trappers and the Indians themselves he is known as the _carcajo_, or as bad dog--which is the Indian's idea of absolute cussedness and degeneracy. Connie broke the silence that had fallen upon the two as they stared at the empty trap. "Well, we won't move!" he cried. "There's no measly _carcajo_ going to run me out of here! We'll get busy, and in two or three days from now we'll have that scoundrel's hide hanging up on the _cache_ with the lynx skins!" The Indian nodded slowly. "Mebbe-so--mebbe-so not. De _carcajo_, she smart. She hard to ketch." "So are we smart!" exclaimed the boy. "Come on--let's go!" "Ain' no good we go 'long de trap line. De trap she all be bust up. We go back to de cabin an' git som' beaver trap, an' we start out on de odder end an' back-track 'long de trap line. Mebbe-so de _carcajo_ ain' had time to git over de whole line yet. Anyhow, we got to set plenty trap for him." Hastening back to the cabin, the frozen martens were thawed out and skinned, and 'Merican Joe made up his pack for the trail. Connie refrained from asking questions, as the Indian solemnly made up his queer pack, but the boy resolved to keep his eyes open the following day, for of all the things the Indian placed in his pack sack, there was nothing that appeared to be of any use whatever except the six stout beaver traps. Daylight next morning found them at the end of the trap line which they back-trailed for some five or six miles without seeing any signs of the presence of the _carcajo_. They had four martens in their packs, and Connie was beginning to believe that the outlook was not so bad after all, when they suddenly came upon one of the deadfalls literally torn to pieces. There had been a marten in this trap, but nothing remained of him except a few hairs that clung to the bark of the fall-log. The bait was gone, the bait house was broken apart, and the pieces strewn about in the most savage and wanton manner. The tracks were only a few hours old, and Connie was for following them and killing the marauder with the rifle. But 'Merican Joe shook his head: "No, we ain' kin fin' him. He climb de tree and den git in nodder tree an' keep on goin' an' we lose time an' don' do no good. He quit here las' night. He start in ag'in tonight w'ere he leave off. We go back, now, an' set som' trap w'ere he ain' be'n." Retracing their steps to the first unmolested deadfall, the Indian set one of the beaver traps. But instead of baiting it, or setting it at the opening of the bait house, he carefully scooped a depression in the snow at the back of the house. Placing the trap in this depression so that it lay about two inches below the level of the snow, he carefully laid small clusters of needles from the pan outward so that they rested upon the jaws. This was to keep the snow from packing or freezing on the trap which would prevent it from springing. When the trap was completely covered the Indian took two pieces of crust from the snow and, holding them above the trap, rubbed them together, thus grinding the snow and letting it fall upon the needles until the whole was covered with what looked like a natural fall of snow. "De _carcajo_ he com' to de trap at de back an' break it up," he explained as he stood up and examined his handiwork critically. "I hope he tries it on that one," grinned Connie, as he followed the Indian who had already started for the next set. This set was different, in that it was not made at any trap. The Indian paused beside a fallen log and with the ax cut a half-dozen green poles. These he cut into three-foot lengths and laid them one on top of the other in the shape of a three-cornered crib. Then he took from the pack some of the articles that had excited Connie's curiosity. An old coat, tightly rolled, was first placed within the enclosure of the crib. Then several empty tin cans were placed on top of the coat, and covered with an old scrap of canvas. On top of the canvas were placed the snowshoes that had been crushed by the bear. Four of the beaver traps were now set, one on each side of the crib, close to the wall and one on top of the snowshoes inside the enclosure. The traps on the outside were covered in exactly the same manner as the trap set at the deadfall, and the one inside was simply covered with an old worn-out sock. "Where does the bait go?" asked Connie, as he glanced curiously at the contrivance. "De bait she all ready. We ain' want no meat bait. De _carcajo_ com' 'long, she see de leetle log house. She sniff 'roun' an' she say: 'Dis is wan _cache_. I bust him up an' steal all de t'ings.' An' so he go to bust up de _cache_ an' de firs' t'ing she know she got de leg in de trap. Dat mak' him mad an' he jump 'roun' an' by-m-by anodder leg gits in odder trap, an' by golly, den he ain' kin git away no mor'!" "Why don't you fasten the chains to the big log, instead of to those light clogs?" asked the boy. "Dat ain' no good way to do," replied the Indian. "If she fasten on de big solid log, de _carcajo_ git chance to mak' de big pull. He git w'at you call de brace, an' he pull an' pull, an' by-m-by, he pull hees foot out. But w'en you mak' de trap on de clog he ain' kin git no good pull. Every tam he pull, de clog com' 'long a leetle, an' all he do is drag de stick." The remaining trap was set at another deadfall, and the two trappers returned home to await results. But while they waited, they were not idle. The dog food was running low, so armed with ice chisels and axes they went out on to the snow-covered lake and busied themselves in setting their whitefish nets through the ice. CHAPTER XI THE CARIBOU HUNT Connie Morgan and his trapping partner, 'Merican Joe, bolted a hurried breakfast. For both were eager to know the result of their attempt to trap the _carcajo_ that had worked such havoc with their line of marten and mink traps. "Suppose we do catch this one?" asked Connie as he fastened his rackets. "Won't there be an other one along in a day or two, so we'll have to do it all over again?" "No," explained the Indian. "_Carcajo_ no like nodder _carcajo_. In de winter tam de _carcajo_ got he's own place to hunt. If nodder wan comes 'long dey mak' de big fight, an' wan gits lick an' he got to go off an' fin' nodder place to hunt. Injun hate _carcajo_. Marten hate um. Mink, an fox hate um. Deer hate um. All de peoples hate um--de big peoples, an' de leetle peoples. _Carcajo_ so mean even _carcajo_ hate _carcajo_!" A yell of triumph escaped Connie as, closely followed by 'Merican Joe, he pushed aside the thick screen of spruce branches and came suddenly upon the crib-like _cache_ that the Indian had constructed to entice the malicious night prowler. For right in the midst of the wreckage of the _cache_, surrounded by the broken snowshoes, the tin cans, the old coat, and the sticks that had formed the crib, was the _carcajo_ himself, a foreleg in one trap and his thick shaggy tail in another! When he caught sight of the trappers the animal immediately showed fight. And never had Connie seen such an exhibition of insensate ferocity as the _carcajo_, every hair erect, teeth bared, and emitting squall-like growls of rage, tugged at the rattling trap chains in a vain effort to attack. Beside this animal the rage of even the disturbed barren ground grizzly seemed a mild thing. But, of course, the grizzly had been too dopey and dazed from his long sleep, to really put forth his best efforts. "Shoot um in de ear," advised 'Merican Joe, "an' it ain' no hole in de hide an' it kill um queek." And, holding the muzzle of the little twenty-two close, Connie dispatched the animal with one well-placed shot. The next instant, 'Merican Joe was laughing as Connie held his nose, for like the skunk, the _carcajo_ has the power to emit a yellowish fluid with an exceedingly disagreeable odour--and this particular member of the family used his power lavishly. "He too mooch smart to git in de trap in de snow," said the Indian, pointing to the dead _carcajo_. "He climb up on de log an' den he jump 'cross de leetle space an' put de foot in de trap on top of de pile. Den w'en he git mad an tear up de _cache_ an' try to git loose, he sit down in wan more trap, an it ketch him on he's tail." While 'Merican Joe drew the shaggy brownish-black skin from the thick body, Connie recovered the traps, removed the clogs, and _cached_ them where they could be picked up later. Neither of the two traps that had been set at the backs of the marten traphouses had been disturbed, and as Connie gathered these and placed them with the others, he learned of the extreme wariness and caution of the _carcajo_. For the snow told the story of how the prowler had circled the traphouses several times, and then lumbered on, leaving them untouched. "It's a wonder you don't cut some steaks out of him," grinned the boy as he looked at the fat carcass. The Indian shook his head. "No. De _carcajo_, an' de mink, an' de marten, an' de fisher, an' de otter ain' no good to eat. W'en you fin' de Injun w'at eat 'em--look out! Dat one bad Injun, you bet!" The work of "freshing up" the trap line in the wake of the _carcajo_ took almost as long as the laying of a new line. For the marauder had done his work thoroughly and well. Hardly a trap was left unmolested. In some places the snow showed where he had eaten a marten, but in most instances the traps were simply destroyed apparently from sheer wantonness. Three or four martens and one lynx were recovered where they had been taken from the traps, carried off the line for some distance, and buried in the snow. By evening of the third day the task was finished and the two trappers returned to their cabin. The following day was spent in getting ready a trail outfit for the caribou hunt. Both of the toboggans and dog teams were to be taken to haul home the meat, and provisions for a week's trip were loaded. Only a few caribou tracks had been seen on the trap line and 'Merican Joe believed that more would be found to the south-eastward. The first night on the trail they camped at the edge of a wide _brule_, some twenty miles from the cabin. No caribou had been sighted during the day, although tracks were much more numerous than they had been in the vicinity of the cabin. 'Merican Joe had not brought his heavy rifle, preferring instead the twenty-two, with which he had succeeded in bringing down four ptarmigan. And as they sat snug and cozy in the little tent and devoured their supper of stew and tea and pilot bread, Connie bantered the Indian. "You must think you're going to sneak up as close to the caribou as I did to the _carcajo_, to get one with that gun." 'Merican Joe grinned. "You wait. You see I git mor' caribou wit' de knife den you git wit' de big gun," he answered. "Me an' Leloo, we ain' need no gun, do we, Leloo?" The great wolf-dog had been secured in the tent to prevent his slipping off during the night, and at the mention of his name he pricked up his ears and searched the faces of the two, as if trying to figure out what all the talk was about. Far away in the timber a wolf howled, and Leloo's eyes at once assumed an expression of intense longing and he listened motionless until the sound died away, then with a glance at the _babiche_ thong that secured him, settled slowly to the robe and lay with his long pointed muzzle upon his outstretched forepaws, and his dull yellow eyes blinking lazily. Early the following morning they skirted the south shore of Lake Ste. Therese, crossed the river, and headed for a range of hills that could be seen to the south-eastward. The day was warm, ten to fifteen degrees above zero, and the gusty south-east wind was freighted with frequent snow squalls. Toward noon, as they were crossing a frozen muskeg, Connie, who was in the lead, stopped to examine some fresh caribou tracks that led toward the timber of the opposite side in a course nearly parallel with their own. 'Merican Joe halted his team and came forward. Leloo nosed the tracks and, with no more show of interest than a slight twitching of the ears, raised his head and eyed first 'Merican Joe, then Connie. The trail was very fresh and the scent strong so that the other dogs sniffed the air and whined and whimpered in nervous eagerness. The trail was no surprise to Leloo. So keen was his sense of scent that for a quarter of a mile he had known that they were nearing it. Had he been alone, or running at the head of the hunt-pack, he would even now have been wolfing down huge mouthfuls of the warm, blood-dripping meat. But this case was different. At this moment he was a dog, and not a wolf. His work was the work of the harness. Leloo's yellow eyes scrutinized the faces of his two masters as they talked, for he had been quick to recognize Connie as his new master, although he never quite renounced allegiance to the Indian. He obeyed alike the command of either, and both were too wise in the way of dogs to try him out with conflicting commands just to see "which he would mind." Leloo knew that his masters would do one of two things. Either they would follow the caribou and kill them, or they would ignore the trail and hold their own course. He hoped they would decide to follow the caribou. For two or three days he had been living on fish, and Leloo did not like fish and only ate them when there was nothing else to eat. He watched 'Merican Joe return to his dogs, and fairly leaped into the collar as Connie swung him on to the trail. Two bull caribou had gone that way scarcely an hour before. There would be a kill, and plenty of meat. A quarter of a mile before reaching the timber, Connie, who was in the lead, swerved sharply from the trail and headed toward a point that would carry them to the bush well down wind from the place the caribou had entered. Leloo cheerfully followed for he understood this move, and approved it. Arriving in the scrub, Connie and 'Merican Joe quickly unharnessed the dogs and tied all except the wolf-dog to trees. The boy removed the rifle from the toboggan and threw a shell into the chamber. "Hadn't we better put a line on Leloo?" he asked as they started in the direction of the trail. 'Merican Joe laughed; "No, Leloo he know 'bout hunt--you watch. You want to see de gran' dog work you jes' shoot wan caribou. Leloo he git' de odder wan, you bet!" "You don't mean he'll get him unless he's wounded!" "Sure, he git him--you see! If you shoot wan an' wound him, Leloo git de good wan first, an' den he go git de wounded wan." They cut the trail at the edge of the muskeg and immediately circled down wind. Leloo trotted quietly beside them, and now and then Connie noted twitching of the delicate nostrils. Suddenly the animal halted, sniffing the air. The ruff bristled slightly, and turning at a right angle to the course, the dog headed directly into the wind. "He ketch um," said 'Merican Joe. "Close by. Dat ain' no trail scent--dat body scent!" The spruce gave place to willows, and creeping to the edge of a frozen marshy stream, they saw the two caribou feeding upon the opposite side. Connie set for two hundred yards and fired. The larger bull reared high in front, pitched sidewise, and after several lurching leaps, fell to the snow. The other headed diagonally across the open at a trot. Beside him Connie heard a low growl, there was a flash of silver, and Leloo shot into the open like an arrow. For several seconds the bull trotted on, unconscious of the great grey shape that was nearly upon him. When he did discover it and broke into a run it was too late. As if hurled from a gun the flying wolf-dog rose from the snow and launched himself at the exposed flank of the fleeing caribou, which was whirled half way around at the impact. Leloo sprang clear as the stricken animal plunged and wobbled on his fast weakening legs. The caribou staggered on a few steps and lay down. And the wolf-dog, after watching him for a moment to make sure he was really done for, trotted over and sniffed at the bull Connie had shot. While 'Merican Joe, with a quick twist of his sheath knife, cut the stricken animal's throat, Connie examined the wound that had brought him down. Leloo had returned to his kill, and as the boy glanced up the great wolf-dog opened his mouth in a prodigious yawn that exposed his gleaming fangs, and instantly the boy remembered the words of Waseche Bill, "Keep your eye on him ... if he ever turns wolf when he'd ort to be dog ... good-night." "It would be 'good-night,' all right," he muttered, as he turned again to look at the wound--a long slash that had cut through the thick hide, the underlying muscles, and the inner abdominal wall and literally disembowelled the animal as cleanly as though it had been done with a powerful stroke of a sharp knife. "W'at you t'ink 'bout Leloo, now?" grinned the Indian, as he rose from his knee and wiped his bloody knife upon his larrigan. "I think he's some killer!" exclaimed the boy. "No wonder you don't carry a rifle." "Don't need no gun w'en we got Leloo," answered 'Merican Joe, proudly. "De gun too mooch heavy. Injun ain' so good shot lak de w'ite man. Waste too mooch shell--dat cost too mooch." The butchering and cutting up of the two caribou took less than an hour, during which time 'Merican Joe found that no matter how much of a _chechako_ Connie was in regard to the fur-bearers, he had had plenty of experience in the handling of meat. When the job was finished, the meat was covered with the hides, and taking only the livers and hearts with them, the two started for the toboggans. The low-banked, marshy river upon which they found themselves made a short turn to the northward a short distance farther on, and they decided to circle around far enough to see what lay beyond the wooded point. Rounding the bend, they came upon what was evidently a sluggish lake, or broadening of the river, its white surface extending for a distance of two or three miles toward the north. Far beyond the upper end of the lake they could make out another ridge of hills, similar to the one to the southward toward which they were heading. They were about to turn back when Connie pointed to Leloo who was sniffing the air with evident interest. "He smells something!" exclaimed the boy, "maybe there are some more caribou in the willows a little farther on." The Indian watched the dog narrowly: "Noe he ain' git de body scent--dat de trail scent. Mus' be de strong scent. He smell um down wind. We go tak' a look--mebbe-so we git som' mor' meat." Keeping close to shore they struck northward upon the surface of the lake and ten minutes later, 'Merican Joe uttered an exclamation and pointed ahead. Hastening forward they came upon a broad trail. As far as they could see the surface of the snow was broken and trampled by the hoofs of hundreds and hundreds of caribou. The animals had crossed the lake on a long slant, travelling leisurely and heading in a north-westerly direction for the hills that could be seen in the distance. The two bulls they had killed were evidently stragglers of the main herd, for the trail showed that the animals had passed that same day--probably early in the morning. "We go back an git de dogs and de outfit, an' follow um up. We git plenty meat now. Dat good place we camp right here tonight an' in de mornin' we follow 'long de trail." The short afternoon was well advanced and after selecting a camping site, the Indian hung the livers and hearts upon a limb, and the two struck out rapidly for the toboggans. After hastily swallowing a cold lunch, they harnessed the dogs and worked the outfit through the timber until they struck the river at the point where they had slipped upon the two caribou. As they stepped from the willows Connie pointed toward the opposite shore. "There's something moving over there!" he exclaimed. "Look--right between the meat piles! A wolf I guess." 'Merican Joe peered through the gathering dusk. "No, dat _loup cervier_. De wolf ain' hunt dead meat." Leloo had caught a whiff of the animal and the hairs of his great ruff stood out like the quills of an enraged porcupine. Stooping, the Indian slipped him from the harness and the next instant a silver streak was flashing across the snow. The _loup cervier_ did not stand upon the order of his going but struck out for the timber in great twenty-foot bounds. He disappeared in the willows with the wolf-dog gaining at every jump, and a moment later a young spruce shivered throughout its length, as the great cat struck its trunk a good ten feet above the snow. Connie started at a run, but 'Merican Joe called him back. "We tak' de outfit long an' load de meat first. We got plenty tam. Leloo hold um in de tree an' den we go git um." Picking up Leloo's harness the Indian led the way across the river where it was but the work of a few minutes to load the meat on to the toboggans. When the loads were firmly lashed on, the toboggans were tipped over to prevent the dogs from running away, and taking the light rifle the two went to the tree beneath which Leloo sat looking up into the glaring yellow eyes of the lynx. One shot placed squarely in the corner of an eye brought the big cat down with a thud, and they returned to the outfit and harnessed Leloo. When they were ready to start, 'Merican Joe swung the two caribou heads to the top of his load. "What are you packing those heads for?" asked Connie. "Mus' got to hang um up," answered the Indian. "Well, hang them up back there in the woods. There's a couple of handy limb stubs on that tree we got the lynx out of." The Indian shook his head. "No, dat ain' no good. De bear head mus' got to git hang up right where she fall, but de deer an' de moose and de caribou head mus' got to hang up right long de water where de canoes go by." "Why's that?" The other shrugged. "I ain' know 'bout dat. Mebbe-so w'en _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ com' to count de deer, he com' in de canoe. I ain' care I know so mooch 'bout why. W'en de Injuns hang up de head in de right place, den de deer, an' de bear, an' all de big peoples ain' git all kill off--an' w'en de w'ite mans com' in de country an' don't hang up de heads, de big peoples is all gon' queek. So dat's nuff, an' don't mak' no differ' 'bout why." [Illustration: "As darkness settled over the North Country, a little fire twinkled in the bush, and the odour of sizzling bacon and frying liver permeated the cozy camp." Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover] At the bend of the river 'Merican Joe hung up the heads upon a couple of solid snags, and a short time later they were pitching their little tent upon the camp site selected beside the caribou trail. As darkness settled over the north county, a little fire twinkled in the bush, and the odour of sizzling bacon and frying liver permeated the cozy camp. CHAPTER XII THE TRAIL IN THE SNOW It was noon the following day when they overtook the caribou herd, half way between the northern extremity of the lake and the range of hills. A halt was called upon the margin of a small lake along the shores of which the stragglers could be seen feeding slowly along. "Dat bes' we ain' kill only 'bout six--seven today. Dat mak' us work pretty good to git um cut up before de night com' long an' freeze um. Tomorrow we kill eight--nine mor' an' dat be nuff." The dogs were unhitched and tied to trees, and Connie started to loosen the rifle from its place on top of one of the packs. But the Indian stayed him: "No, dat ain' no good we mak' de shoot. We scare de herd an' dey travel fast. We let Leloo kill um, an' dat don't chase um off. Dey t'ink Leloo wan big wolf, an' dey all de tam git kill by de wolf, an' dey don't care." So armed only with their belt axes and knives, they struck out for the herd accompanied by Leloo who fairly slavered in anticipation of the coming slaughter. And a slaughter it was, as one by one the stricken brutes went down before the deadly onslaught. What impressed Connie more even than the unerring accuracy of the death stroke was the ominous silence with which the great wolf-dog worked. No whimper--no growl, nor whine, nor bark--simply a noiseless slipping upon the selected animal, and then the short silent rush and a caribou staggered weakly to its knees never to rise again. One or two bawled out as the flashing fangs struck home, but the sound caused no excitement among the others which went on feeding as if nothing had happened. This was due to the cunning of Leloo--partly no doubt a native cunning inherited from his father, the great white wolf from the frozen land beyond the frozen sea--partly, too, this cunning was the result of the careful training of 'Merican Joe, who had taught the wolf-dog to strike only those animals that were separated from their fellows. For had the killer rushed blindly in, slashing right and left the herd would have bunched for defence, and later have travelled far into the hills, or struck out for the open tundra. When six animals were down, Leloo was called off, and Connie and the Indian set about skinning and cutting up the carcasses. "I see where we're going to make about two more trips for this meat," said Connie. "We've got more than we can pack now, and with what we kill tomorrow, it will take at least three trips." 'Merican Joe nodded. "Yes, we build de _cache_, an' we pack all we kin haul, an' com' back w'en we git time. Anyhow, dat ain' so far lak we gon' on dem odder hills. We strike mos' straight wes' from here we com' on de cabin." The killing and cutting up was finished by noon next day, and when darkness fell the two gorged an enormous meal of bannocks and liver, and retired to their sleeping bags for a well-earned rest. For the two toboggans stood loaded with meat covered tightly with green hides that had already frozen into place, and formed an effective protection against the pilfering of the dogs, three or four of which were amazingly clever sneak-thieves--while at least two were out-and-out robbers from whose depredations even the liver sizzling in the frying pan was not safe. The same precaution of covering was taken with the meat on the platform of the pole _cache_, for while its height from the ground protected it from the prowlers, the frozen hides also protected it from the inroads of the "whiskey jacks," as the voracious and pestiferous Canada jays are called in the Northland. For they are the boldest robbers of all, not even hesitating to fly into a tent and grab some morsel from the plate of the camper while he is eating his meal. These birds scorn the cold, remaining in the far North all winter, and woe betide the unprotected piece of meat they happen to light upon, for though it be frozen to the hardness of iron, the sharp bills of these industrious marauders will pick it to the bone. The pace was slow next day owing to the heavy loads, each toboggan carrying more than one hundred pounds to the dog. But the trail to the cabin was not a long one and the trappers were anxious to carry with them as much meat as possible, to avoid making another trip until well into fox trapping time. It was late in the afternoon when Connie who was travelling ahead breaking trail, paused at the edge of a clump of spruce and examined some tracks in the snow. The tracks were made by a pair of snowshoes, and the man who wore them had been heading north-east. 'Merican Joe glanced casually at the tracks. "Som' Injun trappin'," he opined. "White man," corrected Connie, "and I don't believe he was a trapper." The Indian glanced again at the trail. "Mebbe-so p'lice," he hazarded. "Not by a long shot! If there was any patrol in here there'd be sled tracks--or at least he'd be carrying a pack, and this fellow was travelling light. Besides you wouldn't catch any men in the Mounted fooling with snowshoes like that!" The boy pointed to the pattern of a track. "Those are bought rackets from the outside. I saw some like 'em in the window of a store last winter down in Minneapolis. They look nice and pretty, but they're strung too light. Guess we'll just back track him for a while. His back trail don't dip much south, and we won't swing far out of the way." 'Merican Joe expressed indifference. "W'at you care 'bout de man? We ain' los' nuttin'. An' we ain' got to run way from de p'lice." Connie grinned. "No, and believe me, I'm glad we haven't got to! They're a hard bunch to run away from. Anyway, this fellow is no policeman, and I've just got a hunch I'd like to know something about him. I can't tell why--just a hunch, I guess. But somehow I don't like the looks of that trail. It don't seem to _fit_. The tracks are pretty fresh. We ought to strike the remains of his noon camp before long." The Indian nodded. "All right, we follow um. You know all 'bout de man trail. Som' tam you know all 'bout de fur trail, too--you be de gran' trapper." The back trail held its course for a few miles and then swung from the westward so that it coincided with their own direction. At the point where it bent from the westward, they came upon the man's noon-time camp. "Here's where he set his pack while he built his fire," pointed the boy. "He didn't have much of a pack, just a sleeping bag and a couple of day's grub rolled up in it. Here's where he set his rifle down--it was a high power--little shorter and thinner butt than mine--a thirty-thirty, I guess. He ain't a _chechako_ though, for all he's got bought snowshoes. He tramped out his fire when he went, and he didn't throw away his tea-grounds. Whoever he is, he's got a camp not farther than two days from here, or he'd never be travelling that light in this country." A few miles farther on Connie again halted and pointed to another trail that converged with the one they were following. They had been travelling upon the ice of a small river and this new trail dipped into the river bed from the north-eastward. "It's the same fellow!" cried the boy. "This trail was made yesterday. He camped somewhere ahead of us last night and went back where he came from today. Left his own back trail here--thought it was easier to follow on up the river, I guess. Or, maybe he wanted to dodge some bad going. Where he came from isn't so far away, either," continued the boy, "he was travelling light yesterday, too." They had proceeded but a short distance when 'Merican Joe called a halt. He came forward, and looked intently at Leloo who was the leader of Connie's team. Connie saw the great wolf-dog was sniffing the air uneasily. "What is it?" he asked of 'Merican Joe. "Injuns. Big camp. Me--I kin smell de smoke." Connie sniffed the air, but could smell nothing. "How far?" he asked. "She straight ahead on de wind--mebbe-so two, t'ree mile." The banks of the small river they were following became lower as they advanced and finally disappeared altogether as the stream wound its way through a frozen swamp. In the swamp they encountered innumerable trails of snowshoes that crossed each other at every conceivable angle. "Squaw tracks," grunted 'Merican Joe. "De squaw got to ten' de rabbit snare. Dat mak' um work pretty good. Injun don't buy so mooch grub lak de wi'te mans, an' every day de squaw got to ketch 'bout ten rabbit. If dey got mooch--w'at you call _tenas-man_?" "Children--kids," supplied Connie. "If dey got mooch kids dey mus' got to ketch 'bout twenty rabbit every day." "Why don't they go after caribou?" "Yes, dey hunt de caribou w'en de caribou com' roun'. But dey can't go mebbe-so hondre mile to hunt de caribou. Dey live on de rabbit, an ptarmigan, an' fish in de winter tam, an' w'en de bad rabbit year com' 'long den de Injun he's belly git empty an' de ribs stick out an' he too mooch die from de big hongre." They were nearing the village. Sounds of a dog fight reached their ears, the savage growls of the combatants, and the yapping and barking of the pack that crowded about them. Then the hoarse call of an Indian, and a yelping of dogs as the man evidently worked on them industriously with a club. They emerged suddenly from the thick growth of the swamp on to the ice of the broader stream which connects Lake Ste. Therese with McVicker Bay of Great Bear Lake. The village was located upon the opposite bank which rose some twelve or fifteen feet above the river ice. Through the gathering darkness Connie made out some five or six log cabins, and many makeshift dwellings of poles, skins and snow blocks. Their appearance upon the river was the occasion for a pandemonium of noise as the Indian dogs swept out upon the ice to greet them with barks, yaps, growls, whines, and howls. Never had the boy seen such a motley collection of dogs. Big dogs and little dogs, long tailed, short tailed, and bob tailed--white dogs and black dogs, and dogs of every colour and all colours between. In only two particulars was there any uniformity--they all made some sort of a noise, and they were all skin-poor. Heads appeared at the doors of various dwellings, and a little knot of Indians gathered at the top of the bank, where they waited, staring stolidly until two heavily loaded toboggans came to a halt at the foot of the steep bank. Greetings were exchanged and several invitations were extended to the travellers to spend the night--one Indian in particular, who spoke a few words of English and appeared to be rather better dressed than the others, was very insistent, pointing with evident pride toward the largest of the log houses. But they declined with thanks, and indicated that they would camp a short distance below the village where a more gently sloping bank gave promise of ascent for the heavily loaded toboggans. As they proceeded along the foot of the bank, an Indian lurched from one of the skin dwellings, and leered foolishly at them from the top of the bank. Sounds issued from the shack as of voices raised in quarrel, and Connie and 'Merican Joe exchanged glances as they passed on to their camping place. An hour later as they were finishing their supper, an Indian stepped abruptly out of the darkness, and stood blinking at them just within the circle of light from the little fire. He was the Indian they had seen lurch from the dwelling. "Hello," said Connie, "what do you want?" The Indian continued to stare, and Connie tried jargon. "_Iktah mika tika?_" But still the man did not answer so the boy turned him over to 'Merican Joe who tried out several dialects and gave it up. The Indian disappeared as abruptly as he had come, and a few moments later stepped again into the firelight. This time he carried a large beaver skin which he extended for inspection. Connie passed it over to 'Merican Joe. "Is it a good skin?" he asked. "Good skin," assented 'Merican Joe, "Wan' ver' big beaver ..." "How much?" asked Connie, making signs to indicate a trade. The Indian grunted a single word. "_Hooch!_" "Oh--ho, so that's it!" cried the boy. "I knew it when I saw him the first time. And I knew that trail we've been following this afternoon didn't look right. I had a hunch!" He handed the Indian his skin and shook his head. "No got _hooch_." It took the man several minutes to realize that there was no liquor forthcoming, and when he did, he turned and left the fire with every evidence of anger. Not long after he had gone, another Indian appeared with the same demand. In vain Connie tried to question him, but apparently he knew no more English or jargon than the first. "We've got to figure out some scheme to gum that dirty pup's game!" cried the boy. "I just wish I was back in the Mounted for about a week! I'd sure make that bird live hard! But in the Mounted or out of it, I'm going to make him quit his whiskey peddling, or some one is going to get hurt!" 'Merican Joe looked puzzled. "W'at you care 'bout dat? W'at dat mak' you mad som' wan sell Injun de _hooch_?" "What do _I_ care! I care because it's a dirty, low-lived piece of work! These Injuns need every bit of fur they can trap to buy grub and clothes with. When they get _hooch_, they pay a big price--and they pay it in grub and clothes that their women and children need!" 'Merican Joe shrugged philosophically, and at that moment another Indian stepped into the firelight. It was the man who had insisted upon their staying with him, and who Connie remembered had spoken a few words of English. "You looking for _hooch_, too?" asked the boy. The Indian shook his head vigorously. "No. _Hooch_ bad. Mak' Injun bad. No good!" Connie shoved the teapot into the coals and motioned the man to be seated, and there beside the little fire, over many cups of strong tea, the boy and 'Merican Joe, by dint of much questioning and much sign talk to help out the little English and the few words of jargon the man knew, succeeded finally in learning the meaning of the white man's trail in the snow. They learned that the Indians were Dog Ribs who had drifted from the Blackwater country and settled in their present location last fall because two of their number had wintered there the previous year and had found the trapping good, and the supply of fish and rabbits inexhaustible. They had done well with their traps, but they had killed very few caribou during the winter, and the current of the river had taken many of their nets and swept them away under the ice. The rabbits were not as plentiful as they had been earlier in the fall, and there was much hunger in the camp. They traded as usual, and had gotten "debt" at Fort Norman last summer before they moved their camp. Later in the summer two men had come along in a canoe and told them that they would come back before the mid-winter trading. They said they would sell goods much cheaper than the Hudson's Bay Company, or the Northern Trading Company, and that they would also have some _hooch_--which cannot be obtained from the big companies. Yesterday one of these men came into the camp. He had a few bottles of _hooch_ which he traded for some very good fox skins, and promised to return in six days with the other man and two sled loads of goods. He told them that they did not have to pay their debt to the companies at Fort Norman because everything at the fort had burned down--all the stores and all the houses and the men had gone away down the river and that they would not return. The Indians had been making ready to go to the fort to trade, but when they heard that the fort was burned they decided to wait for the free traders. Also many of the young men wanted to trade with the free traders because they could get the _hooch_. The Indian said he was very sorry that the fort had burned, because he did not like the free traders, and he wanted to pay his debt to the company, but if there was nobody there it would be no use to make the long trip for nothing. When he finished Connie sat for some time thinking. Then, producing a worn notebook and the stub of a pencil from his pocket he wrote upon a leaf and tore it from the book. When he spoke it was to 'Merican Joe. "How long will it take you to make Fort Norman travelling light?" he asked. "'Bout fi', six, day." "That will be ten or twelve days there and back," figured the boy, as he handed him the note. "All right. You start in the morning, and you go with him," he added, turning to the Indian. "That white man lied! There has been no fire at the fort. He wants to get your skins, and so he lied. You go and see for yourself. The rest of them here won't believe me if I tell them he lied--especially as the young men want the _hooch_. I have written McTavish to send someone, back with you who has the authority to arrest these free traders. I'm going to stay to get the evidence. In the meantime you send your hunters on our back trail and they will find many caribou. Divide the meat we have on the sleds among the people--the women and the children. It will last till the men return with the meat. I am going to follow the free traders to their camp." It took time and patience to explain all this to the Indian but once he got the idea into his head he was anxious to put the plan into effect. He slipped away and returned with two other Indians, and the whole matter had to be gone over again. At the conclusion, one of them agreed to accompany Connie, and the other to distribute the meat, and to lead the caribou hunt, so after unloading the sleds and making up the light trail outfits, they all retired to get a few hours' sleep for the strenuous work ahead. How well they succeeded and how the free traders--but, as Mr. Kipling has said, that is another story. CHAPTER XIII AT THE CAMP OF THE _HOOCH_-RUNNERS The late winter dawn had not yet broken when the little camp on the outskirts of the Indian village was struck and two dog teams drawing lightly loaded toboggans slipped silently into the timber. When out of sight and sound of the village the two outfits parted. Connie Morgan, accompanied by an Indian named Ton-Kan, swung his great lead-dog, Leloo, to the eastward, crossed the river, and struck out on the trail of the free trader; while 'Merican Joe with Pierre Bonnet Rouge, the Indian who had told them of the free trader's plans, headed north-west in the direction of Fort Norman. It was nearly noon six days later that they shoved open the door of the trading post and greeted McTavish, the big bewhiskered Scotchman who was the Hudson's Bay Company's factor. "What are ye doin' back here--you? An' where is the lad that was with ye? An' you, Pierre Bonnet Rouge, where is the rest of your band? An' don't ye ken ye're two weeks ahead of time for the tradin'?" "_Oui, M's'u,_" answered the Indian. "But man say----" He was interrupted by 'Merican Joe who had been fumbling through his pockets and now produced the note Connie had hastily scribbled upon a leaf of his notebook. McTavish carried the scrap of paper to the heavily frosted window and read it through slowly. Then he read it again, as he combed at his beard with his fingers. Finally, he laid the paper upon the counter and glanced toward a man who sat with his chair tilted back against the bales of goods beyond the roaring stove. "Here's something for ye, Dan," he rumbled. "Ye was growlin' about fightin' them ice _bourdillons_, here's a job t'will take ye well off the river." "What's that?" asked Dan McKeever--_Inspector_ Dan McKeever, _now_, of N Division, Royal Northwest Mounted Police. "It better be somethin' important if it takes me off the river, 'cause I'm due back at Fort Fitzgerald in a month." "It's important, all right," answered McTavish, "an lucky it is ye're here. That's one good thing the rough ice done, anyhow. For, if it hadn't wore out your dogs you'd be'n gone this three days. D'ye mind I told ye I'd heard they was a free trader over in the Coppermine country? Well, there's two of 'em, an' they're workin' south. They're right now somewheres south of the big lake. They've run onto the Dog Ribs over near Ste. Therese, an' they're tradin' em _hooch_!" "Who says so?" asked the Inspector, eying the two Indians doubtfully. "These two. Pierre Bonnet Rouge I have known for a good many years. He's a good Indian. An' this other--he come in a while back with his pardner from over on the Yukon side. His pardner is a white man, an' about as likely a lookin' lad as I've seen. He's over there now on the trail of the free traders an' aimin' to stand between them 'an the Indians till someone comes with authority to arrest them." "Who is this party, an' what's he doin' over in that country himself?" "He's just a lad. An' him an' his pardner, here, are trappin'. Name's Morgan, an----" Big Dan McKeever's two feet hit the floor with a bang, and he strode rapidly forward. "_Morgan_, did you say? _Connie Morgan?_" 'Merican Joe nodded vehemently. "Yes, him Connie Mo'gan! Him wan _skookum tillicum_." The big inspector's fist smote the counter and he grinned happily. "I'll say he's _skookum tillicum_!" he cried. "But what in the name of Pat Feeney is he doin' over here? I heard he'd gone outside." "D'ye know him?" asked McTavish, in surprise. "_Know him!_ Know him, did you say? I do know him, an' love him! An' I'd rather see him than the Angel Gabriel, this minute!" "Me, too," laughed McTavish, "I ain't ready for the angels, yet!" "Angels, or no angels, there's a kid that's a _man_! An' his daddy, Sam Morgan, before him was a man! Didn't the kid serve a year with me over in B Division? Sure, Mac, I've told you about the time he arrested Inspector Cartwright for a whiskey runner, an'----" McTavish interrupted. "Yes, yes, I mind! An' didn't he fetch in Notorious Bishop, whilst all the rest of you was tearin' out the bone out in the hills a-huntin' him?" "That's the kid that done it! An' there's a whole lot more he done, too. You don't need to worry none about yer Injuns as long as that kid's on the job." "But, ye're goin' to hurry over there, ain't you? I hate to think of the lad there alone. There's two of them traders, an' if they're peddlin' _hooch_, they ain't goin' to care much what they do to keep from gittin' caught." Dan McKeever grinned. "You don't need to worry about him. That kid will out-guess any free trader, or any other crook that ever was born. He's handled 'em red hot--one at a time, an' in bunches. The more they is of 'em, the better he likes 'em! Didn't he round up Bill Cosgrieve an' his Cameron Creek gang? An' didn't he bring in four of the orneriest cusses that ever lived when they busted the Hart River _cache_? An' he done it alone! Everyone's got brains, Mac, an' most of us learns to use 'em--in a way. But, that kid--he starts in figurin' where fellers like us leaves off!" "But this case is different, Dan," objected the factor. "He was in the Mounted then. But what can he do now? He ain't got the authority!" McKeever regarded the Scotchman with an almost pitying glance. "Mac, you don't know that kid. But don't you go losin' no sleep over how much authority he ain't got. 'Cause, when the time comes to use it, he'll have the authority, all right--if he has to appoint himself Commissioner! An' when it comes right down to cases, man to man, there's times when a six-gun has got more authority to it than all the commissions in the world." "But they're two to one against him----" "Yes, an' the kid could shoot patterns in the both of 'em while they was fumblin' to draw, if he had to. But the chances is there won't be a shot fired one way or another. He'll jest naturally out-guess 'em an' ease 'em along, painless an' onsuspectin' until he turns 'em over to me, with the evidence all done up in a package, you might say, ready to hand to the judge." McTavish smote his thigh with his open palm. "By the great horn spoon, I'll go along an' see it done!" he cried. "We'll take my dogs an' by the time we get back yours will be in shape again. My trader can run the post, an' I'll bring in them Dog Ribs with me to do their tradin'." The Indian, Ton-Kan, who accompanied Connie proved to be a good man on the trail. In fact, the boy wondered, as he followed with the dog team, if the Indian did not show just a little too much eagerness. Connie knew something of Indians, and he knew that very few of them possessed the zeal to exert themselves for the good of the tribe. Their attitude in regard to the troubles of others was the attitude of 'Merican Joe when he had shrugged and asked, "W'at you care?" Pierre Bonnet Rouge, Connie knew to be an exception, and this man might be too, but as he understood no word of either English or jargon, and Connie knew nothing of the Dog Rib dialect, the boy decided to take no chances, but to keep close watch on the Indian's movements when the time for action came. In the afternoon of the second day Connie exchanged places with the Indian, he himself taking the lead and letting Ton-Kan follow with the dogs. The boy figured that if the trader had expected to be back at the village in six days, his camp could not be more than two days away, travelling light. That would allow him one day to pack his outfit for the trail, and three days to reach the Indian village travelling heavy. Therefore, he slowed the pace and proceeded cautiously. Connie's experience as an officer of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police had taught him something of the law, and of the value of securing evidence. He knew that if he himself could succeed in buying liquor from the free traders he would have evidence against them under the Northwest Territories Act upon two counts: having liquor in possession in prohibited territory, and selling liquor in prohibited territory. But what he wanted most was to get them under the Indian Act for supplying liquor to Indians, and it was for this purpose he had brought Ton-Kan along. The boy had formulated no plan beyond the first step, which was to have the Indian slip into the traders' camp and purchase some liquor in payment for which he would give a beautiful fox skin, which skin had been carefully and cunningly marked the night before by himself and Pierre Bonnet Rouge. With the liquor as evidence in his possession his course would be determined entirely by circumstances. The early darkness was just beginning to fall when, topping a ridge, Connie caught the faint glimmer of a light at the edge of a spruce thicket beyond a strip of open tundra. Drawing back behind the ridge Connie motioned to the Indian to swing the dogs into a thick clump of stunted trees where they were soon unharnessed and tied. Loosening the pack Connie produced the fox skin while the Indian lighted a fire. A few moments later the boy held out the skin, pointed toward the camp of the free traders, and uttered the single word "_hooch_." Notwithstanding the Indian's evident eagerness to reach the trader's camp, he hesitated and made signs indicating that he desired to eat supper first--and Connie's suspicion of him immediately strengthened. The boy shook his head, and reluctantly Ton-Kan obeyed, but not without a longing look toward the grub pack. When he had disappeared over the ridge Connie hastily bolted some bannocks and a cold leg of rabbit. Then he fed the dogs, looked to his service revolver which he carried carefully concealed beneath his mackinaw, slipped Leloo's leash, and moved silently out on to the trail of the Indian. Skirting the tundra, he kept in the scrub, and as he worked his way cautiously toward the light he noted with satisfaction that his own trail would excite no suspicion among the network of snowshoe tracks that the free traders had made in visiting their rabbit snares. In the fast gathering darkness the boy concealed himself in a bunch of willows which commanded a view of the door and window of the tiny cabin that lay half-buried in the snow. It was an old cabin evidently, rechinked by the free traders. The light shone dully through the little square window pane of greased paper. The Indian had already been admitted and Connie could see dim shadows move across the pane. The great wolf-dog crept close and, throwing his arm about the animal's neck, the boy cuddled close against the warm shaggy coat. A few minutes later the door opened and Ton-Kan reappeared. Immediately it slammed shut, and Connie could dimly make out that the Indian was fastening on his snowshoes. Presently he stood erect and, as the boy had expected, instead of striking out for camp across the open tundra, he gave a hurried glance about him and plunged into the timber. Instantly the boy was on his feet. "I thought so, Leloo," he grinned. "I thought he was awfully anxious to get that _hooch_. And when he wanted to wait and eat supper first, I knew that he figured on pulling out and wanted a full belly to travel on." "He won't travel very far nor very fast," muttered the boy, as he circled the little clearing. "Because it's a cinch he didn't get anything to eat out of those birds--they'd take the fox skin for the _hooch_, and they're not giving away grub." Leloo walked beside him, ears erect, and every now and then as they glanced into the boy's face, the smouldering yellow eyes seemed to flash understanding. Darkness had settled in earnest, and it was no easy task to pick up the trail in the scrub among the crisscrossed trails of the free traders, especially as the boy did not dare to strike a light. He had carefully studied the Indian's tracks as he had mushed along behind the dogs until he knew every detail of their impression, but in the darkness all trails looked alike. Time and again he stooped and with his face close to the snow, examined the tracks. Time and again he picked up the trail only to lose it a moment later. Then Leloo took a hand in the game. Connie's attention was drawn to the dog by a low whine, and stopping he found the great animal sniffing the fresh trail. "Good old dog!" whispered the boy, patting the great head. Understanding what was wanted the wolf-dog bounded off on the trail, but Connie called him back. "If I only dared!" he exclaimed under his breath. "You'd run him down in five minutes--but when you did--what then?" The boy shuddered at the recollection of the stricken caribou and the swift silent rush with which the great silvered brute had launched himself upon them. "I'm afraid you wouldn't savvy the difference," he grinned, "and I don't want old Ton-Kan cut plumb in two. If you'd only throw him down and hold him, or tree him like you did the _loup cervier_, we'd have him in a hurry--and some time I'm going to train you to do it." A sudden thought struck the boy as he met the glance of the glowing yellow eyes. "If I had something to tie you with, I'd start the training right now," he exclaimed. A hasty search of his pockets produced a length of the heavy line that he and 'Merican Joe used for fishing through the ice. It was but the work of a moment to secure the line about the neck of the wolf-dog and lead him to the spot where he had nosed out the Indian's trail. With a low whine of understanding the great beast struck straight into the timber, the confusion of tracks that had thrown Connie completely off in the darkness, offering no obstacle whatever to the keen-scented dog. As Connie had anticipated, Ton-Kan did not travel far before stopping to sample the contents of the bottle. A half-hour after the boy took the trail he pulled the straining Leloo to a stand and peered through the scrub toward a spot at the edge of a thick windfall where the Indian squatted beside a tiny fire. Holding Leloo close in, Connie silently worked his way to within twenty feet of where the Indian sat, bottle in hand, beside his little fire. The man drank from the bottle, replaced the cork, rose to his feet, and with a grunt of satisfaction, rubbed his stomach with his mittened hand. Then he carefully placed the bottle in the snow, and moved toward a small dead spruce to procure firewood. It was but the work of a moment for Connie to secure the bottle, and at the sound Ton-Kan whirled to find himself confronted by the smiling boy. With an exclamation of rage the Indian sprang to recover his bottle, and the next instant drew back in terror at sight of Leloo who had stepped in front of the boy, the hair of his huge ruff a-quiver, the delicately pointed nose wrinkled to expose the gleaming white fangs, and the yellow eyes glowing like live coals. "Thought you'd kind of slip one over on me, did you?" smiled the boy as he made signs for the Indian to follow, and headed for the sled. "You did drink part of the evidence, but we've got enough left to hold those birds for a while--and I'm going to get more." The boy led the way back to the sled with Ton-Kan following dejectedly, and while the Indian ate his supper, Connie did some rapid thinking. The meal over he took the Indian's blankets from the sled and, together with a two days' supply of grub, made them into a pack, which he handed to Ton-Kan and motioned for him to hit the back trail. At first the Indian feigned not to understand, then he protested that he was tired, but the boy was unmoved. When Ton-Kan flatly refused to leave camp Connie drew his watch from his pocket, held up three fingers, meaningly, and called Leloo to his side. One glance at the great white wolf-dog with his bristling ruff settled the argument, and with a grunt of fear, the Indian snatched up his pack and struck out on the back trail with an alacrity that belied any thought of weariness. Alone in the camp the boy grinned into the embers of the little fire. "The next question," he muttered to himself, "is where do I go from here? Getting rid of Ton-Kan gets the odds down to two to one against me, but what will I do? I haven't got any right to arrest 'em. I can't stay here, because they'll be hitting the back trail for the Indian camp in the morning, and the first thing they'll do will be to run on to my trail. Then they'll figure the Mounted is on to them and they'll beat it, and make a clean get-away. That would keep the _hooch_ away from this bunch of Indians, but they'd trade it to the next bunch they came to. I ain't going to let 'em get away! I started out to get 'em and I will get 'em, somehow. Guess the best way would be to go straight to the shack and figure out what to do when I get there." Suiting the action to the word, the boy carefully cached the bottle of liquor and packed his outfit. Then he harnessed his dogs. When it came the turn of the leader, he whistled for Leloo, but the great wolf-dog was not to be found. With a sudden fear in his heart, the boy glanced toward the back trail. Had the great brute understood that Connie and the Indian were at outs and had he struck out on the trail to settle the matter in his own way? Swiftly the boy fastened on his snowshoes, and overturning the sled to hold the other dogs, he headed back along the trail. He had gone but a few steps, however, before he halted and pushing the cap from his ears, listened. From a high ridge to the northward, in the opposite direction from that taken by the Indian, came the long howl of a great grey caribou-wolf, and a moment later came an answering call--the weird blood-chilling, terrible cry of the big white wolf-dog. And then Connie returned to his outfit, for he knew that that night Leloo would run with the hunt-pack. CHAPTER XIV THE PASSING OF BLACK MORAN A string of curses that consigned all Indians to regions _infra-mundane_, greeted Connie's knock upon the door of the cabin of the free traders. "I'm not an Indian!" answered the boy. "Open the door and let a fellow in! What's the matter with you?" Connie could hear muttered conversation, as one of the occupants stumbled about the room. Presently a light was struck and the door flew open. "Who be you, an' what d'ye want? An' what you doin' trailin' this time o' night, anyway?" The man who stood framed in the doorway was of huge build, and scowling countenance, masked for the most part by a heavy black beard. Connie smiled. "My partner and I are trapping over beyond the Injun village, about forty miles southwest of here, and the Injuns told us that there were some free traders up here some place. We're short of grub and we thought that if we could get supplies from you it would save us a trip clear to Fort Norman." "Turn yer dogs loose an' come in," growled the man, as he withdrew into the cabin and closed the door against the cold. If Connie could have seen, as he unharnessed his dogs, the swift glances that passed between the two occupants of the cabin, and heard their muttered words, he would have hesitated a long time before entering that cabin alone. But he did not see the glances, nor did he hear the muttered words. As he stepped through the doorway, he was seized violently from behind. For a moment he struggled furiously, but it was child's play for the big man to hold him, while a small, wizened man sat in his underclothing upon the edge of his bunk and laughed. "Frisk him!" commanded the big man, and the other rose from the bunk and removed the service revolver from its holster. Then, with a vicious shove, the big man sent Connie crashing into a chair that stood against the opposite wall. "Sit there, you sneakin' little pup! Thought you could fool us, did you, with yer lies about trappin'? Thought we wouldn't know Constable Morgan, of the Mounted, did you? You was some big noise on the Yukon, couple years back, wasn't you? Most always goin' it alone an' makin' grandstand plays. Thought you was some stuff, didn't you?" The man paused for breath, and Connie scrutinized his face, but could not remember to have seen him before. He shifted his glance to the other, who had returned to the edge of the bunk, and was regarding him with a sneering smirk. "Hello, Mr. Squigg," he said, in a voice under perfect control. "Still up to your old crookedness, are you? It's a wonder to me they've let you live this long." The big man interrupted. "Know him, do you? But you don't know me. Well, I'll tell you who I be, and I guess you'll know what yer up against. I'm Black Moran!" "Black Moran!" cried the boy. "Why, Black Moran was----" [Illustration: "As he stepped through the doorway he was seized violently from behind." Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover] "Was drounded when he tried to shoot them Pelly Rapids about three jumps ahead of the police boat, was he? Well, that's what they said but he wasn't, by a long sight. When the canoe smashed I went under all right but the current throw'd me into a eddy, an' when the police boat went down through the chute I was hangin' by my fingers to a rock. The floater they found later in the lower river an' said was me, was someone else--but I didn't take the trouble to set 'em right--not by a jug full, I didn't. It suited me to a T." "So you're the specimen that murdered old man Kinney for his dust and----" "Yup, I'm the party. An' they's a heft of other stuff they've got charged up agin me--over on the Yukon side. But they ain't huntin' me, 'cause they think I'm dead." There was a cold glitter in the man's eye and his voice took on a taunting note. "Still playin' a lone hand, eh? Well, it got you at last, didn't it? Guess you've saw the handwritin' on the wall by this time. You ain't a-goin' no place from here. You've played yer string out. This here country ain't the Yukon. They ain't nobody, nor nothin' here to prevent a man's doin' just what he wants to. The barrens don't tell no tales. Yer smart, all right--an' you've got the guts--that's why we ain't a-goin' to take no chances. By tomorrow night it'll be snowin'. An' when the storm lets up, they won't be no cabin here--just a heap of ashes in under the snow--an' you'll be part of the ashes." Connie had been in many tight places in his life, but he realized as he sat in his chair and listened to the words of Black Moran that he was at that moment facing the most dangerous situation of his career. He knew that unless the man had fully made up his mind to kill him he would never have disclosed his identity. And he knew that he would not hesitate at the killing--for Black Moran, up to the time of his supposed drowning, had been reckoned the very worst man in the North. Escape seemed impossible, yet the boy showed not the slightest trace of fear. He even smiled into the face of Black Moran. "So you think I'm still with the Mounted do you?" he asked. "Oh, no, we don't think nothin' like that," sneered the man. "Sure, we don't. That there ain't no service revolver we tuk offen you. That there's a marten trap, I s'pose. 'Course you're trappin', an' don't know nothin' 'bout us tradin' _hooch_. What we'd ort to do is to sell you some flour an' beans, an' let you go back to yer traps." "Dangerous business bumping off an officer of the Mounted," reminded the boy. "Not over in here, it ain't. Special, when it's comin' on to snow. No. They ain't no chanct in the world to git caught fer it--or even to git blamed fer it, 'cause if they ever find what's left of you in the ashes of the cabin, they'll think it got afire while you was asleep. Tomorrow mornin' yo git yourn. In the meantime, Squigg, you roll in an' git some sleep. You've got to take the outfit an' pull out early in the mornin' an' unload that _hooch_ on to them Injuns. I'll ketch up with you 'fore you git there, though. What I've got to do here won't take me no longer than noon," he glanced meaningly at Connie, "an' then, we'll pull out of this neck of the woods." "Might's well take the kid's dogs an' harness, they might come in handy," ventured Mr. Squigg. "Take nothin!" roared Black Moran, angrily. "Not a blame thing that he's got do we take. That's the trouble with you cheap crooks--grabbin' off everything you kin lay yer hands on--and that's what gits you caught. Sometime, someone would see something that they know'd had belonged to him in our possession. Then, where'd we be? No, sir! Everything, dogs, gun, sled, harness an' all goes into this cabin when she burns--so, shut up, an' git to bed!" The man turned to Connie, "An' now, you kin roll up on the floor in yer blankets an' pertend to sleep while you try to figger a way out of this mess, or you kin set there in the chair an' figger, whichever you want. Me--I'm a-goin' to set right here an' see that yer figgerin' don't 'mount to nothin'--see?" The evil eyes of Black Moran leered, and looking straight into them, Connie deliberately raised his arms above his head and yawned. "Guess I'll just crawl into my blankets and sleep," he said. "I won't bother to try and figure a way out tonight--there'll be plenty of time in the morning." The boy spread his blankets and was soon fast asleep on the floor, and Black Moran, watching him from his chair, knew that it was no feigned sleep. "Well, of all the doggone nerve I ever seen, that beats it a mile! Is he fool enough to think I ain't a-goin' to bump him off? That ain't his reputashion on the Yukon--bein' a fool! It ain't noways natural he should take it that easy. Is he workin' with a pardner, that he expects'll git here 'fore mornin', or what? Mebbe that Injun comin' here after _hooch_ a while back was a plant." The more the man thought, the more uneasy he became. He got up and placed the two rifles upon the table close beside him, and returned to his chair where he sat, straining his ears to catch the faintest night sounds. He started violently at the report of a frost-riven tree, and the persistent rubbing of a branch against the edge of the roof set his nerves a-jangle. And so it was that while the captive slept, the captor worried and fretted the long night through. Long before daylight, Black Moran awoke Squigg and made him hit the trail. "If they's another policeman along the back trail, he'll run on to Squigg, an' I'll have time fer a git-away," he thought, but he kept the thought to himself. When the man was gone, Black Moran turned to Connie who was again seated in his chair against the wall. "Want anything to eat?" he asked. "Why, sure, I want my breakfast. Kind of a habit I've got--eating breakfast." "Say!" exploded the man, "what ails you anyway? D'you think I'm bluffin'? Don't you know that you ain't only got a few hours to live--mebbe only a few minutes?" "So I heard you say;" answered the boy, dryly. "But, how about breakfast?" "Cook it, confound you! There it is. If you figger to pot me while _I'm_ gittin' it, you lose. I'm a-goin' to set right here with this gun in my hand, an' the first move you make that don't look right--out goes yer light." Connie prepared breakfast, while the other eyed him closely. And, as he worked, he kept up his air of bravado--but it was an air he was far from feeling. He knew Black Moran by reputation, and he knew that unless a miracle happened his own life was not a worth a gun-wad. All during the meal which they ate with Black Moran's eyes upon him, and a gun in his hand, Connie's wits were busy. But no feasible plan of escape presented itself, and the boy knew that his only chance was to play for time in hope that something might turn up. "You needn't mind to clean up them dishes," grinned the man. "They'll burn dirty as well as clean. Git yer hat, now, an' we'll git this business over with. First, git them dogs in the cabin, an' the sled an' harness. Move lively, 'cause I got to git a-goin'. Every scrap of stuff you've got goes in there. I don't want nothin' left that could ever be used as evidence. It's clouded up already an' the snow'll take care of the tracks." As he talked, the two had stepped out the door, and Connie stood beside his sled about which were grouped his dogs. The boy saw that Leloo was missing, and glanced about, but no sign of the great wolf-dog was visible. "Stand back from that sled!" ordered the man, as he strode to its side. "Guess I'll jest look it over to see if you've got another gun." The man jerked the tarp from the pack, and seizing the rifle tossed it into the cabin. Then he slipped his revolver into its holster and picked up Connie's heavy dog-whip. As he did so Connie caught just a glimpse of a great silver-white form gliding noiselessly toward him from among the tree trunks. The boy noted in a flash that the cabin cut off the man's view of the wolf-dog. And instantly a ray of hope flashed into his brain. Leloo was close beside the cabin, when with a loud cry, Connie darted forward and, seizing a stick of firewood from a pile close at hand, hurled it straight at Black Moran. The chunk caught the man square in the chest. It was a light chunk, and could not have possibly harmed him, but it did exactly what Connie figured it would do--it drove him into a sudden rage--_with the dog-whip in his hand._ With a curse the man struck out with the whip, and as its lash bit into Connie's back, the boy gave a loud yell of pain. At the corner of the cabin, Leloo saw the boy throw the stick. He saw it strike the man. And he saw the man lash out with the whip. Also, he heard the boy's cry of pain. As the man's arm drew back to strike again, there was a swift, silent rush of padded feet, and Black Moran turned just in time to see a great silvery-white shape leave the snow and launch itself straight at him. He saw, in a flash, the red tongue and the gleaming white fangs, and the huge white ruff, each hair of which stuck straight out from the great body. A single shrill shriek of mortal terror resounded through the forest, followed by a dull thud, as man and wolf-dog struck the snow together. And then--the silence of the barrens. It was long past noon. The storm predicted by Black Moran had been raging for hours, and for hours the little wizened man who had left the cabin before dawn had been plodding at the head of his dogs. At intervals of an hour or so he would stop and strain his eyes to pierce the boiling white smother of snow that curtained the back-trail. Then he would plod on, glancing to the right and to the left. The over-burden of snow slipping from a spruce limb brushed his parka and he shrieked aloud, for the feel of it was a feel of a heavy hand upon his shoulder. Farther on he brought up trembling in every limb at the fall of a wind-broken tree. The snapping of dead twigs as the spruce wallowed to earth through the limbs of the surrounding trees sounded in his ears like--the crackling of flames--flames that licked at the dry logs of a--burning cabin. A dead limb cracked loudly and the man crouched in fear. The sound was the sound of a pistol shot from behind--from the direction of Black Moran. "Why don't he come?" whispered the wizened man. "What did he send me alone for? Thought I didn't have the nerve fer--fer--what he was goin' to do. An' I ain't, neither. I wisht I had--but, I ain't." The man shuddered: "It's done by this time, an'--why don't he come? What did I throw in with him fer? I'm afraid of him. If he thought I stood in his way he'd bump me off like he'd squ'sh a fly that was bitin' him. If I thought I could git away with it, I'd hit out right now--but I'm afraid. If he caught me--" The wizened man shuddered and babbled on, "An' if he didn't, the Mounted would. An' if they didn't--" again he paused, and glanced furtively into the bush. "They _is_ things in the woods that men don't know! I've heered 'em--an' seen 'em, too. They _is_ ghosts! And they _do_ ha'nt men down. They're white, an--it's beginnin' to git dark! Why don't Moran come? I'd ruther have him, than _them_--an' now there's another one of 'em--to raise out of the ashes of a fire! I'd ort to camp, but if I keep a pluggin' along mebbe I kin git to the Injun village. 'Taint fur, now--acrost this flat an' then dip down onto the river--What's that!" The man halted abruptly and stared. "It's one of 'em now!" he faltered, with tongue and lips that felt stiff. "An' it's covered with fine white ashes!" He knew that he was trembling in every limb, as he stared at the snow-covered object that stood stiffly beside the trail only a few yards ahead. "Nuthin' but a stump," he said, and laughed, quaveringly. "Sure--it's a stump--with snow on it. I remember that stump. No--it wasn't here where the stump was. Yes, it was. It looks different with the snow on it. Gosh, a'mighty, it's a ghost! No 'taint--'taint moved. That's the stump. I remember it. I says to Moran, 'There's a stump.' An' Moran says, 'Yup, that's a stump.'" He cut viciously at his dogs with the whip. "Hi yu there! Mush-u!" At the door of the little cabin Connie Morgan stared wide-eyed at the thing that lay in the snow. Schooled as he was to playing a man's part in the drama of the last great frontier, the boy stood horror-stricken at the savage suddenness of the tragedy that had been enacted before his eyes. A few seconds before, he had been in the power of Black Moran, known far and wide as the hardest man in the North. And, now, there was no Black Moran--only a grotesquely sprawled _thing_--and a slush of crimson snow. The boy was conscious of no sense of regret--no thought of self-condemnation--for he knew too well the man's record. This man who had lived in open defiance of the laws of God and of man had met swift death at the hand of the savage law of the North. The law that the men of the outlands do not seek to explain, but believe in implicitly--because they have seen the workings of that law. It is an inexorable law, cruel, and cold, and hard--as hard as the land it governs with its implacable justice. It is the law of retribution--and its sentence is PAY. Black Moran had paid. He had played his string out--had come to the end of his trail. And Connie knew that justice had been done. Nevertheless, as the boy stood there in the silence of the barrens and stared down at the sprawling form, he felt strangely impressed--horrified. For, after all, Black Moran had been a human being, and one--the boy shuddered at the thought--who, with murder in his heart, had been ill equipped for passing suddenly into the presence of his God. With tight-pressed lips the boy dragged the body into the cabin and covered it with a blanket, and then, swiftly, he recovered his rifle and revolver, harnessed his dogs, and struck out on the trail of Squigg. An hour after the storm struck, the trail was obliterated. Here and there, where it cut through thick spruce copses, he could make it out but by noon he knew he was following only its general direction. He knew also that by bearing slightly to the southward he would strike the river that led to the village of the Indians. It was nearly dark when he came out upon a flat that even in the gloom and the whirling snow he recognized as the beaver meadow from which the trail dipped to the river. Upon the edge of it he halted to examine the spruce thickets along its western side, for signs of the trail of Squigg, and it was while so engaged that he looked up to see dimly in the white smother the form of the man and his dog-team. The man halted suddenly and seemed to be staring at him. Connie stood motionless in his tracks, waiting. For a long time the man stood peering through the flying snow, then the boy saw his arm raise, heard the crack of his whiplash, and then the sound of his voice--high-pitched and unnatural it sounded coming out of the whirling gloom: "Hi yu, there! Mush-u!" Not until Squigg was within ten feet of him did the boy move, then he stepped directly into the trail. A low, mewling sound quavered from the man's lips, and he collapsed like an empty bag. "Stand up!" ordered the boy, in disgust. But instead of obeying, the man grovelled and weltered about in the snow, all the while emitting an incoherent, whimpering wail. Connie reached down to snatch the man to his feet, when suddenly he started back in horror. For the wailing suddenly ceased, and in his ears, high and shrill, sounded a peal of maniacal laughter. The eyes of the man met his own in a wild glare, while peal after peal of the horrible laughter hurtled from between the parchment-like lips that writhed back to expose the snaggy, gum-shrunken teeth. Horrible as had been the sight of Black Moran lying in the blood-reddened snow, the sight of Squigg wallowing in the trail and the sound of his weird laughter, were far more horrible. The laughter ceased, the man struggled to his feet and fixed Connie with his wild-eyed stare, as he advanced toward him with a peculiar loose-limbed waddle: "I know you! I know you!" he shrilled. "I heard the flames cracklin', an' snappin'! An' now you've got me, an' Moran's comin' an' you'll git him, an' we'll all be ghosts together--all of us--an' we'll stand like stumps by the trail! I'm a stump! I'm a stump! Ha, ha, ha. He, he, he! I'm a stump! I'm a stump!" "Shut up!" cried Connie in desperation, as he strove to master an almost overwhelming impulse to turn and fly from the spot. "Crazy as a loon," thought the boy, with a shudder, "and I've got to take him clear to Fort Norman, alone!" "I'm a stump, I'm a stump," chanted the man, shrilly, and the boy saw that he had come to a rigid stand close beside the trail. With a final effort Connie pulled himself together. "I've got it to do, and I'll do it," he muttered between clenched teeth. "But, gee whiz! It will take a week to get to Fort Norman!" "I'm a stump, I'm a stump," came the monotonous chant, from the rigid figure beside the trail. "Sure, you're a stump," the boy encouraged, "and if you'll only stick to it till I get the tent up and a fire going, you'll help like the dickens." Hurrying to his dogs the boy swung them in, and in the fast gathering darkness and whirling snow he worked swiftly and skillfully in pitching the little tent and building a fire. When the task was finished and the little flames licked about his blackened teapot, he sliced some fat pork, threw a piece of caribou steak in the frying pan, and set it on the fire. Then he walked over to where Squigg stood repeating his monotonous formula. "Grub's ready," announced the boy. "I'm a stump. I'm a stump." "Sure you are. But it's time to eat." "I'm a stump, I'm a stump," reiterated the man. Connie took hold of him and essayed to lead him to the fire, but the man refused to budge. "As long as you stay as stiff as that I could pick you up and carry you to the tent, but suppose you change your mind and think you're a buzz saw? Guess I'll just slip a _babiche_ line on you to make sure." The man took not the slightest notice as the boy wound turn after turn of line about his arms and legs and secured the ends. Then he picked him up and carried him to the tent where he laid him upon the blankets. But try as he would, not a mouthful of food would the man take, so Connie ate his supper, and turned in. In the morning he lashed Squigg to the sled and with both outfits of dogs struck out for Fort Norman. And never till his dying day will the boy forget the nightmare of that long snow-trail. Two men to the sled, alternating between breaking trail and handling the dogs, and work at the gee-pole, is labour enough on the trail. But Connie had two outfits of dogs, and no one to help. He was in a snow-buried wilderness, back-trailing from memory the route taken by the Bear Lake Indians who had guided him into the country. And not only was he compelled to do the work of four men on the trail, but his camp work was more than doubled. For Squigg had to be fed forcibly, and each morning he had to be lashed to the sled, where he lay all day, howling, and laughing, and shrieking. At night he had to be unloaded and tended like a baby, and then put to bed where he would laugh and scream, the whole night through or else lie and whimper and pule like a beast in pain. On the fifth day they came suddenly upon the noon camp of the party from Fort Norman, and before Connie could recognize the big man in the uniform of an Inspector of the Mounted he was swung by strong arms clear of the ground. The next moment he was sobbing excitedly and pounding the shoulders of Big Dan McKeever with both his fists in an effort to break the bear-like embrace. "Why, you doggone little _tillicum_!" roared the man, "I know'd you'd do it! Didn't I tell you, Mac? Didn't I tell you he'd out-guess 'em? An' he's got the evidence, too, I'll bet a dog! But, son--what's the matter? Gosh sakes! I never seen you _cryin'_ before! Tell me quick, son--what's the matter?" Connie, ashamed of the sobs that shook his whole body, smiled into the big man's face as he leaned heavily against his shoulder: "It's--nothing, Dan! Only--I've been five days and nights on the trail with--_that_!" He pointed toward the trussed figure upon the sled, just as a wild peal of the demoniacal laughter chilled the hearts of the listeners. "And--I'm worn out." "For the love of Mike!" cried the big Inspector, after Connie lay asleep beside the fire. "Think of it, Mac! Five days an' five nights! An' two outfits!" "I'm sayin' the lad's a man!" exclaimed the Scotchman, as he shuddered at an outburst of raving from Squigg. "But, why did he bring the other sled? He should have turned the dogs loose an' left it." For answer McKeever walked over to Squiggs' sled and threw back the tarp. Then he pointed to its contents. "The evidence," he answered, proudly. "I knew he'd bring in the evidence." "Thought they was two of 'em, son," said McKeever, hours later when they all sat down to supper. "Did the other one get away?" The boy shook his head. "No, he didn't get away. Leloo, there, caught him. He couldn't get away from Leloo." "Where is he?" Connie glanced at the big officer curiously: "Do you know who the other one was?" he asked. "No. Who was it?" "Black Moran." "Black Moran! What are you talkin' about! Black Moran was drowned in the Pelly Rapids!" "No, he wasn't," answered the boy. "He managed to get to shore, and then he skipped to the other side of the mountains. The body they pulled out of the river was someone else." "But--but, son," the big Inspector's eyes were serious, "if I had known it was _him_--Black Moran--he was the hardest man in the North--by all odds." "Yes--I know," replied the boy, thoughtfully. "But, Dan, he PAID. His score is settled now. I forgot to tell you that when Leloo caught him--he cut him half in two." CHAPTER XV SETTING THE FOX TRAPS After turning over the prisoner to Inspector McKeever, Connie Morgan and 'Merican Joe accompanied the men from Fort Norman back to the Indian village where they found that the party of hunters had succeeded in locating the caribou herd and had made a big kill, so that it had been unnecessary for the men to use any of the _cached_ meat. Preparation was at once started by the entire population to accompany McTavish back to the post for the mid-winter trading. In the Indian's leisurely method of doing things these preparations would take three or four days, so Pierre Bonnet Rouge, who seemed to be a sort of chief among them, dispatched some of his young men to haul in all the meat that the two partners had _cached_. Meanwhile, leaving Mr. Squigg at the village in the care of McTavish, Connie piloted Inspector McKeever to the little cabin of the free traders. For McKeever had known Black Moran over on the Yukon, and had spent much time in trying to run him down in the days before his reported drowning, and he desired to make absolutely sure of his ground before turning in his report upon the death of so notorious a character. Connie had placed the man's body in the cabin, and as the two pushed open the door Dan McKeever stepped forward and raised the blanket with which the boy had covered it. The big officer stooped and peered into the face of the dead man. Finally, he rose to his feet with a nod: "Yes, that's Black Moran, all right. But, gosh, son! If I'd know'd it was him that you was up against over here, I wouldn't have been so easy in my mind. You sure done a big thing for the North when you got him." "I didn't get him, Dan. It was Leloo that got him--look there!" McKeever stooped again and breaking back the blood-soaked clothing examined the long deep gash that extended from the man's lower ribs to the point of his hip. Then he turned and eyed Leloo who stood looking on with blazing eyes, his great silver ruff a-quiver. "Some dog!" he exclaimed. "Or is he a dog? Look at them eyes--part dog, part wolf, an' mostly devil, I'd say. Look out, son, if he ever goes wrong. Black Moran looks like he'd be'n gashed with a butcher's cleaver! But, at that, you can't lay all the credit on the dog. He done his share all right, but the head work--figurin' out jest what Black Moran would do, an' jest what the dog would do, an' throwin' that chunk at jest the right second to make 'em do it--that's where the brains an' the nerve comes in----" "It was mostly luck," interrupted Connie. The big officer grinned. "Uh-huh," he grunted, "but I've noticed that if there's about two hundred per cent brains kind of mixed in with the luck, a man's got a better show of winnin' out in the long run--an' that's what you do." "What will we do with him?" asked the boy after McKeever had finished photographing the body, and the wolf-dog, and Connie, and such of the surroundings as should be of interest in connection with his report. "Well, believe me," answered the officer, "I ain't goin' to dig no grave for him in this frozen ground. We'll jest throw a platform together in that clump of trees, an' stick him up Injun fashion. I'd cremate him, like he was goin' to do to you, but he was so doggone tough I don't believe nothin' would burn but his whiskers, an' besides I don't want to burn the cabin. It's got a stove, an' it might save some poor fellow's life sometime." The early winter darkness had fallen when the work was finished, and Connie and McKeever decided to wait until morning before striking out for the village. After supper the big Inspector filled his pipe and glanced about the little room. "Seems like old times, son--us bein' on trail together. Don't you never feel a hankerin' to be back in the service? An' how comes it you're trappin' way over here? Did you an' Waseche Bill go broke? If you did, you've always got a job in the service, an' it beats trappin' at that." Connie laughed. "You bet, Dan, if I ever need a job I'll hit straight for you. But the fact is Waseche and I have got a big thing over at Ten Bow--regular outfit, with steam point drills and a million dollars' worth of flumes and engines and buildings and things----" "Then, what in time are you doin' over here trappin' with a Siwash?" "Oh, just wanted to have a look at the country. I'll tell you, Dan, hanging around town gets on my nerves--even a town like Ten Bow. I like to be out in the open where a fellow has got room enough to take a good deep breath without getting it second-handed, and where you don't have to be bumping into someone every time you turn around. You know what I mean, Dan--a long trail that you don't know the end of. Northern lights in the night-sky. Valleys, and mountains, and rivers, and lakes that maybe no white man has ever seen before, and a good outfit of dogs--that's playing the game. You never know what's going to happen--and when it does happen it's always worth while, whether it's striking a colour, or bringing in _hooch_-runners." The big Inspector nodded. "Sure, I know. There ain't nothin' that you know the end of that's worth doin'. It's always what lies jest beyond the next ridge, or across the next valley that a man wants to see. Mostly, when you get there you're disappointed--but suppose you are? There's always another ridge, or another valley, jest beyond. An' if you keep on goin' you're bound to find somethin' somewheres that's worth all the rest of the disappointments. And sometime, son, we're goin' to find the thing that's bigger, or stronger, or smarter than we are--an' then it'll get us. But that's where the fun comes in." "That's it, exactly!" cried the boy his eyes shining, "and believe me, Dan--that's going to be some big adventure--there at the end of the last trail! It'll be worth all the others--just to _be there_!" "Down in the cities, they don't think like we do. They'd ruther plug along--every day jest like the days that's past, an' jest like all the days that's comin'." Connie interrupted him: "Down in the cities I don't care what they think! I've been in cities, and I _hate_ 'em. I'm glad they don't think like we do, or they'd be up here plastering their houses, and factories, and stores all over our hills and valleys." "Wonder who stuck this shack up here," smiled McKeever, glancing inquisitively around the room. "Looks like it had been here quite a while. You can see where Black Moran an' Squigg rammed in fresh chinkin'." Connie nodded. "Some prospector or trapper, I guess. I wonder what became of him?" McKeever shook his head. "Maybe McTavish would know. There's nothin' here that would tell. If he pulled out he took everything along but the stove, an' if he didn't the Injuns an' the Eskimos have carried off all the light truck. There was a fellow name of Dean--James Dean, got lost in this country along about six or seven years back. I was lookin' over the records the other day, an' run across the inquiry about him. That was long before my time in N Division. There was a note or two in the records where he'd come into the country a couple of years before he'd disappeared, an' had traded at Fort Norman an' at Wrigley. The last seen of him he left Fort Norman with some supplies--grub an' powder. He was prospectin' an' trappin'--an' no one ever seen him since. He was a good man, too--accordin' to reports. He wasn't no _chechako_." "There you are!" exclaimed Connie, "just what we were talking about. I'd give a lot to know what happened at the end of his trail. I've seen the end of a lot of those trails--and always the signs told the story of the last big adventure. And always it was worth while. And, good or bad, it was always a man's game they played--and they came to a man's end." "Gee, Dan, in cities men die in their beds!" Upon the evening before the departure of the Indians who were to accompany McTavish and McKeever back to Fort Norman for the mid-winter trading, Connie Morgan, the factor, and the big officer sat in the cabin of Pierre Bonnet Rouge and talked of many things. The owner of the cabin stoked the fire and listened in silence to the talk, proud that the white men had honoured his house with their presence. "You've be'n in this country quite a while, Mac," said Inspector McKeever, as he filled his pipe from a buckskin pouch. "You must have know'd something about a party name of James Dean. He's be'n reported missin' since six or seven years back."' "Know'd him well," answered McTavish. "He was a good man, too. Except, maybe a leetle touched in the head about gold. Used to trap some, an' for a couple of years he come in twice a year for the tradin'. Then, one time he never come back. The Mounted made some inquiries a couple years later, but that's all I know'd. He had a cabin down in this country some place, but they couldn't find it--an' the Injuns didn't seem to know anything about him. Pierre, here, would know, if anyone did." He turned to the Indian and addressed him in jargon. "_Kumtux Boston man nem James Dean?_" The Indian fidgeted uneasily, and glanced nervously, first toward one window and then the other. "_S'pose memaloose_," he answered shortly, and putting on his cap, abruptly left the room. "Well, what do you think of that?" exclaimed McKeever. "Says he thinks he's dead, and then up an' beat it. The case might stand a little investigatin' yet. Looks to me like that Injun knew a whole lot more than he told." McTavish shook his head. "No, Dan, I don't think ye're right. Leastways, not altogether. I've known this band of Indians for years. They're all right. And Pierre Bonnet Rouge is the best one of the lot. His actions were peculiar, but they were actions of fear, not of guilt or of a man trying to cover up guilty knowledge. He believes Dean is dead--and for some reason, he fears his ghost." "The factor is right," agreed Connie. "There's some kind of a _tamahnawus_ that he's afraid of--and somehow he believes it's connected with Dean." McKeever nodded. "That's about the size of it. And when you run up against their superstitions, you might as well save your time as far as any investigatin' goes. I'd like to know what's on his mind, though." "Maybe I'll run on to the end of his trail," said Connie. "It's a pretty cold trail by this time--but I might." "Maybe you will, son," assented McKeever. "An' if you do, be sure to let me know. I'd kind of like to clean up the record." Good-byes were said the following morning, and Connie and 'Merican Joe, their sleds piled high with caribou meat, pulled out for their little cabin where for the next three days they were busy freshening up their trap line, and resetting rabbit and lynx snares. "Dat 'bout tam we start in to trap de fox, now," observed 'Merican Joe, as he and Connie finished skinning out the last of the martens that had been taken from the traps. "Dat de bes' kin' trappin'. De leetle fox she de smartes' of all de people, an' w'en you set de fox trap you never kin tell w'at you goin' git." "Never can tell what you're going to get?" asked Connie. "Why, you're going to get a fox, if you're lucky, ain't you?" "Yes--but de fox, she so many kin'. An' every kin' some differ'. De bes' fox of all, he is de black wan, den com' de black silver, an' de silver grey. Dem all fine fox, an' git de big price for de skin. Den com' de cross fox. Lots of kin' of cross fox. Firs' com' de black cross, den de dark cross, den de common cross, den de light cross. All de cross fox pret' good fox, too. Den com' de blue fox--dark blue, an' light blue. Den com' de red fox--bright red, an' light red, an' pale red--de pale red ain' no mooch good. She de wors' fox dere is. Even de white fox is better, an' de white fox is mor' differ' as all de fox. She de only fox w'at is good to eat, an' she de only fox w'at is easy to trap. She ain't got no sense. She walk right in de trap. But de res' of de fox she plent' hard to trap--she ain' goin' roun' where she git de man-scent. Dat why I hang de two pair of moccasins an' de mittens out on de _cache_, so she don' git no camp-scent on 'em." The following morning 'Merican Joe took from the _cache_ the dozen steel traps he had placed there when the platform was first built. Also he brought down the moccasins and mittens that had lain exposed to the air. Then, drawing on the mittens, he proceeded to cut into small chunks portions of the carcass of the bear which he placed in a bag of green caribou skin. "Those traps look pretty small for foxes," opined Connie, as he reached to pick one up from the snow. 'Merican Joe pushed back his hand before it touched the trap. "Don't pick 'em up!" he cried, "Dey git de man-scent on 'em. W'at you t'ink I'm keep 'em out on de _cache_ for? W'en you touch dem trap you got to put on de mitten lak I got--de mitten dat ain' be'n in de cabin. An' dem trap ain' too leetle. If you set de beeg trap for de fox, dat ain' no good. She git caught high up on de leg, an' de beeg spring bre'k de leg an den de leg freeze an' in wan hour de fox giv' de pull an' de leg twist off, an' de fox run away--an' nex' tam you bet you ain' ketch dat fox no mor'. Any fox she hard to ketch, but de t'ree legged fox she de hardes' t'ing in de worl' to trap--she too mooch smart. You got to git de trap jes right for de fox. You got to ketch 'em right in de pads where de foot is thick an' strong an' don' bust an' freeze. Den you hol' 'em good." Slipping on the outside moccasins over their others, the two trappers struck out for a small lake they had passed on the caribou hunt--a lake that lay between the foot of a high ridge and the open tundra upon which they had struck the trail of the two caribou bulls. Connie carried the light rifle, and Leloo accompanied them, running free. That night they camped comfortably upon the shore of the lake, with their blankets spread beneath a light fly. They slept late and it was long after sunrise the following morning when they started out with their traps. Fox tracks were numerous along the shore, some of them leading back onto the ridge, and others heading across the lake in the direction of the open tundra. Connie was beginning to wonder why 'Merican Joe did not set his traps, when the Indian paused and carefully scrutinized a long narrow point that jutted out into the lake. The irregularity of the surface of the snow showed that the point was rocky, and here and there along its edge a small clump of stunted willows rattled their dry branches in the breeze. The Indian seemed satisfied and, walking to the ridge, cut a stick some five or six feet long which he slipped through the ring of a trap, securing the ring to the middle of the stick. A few feet beyond one of the willow clumps, nearly at the end of the point, the Indian stooped, and with his ax cut a trench in the snow the length of the stick, and about eight or ten inches in depth. In this trench he placed the stick, and packed the snow over it. He now made a smaller trench the length of the trap chain, at the end of which he pressed the snow down with the back of his mitten until he had made a depression into which he could place the trap with its jaws set flat, so that the pan would lie some two inches below the level of the snow. From his bag he drew some needles which he carefully arranged so that they radiated from the pan to the jaws in such manner as would prevent snow from packing down and interfering with the springing of the trap. Then he broke out two pieces of snow-crust and, holding them over the depression which held the trap, rubbed them together until the trap was completely covered and the snow mounded slightly higher than the surrounding level. He then rubbed other pieces of crust over the trenches which held the clog, and the trap-chain. When that was finished he took from the bag a brush-broom, which he had made of light twigs as he walked along, and dusted the mounded snow lightly until the whole presented an unbroken surface, which would defy the sharpest-eyed fox to discover it had been tampered with. All this the Indian had done without moving from his tracks, and now from the bag he drew many pieces of bear meat which he tossed on to the snow close about the trap. Slowly, he backed away, being careful to set each snowshoe in its own track, and as he moved backward, he dusted the tracks full of snow with the brush-broom. For fifty or sixty feet he repeated this laborious operation, pausing now and then to toss a piece of meat upon the snow. Connie surveyed the job with admiration. "No wonder you said foxes are hard to trap if you have to go to all that trouble to get 'em," smiled the boy. "It ain' hard to do. It is, w'at you call careful. You mak' de trouble to be careful, you git de fox--you ain' mak' de trouble you ain' git no fox. Odder peoples you kin git mebbe-so, if you ain' so careful, but de fox, an' de wolf, you ain' git." Leloo circled in from the ridge, and Connie called to him sharply. "Wish we hadn't brought him along," he said. "I'm afraid he'll get to smelling around the bait and get caught." 'Merican Joe shook his head. "No. Leloo, he ain' git caught. He too smart. He know w'at de bait for. He ain' goin' for smell dat bait. If de meat is 'live, an' run or fly, Leloo he grab him if he kin. If de meat dead Leloo he ain' goin' fool wit' dat meat. You feed him dead meat--me feed him dead meat--he eat it. But, if he fin' dead meat, he ain' eat it. He too mooch smart. He smart lak de wolf, an' he smart lak de dog, too." CHAPTER XVI THE VOICE FROM THE HILL The shore of the lake was irregular, being a succession of rocky points between which narrow bays extended back to the foot of the ridge which grew higher and higher as the two progressed toward the upper end of the lake, where it terminated in a high hill upon the sides of which bold outcroppings of rock showed at intervals between thick patches of scrub timber. It was well toward the middle of the afternoon when the two reached the head of the lake, a distance of some five or six miles from the starting point. All the steel traps had been set, and 'Merican Joe had constructed two deadfalls, which varied from those set for marten only by being more cunningly devised, and more carefully prepared. "The other shore ain't so rough," said Connie, when the second deadfall was finished. "We can make better time going back." 'Merican Joe swept the flat, tundra-skirting eastern shore with a glance. "We ain' fool wit' dat shore. She too mooch no good for de fox. We go back to camp an' tomor' we hont de nudder lak!" "Look, what's that?" exclaimed Connie pointing toward a rocky ledge that jutted from the hillside a few rods back from the lake. "It looks like a _cache_!" 'Merican Joe scrutinized the arrangement of weather-worn poles that supported a sagging platform, and with a non-committal grunt, led the way toward the ledge. The spot was reached after a short climb, and by ascending to another ledge close behind the first, the two were able to look down upon the platform, which was raised about eight feet from the floor of its rock-ledge. "Funny bunch of stuff to _cache_!" exclaimed the boy. "I'll tell you what it is, there's a grave here. I've seen the Indians over on the Yukon put stuff out beside a grave. It's for the dead man to use in the Happy Hunting Ground." The Indian shook his head. "No. Ain' no grave here." "Maybe they buried him there beside the rock," ventured the boy. "No. Injun ain' bury lak' white man. If de man ees here, she would be on de rocks, lak de _cache_. Injun lay de dead man on de rock an' mak' de leetle pole house for um." "Well, what in thunder would anyone want to _cache_ that stuff 'way out here for? Look, there's a blanket, and it's been here so long it's about rotted to pieces, and a pipe, and moccasins, and there's the stock of a rifle sticking out beneath the blanket--those things have been there a long time--a year or two at least. But there's grub there, too. And the grub is fresh--it hasn't been there more than a month." 'Merican Joe was silent, and as the boy turned toward him, he caught him glancing furtively over his shoulder toward the dark patches of timber that blotched the hillside. "I ain' lak dis place. She no good," he muttered, as he caught the boy's glance. "What's the matter with it?" smiled Connie. "What do you make of it?" For answer, 'Merican Joe turned abruptly and descended to the shore of the lake. At the extremity of a rocky point that afforded a sweeping view of the great hillside, he stopped and waited for Connie to join him. "Dis place, she ain' no good," he reiterated, solemnly. "What's the matter with it?" repeated the boy. "You said all along, until we came across that _cache_, that it was a dandy lake to trap foxes on." "Good for fox, mebbe--but no good for Injun. Me--I'm t'ink I'm pull up dem trap, an' fin' som' nudder place." "Pull up nothing!" cried the boy. "After all that work setting them? Buck up! What's the matter with you anyhow?" "Dat _cache_--she lak you say--lak de grave _cache_. But dey ain' no grave! Dat mus' got to be de _tamahnawus cache_!" "_Tamahnawus cache!_" laughed the boy. "_Tamahnawuses_ don't make caches. And besides there ain't any _tamahnawuses_! Don't you remember the other _tamahnawus_--that turned out to be a man in a moose hide? I've heard a lot about 'em--but I never saw one yet." 'Merican Joe regarded the boy gravely. "Dat better you don't see no _tamahnawus_, neider. You say, 'ain' no _tamahnawus_, 'cos I ain' see none'. Tell me, is dere any God?" "Why, yes, of course there's a God," answered the boy, quickly. The Indian regarded him gravely. "Me--I ain' say, 'ain' no God 'cos I ain' see none'. I say, dat better I ain' mak' dat white man God mad. But, jus' de same, I ain' goin' mak' no _tamahnawus_ mad, neider." "All right," smiled Connie. "We won't make him mad, but I'm going to find out about that _tamahnawus_--you wait and see. I wonder who built that _cache_?" "Dat Dog Rib _cache_," promptly answered the Indian. "Probably the Injuns up at the village will know about it. They'll be back from Fort Norman in a few days, and I'll ask Pierre Bonnet Rouge." Avoiding the rough shore, the two struck out for camp down the middle of the ice-locked lake where the wind-packed snow gave excellent footing. The air was still and keen, the sky cloudless, and Connie watched the sun set in a blaze of gold behind the snow-capped ridge to the westward. Suddenly both halted in their tracks and glanced into each other's faces. From far behind them, seemingly from the crest of the hill they had left, sounded a cry: "_Y-i-i-e-e-o-o-o!_" Long-drawn, thin, quavering, it cut the keen air with startling distinctness. Then, as abruptly as it had started, it ceased, and the two stood staring. Swiftly Connie's glance sought the bald crest of the hill that showed distinctly above the topmost patches of timber, as it caught the last rays of the setting sun. But the hill showed only an unbroken sky-line, and in the dead silence of the barrens the boy waited tensely for a repetition of the wild cry. And as he waited he was conscious of an uncomfortable prickling at the roots of his hair, for never had he heard the like of that peculiar wailing cry, a cry that the boy knew had issued from the throat of no wild animal--a wild cry and eerie in its loud-screamed beginning, but that sounded half-human as it trailed off in what seemed a moan of quavering despair. The cry was not repeated and Connie glanced into the face of 'Merican Joe who stood with sagging jaw, the picture of abject fear. With an effort, the boy spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, for he well knew that it would never do to let the Indian see that his own nerve had been momentarily shaken: "Someone lost up in the hills, I guess. We'd better go hunt him up." The Indian's eyes stared wide with terror, his lips moved stiffly and the words rasped huskily: "_Tamahnawus!_ She git dark. We git to camp. Mak' de big fire. _Tamahnawus_ she no lak' de fire." And without waiting for a reply, he struck off down the lake as fast as his snowshoes would let him. And Connie followed, knowing that in the approaching darkness nothing could be done toward clearing up the mystery of that loud-drawn wail. That night the boy slept fitfully, and each time he awoke it was to see 'Merican Joe seated close beside the huge fire which he kept blazing high all the night through. Breakfast was finished just as the first grey light of dawn showed the outlines of the ridge. 'Merican Joe watched in silence as Connie made the remaining grub into a pack. "Take down the fly," ordered the boy, and the Indian obeyed with alacrity. Folding the fly, he added the blankets to the pack, fastened on his snowshoes and struck out toward the north-west. "Here, where you going?" cried Connie. The Indian paused. "Goin' back to de cabin, jus' so fas' lak I kin." "No you ain't," laughed the boy. "You're going with me, and we're going to find out all about who, or what made that racket last night." "No, no, no! I ain' got to fin' dat out! Me--_I know_!" "You don't know a thing about it. Listen here. That sound came from that high hill, didn't it?" The Indian glanced fearfully toward the hill, the outline of which was just visible at the head of the lake, and nodded. "Well, we're going to circle that hill. There has been no fresh snow for ten days or two weeks, and if we circle the base of it we'll strike the trail of whoever is on the hill. Then we can follow the trail." "I ain' want no trail! _Tamahnawus_ she don' mak' no trail. Dat hill she b'long to _tamahnawus_. I ain' want dat hill. Plent' mor' hill for me. An' plent' mor' lak' to trap de fox. An' besides, we ain' got nuff grub. We got to git back." "We've got enough grub for today and tomorrow if we go light on it. It won't take us long when we strike the trail to follow it up on to the hill. Come on, buck up! There may be someone up there that needs help--maybe someone that is in the same fix you were when I found you back on Spur Mountain." "Ain't no one up dere. I ain' hang roun' on Spur Mountain an' yell lak _tamahnawus_. Me--I'm too mooch dead." "Come on. Are you going with me?" The Indian hesitated. "If we go roun' de hill an' ain' fin' no track, den we hit for de cabin?" he asked, shrewdly. "Yes," answered the boy, confident that they would strike the trail by circling the hill, "if we don't strike the trail of whoever or whatever made that sound, we'll hit back to the cabin." "All right, me--I'm go 'long--but we ain' strike no trail. _Tamahnawus_ don' mak' no trail." Connie struck out with the Indian following, and as they reached the summit of the ridge that paralleled the shore of the lake, the sun showed his yellow rim over a distant spruce swamp, and at the same instant, far away--from the direction of the hill, came once more the long-drawn quavering yell. 'Merican Joe whirled at the sound and started out over the back trail, and it required a full fifteen minutes of persuasion, ridicule, entreaty, and threat before he reluctantly returned and fell in behind Connie. At the base of the hill, the boy suggested that they separate and each follow its base in opposite directions, pointing out that much time could be saved, as the hill, which was of mountainous proportions, seemed likely to have a base contour of eight or ten miles. But 'Merican Joe flatly refused. He would accompany Connie, as he had agreed to, but not one foot would he go without the boy. All the way up the ridge, he had followed so closely that more than once he had stepped on the tails of Connie's snowshoes, and twice, when the boy had halted suddenly to catch some fancied sound, he had bumped into him. It was nearly sundown when the two stood at the intersection of their own trail after having made the complete circuit of the hill. Fox tracks they had found, also the tracks of wolves, and rabbits, and of an occasional _loup cervier_--and nothing more. Connie had examined every foot of the ground carefully, and at intervals had halted and yelled at the top of his lungs--had even persuaded 'Merican Joe to launch forth his own peculiarly penetrating call, but their only answer was the dead, sphinx-like silence of the barrens. "Com' on," urged 'Merican Joe, with a furtive glance into a nearby thicket. "Me--I got nuff. I know we ain' goin' fin' no track. _Tamahnawus_ don' mak' no track." "_Tamahnawus_, nothing!" exclaimed Connie, impatiently. "I tell you there ain't any such thing. If we had grub enough I'd stay right here till I found out where that yell comes from. There's no sign of a camp on the hill, and no one has gone up or come down since this snow fell. There's something funny about the whole business, and you bet I'm going to find out what it is." "You say we no fin' de track, we go back to de cabin," reminded the Indian. "Yes, and we will go back. And then we'll load up a sled-load of grub, and we'll hit right back here and stay till we get at the bottom of this. The sun will drop out of sight in a minute, and then I think we'll hear it again. We heard it last evening at sundown, and at sunrise this morning." "I ain' wan' to hear it no mor'," 'Merican Joe announced uneasily. "Dat ain' no good to hear." Extending upward clear to the crest of the hill, directly above where the two stood, was an area half a mile wide upon which no timber grew. Here and there a jumbled outcropping of rock broke the long smooth sweep of snow upon which the last rays of the setting sun were reflected with dazzling brightness. As Connie waited expectantly he was conscious of a tenseness of nerves, that manifested itself in a clenching of his fists, and the tight-pressing of his lips. His eyes swept the long up-slanting spread of snow, and even as he looked he heard 'Merican Joe give a startled grunt, and there before them on the snow beside an outcropping of rocks not more than three hundred yards from them, a beautiful black fox stood clean-cut against the white background, and daintily sniffed the air. Connie's surprise was no less than the Indian's for he knew that scarcely a second had passed since his eyes had swept that exact spot--and there had been no fox there. The sunlight played only upon the upper third of the long slope now, and the fox lifted his delicately pointed muzzle upward as if to catch some fleeting scent upon the almost motionless air. Then came that awful cry, rising in a high thin scream, and trailing off as before in a quavering wail of despair. As Connie stared in amazement at the black fox, there was a swift scratching of claws, and a shower of dry snow flew up, as Leloo like a great silver flash, launched himself up the slope. For a fraction of a second the boy's glance rested upon the flying grey shape and once more it sought the fox--but there was no fox there, only the low rock-ledge outcropping through the snow. Instantly the boy sprang after Leloo, disregarding the inarticulate protest of 'Merican Joe, who laboured heavily along in his wake, hesitating between two fears, the fear of being left alone, and the fear of visiting the spot at which had appeared the fox with the voice of a man. As Connie reached the rock-ledge he stopped abruptly and stared in surprise at Leloo. The great wolf-dog's nose quivered, and his yellow eyes were fixed with a peculiar glare upon a small irregular hole beneath a projecting lip of rock--a hole just big enough to admit the body of the fox. Even as the boy looked, the long hairs of Leloo's great ruff stiffened, and stood quiveringly erect, a low growl rumbled deep in the dog's throat, and with a curious tense stiffness of movement, he began to back slowly from the hole. Never for an instant did the low throaty growl cease, nor did the fixed yellow eyes leave the black aperture. Not until he had backed a full twenty feet from the hole did the dog's tense muscles relax and then his huge brush of a tail drooped, the hair of his ruff flattened, and he turned and trotted down the back trail, pausing only once to cast a hang-dog glance up the slope. Connie was conscious of a strange chill at the pit of his stomach. Why had Leloo, the very embodiment of savage courage, backed away from that hole with every muscle tense, and why had he hit the back trail displaying every evidence of abject terror? The boy had seen him run foxes to earth before, and he had never acted like that. He had always torn at the edges of the hole with fang and claw. A hundred times more terrifying than even the fox with the strange human cry, was the action of the wolf-dog. Without moving from his tracks, the boy examined the rock-ledge. It was probably twenty feet in length, and not more than four or five feet high, and he saw at a glance that the small irregular hole was the only aperture in the mass of solid rock. His eyes swept the surrounding hillside but with the exception of numerous fox tracks that led to and from the hole, the surface of the snow was unbroken. The sunlight had disappeared from the crest of the hill. On the lower levels the fast deepening twilight was rendering objects indistinguishable, when Connie turned to 'Merican Joe, who presented a pitiable picture of terror. "Let's go," he said, shortly. "We'll have a moon tonight. We can travel till we get tired." And 'Merican Joe without waiting for a second invitation struck off down the hill after Leloo, at a pace that Connie found hard to follow. CHAPTER XVII THE-LAKE-OF-THE-FOX-THAT-YELLS Leaving 'Merican Joe to look after the line of marten and mink traps, Connie Morgan struck out from the little cabin and headed for the Indian village. Straight to the cabin of Pierre Bonnet Rouge he went and was welcomed by the Indian with the respect that only the real sourdough ever commands in the Indians of the North. For Pierre knew of his own knowledge of the boy's outwitting the _hooch_-runners, and he had listened in the evenings upon the trail to Fort Norman, while big Dan McKeever recounted to McTavish, as he never tired of doing, the adventures of Connie in the Mounted. After supper, which the two ate in silence, while the squaw of Bonnet Rouge served them, they drew up their chairs to the stove. The boy asked questions as to the success of the trading, the news of the river country, and prospects for a good spring catch. Then the talk drifted to fox trapping, and Connie told the Indian that he and 'Merican Joe had set some traps on the lake a day's journey to the south-eastward. Pierre Bonnet listened attentively, but by not so much as the flicker of an eyelash did he betray the fact that he had ever heard of the lake. Finally, the boy asked him, point-blank, if he had ever been there. Connie knew something of Indians, and, had been quick to note that Pierre held him in regard. Had this not been so, he would never have risked the direct question, for it is only by devious and round-about methods that one obtains desired information from his red brother. Pierre puffed his pipe in silence for an interminable time, then he nodded slowly: "Yes," he answered, "I be'n dere." "What is the name of that lake?" "Long tam ago _nem_ 'Hill Lak'. Now, Injun call um 'Lak'-of-de-Fox-Dat-Yell'." "You have seen him, too--the fox that yells?" asked the boy, eagerly. "Yes. I kill um two tam--an' he com' back." "Came back!" cried the boy. "What do you mean?" "He com' back--an' yell w'en de sun com' up. An' w'en de sun go down he yell on de side of de hill." "But surely he couldn't yell after you'd killed him. You must have killed the wrong fox." "No. Wan tam I trap um, an' wan tam I shoot um--an' he com' back an' yell." "Where did you trap him? At the hole that goes under the rocks?" "No. Wan tam I trap um on de shore of de lak'. An' wan tam I watch um com' out de hole an' shoot um." "But the one you trapped--how do you know that it was the same one? There's lots of foxes over there." "Yes, I trap odder wans, too. Kin tell de fox dat yell. He wear de collar." "Wears a collar!" cried the boy. "What do you mean? Are you crazy?" "No. He _tamahnawus_ fox. He wear de collar." "What kind of a collar?" "Ermine skin collar--always he got it on." "Look here," exclaimed Connie, shortly. "Are you lying to me? Do you expect me to sit here and believe any such rot as that? Did you save the collars? I want to look at 'em." "De collar, an de skin, dey on de _cache_ at de end of dat lak'." "What do you leave the black fox skins out there for, they're worth a lot?" The Indian shrugged. "I ain' want for mak' de _tamahnawus_ mad. I put de skin an' de collar under de blankets on de _cache_." "Are they there now?" The Indian shrugged. "I ain' know dat. Mebbe-so _tamahnawus_ fox com' an' git he's skin an' he's leetle w'ite collar an' wear um agin." "But you've been to the _cache_ lately. There was grub on it that hadn't been there more than a month at the most." "Yes. I got bad luck w'en I kill dem fox, so I build de _cache_ an' mak' de _tamahnawus_ de present. All de tam I tak' mor' grub, an' now I ain' got de bad luck." For a long time Connie was silent as he went over in his mind step by step the happenings at the lake where 'Merican Joe had set the fox traps. Then he thought over what Pierre Bonnet Rouge had told him, but instead of clearing things up, the Indian's words had only served to deepen the mystery of the fox that yelled like a man. Suddenly the boy remembered the action of Pierre when McTavish had asked him if he knew anything about James Dean, the missing prospector. He glanced at the Indian who was puffing his pipe in silence, and decided to risk another direct question although he knew that in all probability Pierre Bonnet Rouge would relapse into a stubborn muteness; for in matters touching upon his superstitions, the Indian is a man of profound silence. "I won't be any worse off than I am, now," thought the boy, "if he don't say another word--so here goes." He addressed the Indian gravely. "Pierre," he began, watching the man narrowly to note the effect of his words, "you know I am a friend of yours, and a friend of the Indians. I gave them meat, and I saved them from being robbed by the _hooch_-runners." The Indian nodded, and Connie felt encouraged to proceed. "Now, I believe there is something else beside a _tamahnawus_ down there at Hill Lake. And I'm going back there and find out what it is." Pierre Bonnet Rouge shook his head emphatically. "No. I ain' goin' 'long. I w'at you call, learn lesson for fool wit' _tamahnawus_." "That's all right. I won't ask you to go. I am not afraid of the _tamahnawus_. If 'Merican Joe won't go with me, I'll go alone. I want you to tell me, though, what became of James Dean? Is he mixed up in this?" The Indian smoked without answering for so long a time that the boy feared that he would never speak, but after a while he removed the pipe from his mouth and regarded the boy sombrely. "You _skookum tillicum_," he began, gravely. "I ain' lak I see you mak' de _tamahnawus_ mad. De _tamahnawus_, she mor' _skookum_ as you. She git you. I tell you all I know 'bout dat _tamahnawus_. Den, if you goin' back to de lak--" he paused and shrugged meaningly, and turning to the squaw, who had finished washing the supper dishes, he motioned with his hand, and the woman threw a brilliant red shawl over her head and passed out the door. Pierre Bonnet Rouge refilled his pipe, and hunching his chair closer to Connie, leaned toward him and spoke in a low tone. "She start long tam ago--six, seven year. We camp on de Blackwater. Wan tam in de winter, me, an' Ton-Kan, an' John Pickles, we go on de beeg caribou hunt. We swing up by de beeg lak' an' by-m-by we com' on de cabin. She w'ite man cabin, an' no wan hom', but de fresh track lead sout'. Ton-Kan, he t'ink de man got de _hooch_ to trade an' he want som' _hooch_, an' John Pickles too--so we fol' de track. By-m-by we com' to Hill Lak', an' de man she got de leetle camp by de hill. He ain' got no _hooch_. We got som' fox trap 'long, so we mak' de camp. Plent' fox track roun' de lak', an' we say tomor' we set de trap. Dat night com' de man to de camp. Say, 'nem James Dean.' Say, 'w'at you Injun goin' do?' I say, 'we goin' trap de fox. He ain' lak dat. By-m-by he say, 'you got look out. De _tamahnawus_ fox here. She talk lak de man.' I ain' b'lieve dat. I t'ink he say dat 'cos he wan' to trap de fox. But Ton-Kan an' John Pickles git scare. I say, 'de _tamahnawus_ ain' git you, he mebbe-so ain' git me, neider.' He say, 'me--I got de strong medicine. De _tamahnawus_ she know me. She do lak I say.' I ain' b'lieve dat, an' he say, 'You wait, I show you. I go back to my camp an' mak de medicine an' I tell de _tamahnawus_ to burn de snow out on de lak'.' He go back to he's camp an' Ton-Kan an' John Pickles is ver' mooch scare. De night she ver' black. Wan tam I t'ink I hear som' wan walk out on de lak', but I ain' sure an' Ton-Kan say dat _tamahnawus_. Den he point out on de lak' an' I kin see leetle fire lak' de eye of de fox in de dark. Den she mak de leetle spark, an' she move 'long ver slow. I laugh an' I say, 'Dat James Dean out dere, she mak de fire to scare Injun.' Den rat behine me som' wan laugh, an' stands James Dean, an' he say, 'No, James Dean is here. Dat de _tamahnawus_ out on de lak'. He burn de snow, lak I tell um.' I say, 'Mebbe-so, de piece of rope burn lak dat.' An' he say, 'No, dat ain' no rope. Dat _tamahnawus_ burn de snow. You t'ink you smart Injun--but I show you. If dat is rope she goin' out pret' queek, ain' it? She can't mak' de big fire?' I say, 'No, rope can't mak' no big fire.' 'A'right,' he say, 'I tell de _tamahnawus_ to mak' de beeg fire dat mak' de lak' all light.' Den he yell at de _tamahnawus_. He say, 'Mak' de beeg fire! Mak' de beeg fire!' But she ain' mak' no beeg fire, an' de leetle fire crawl slow out on de snow, an' I laugh on heem. He say, 'De _tamahnawus_ ain' hear dat. I got yell louder.' So he yell louder, 'Mak' de beeg fire! Mak' de beeg fire!' An den." Pierre Bonnet Rouge paused and shuddered. "An' den de beeg fire com'! So queek--so beeg you kin see de trees. An' den she all dark, so black you can't see nuttin'. An' James Dean laugh. An' Ton-Kan, she so scare she howl lak' de dog. An' John Pickles, she try to dig de hole in de snow an' crawl in. An' me--I'm so scare I can't talk. "Nex' mornin' w'en she git light nuff to see we go 'way from dat lak' jes' so fas lak we kin, an' we ain' stop till we git to de Blackwater." Pierre Bonnet Rouge lapsed into silence, and at length Connie asked: "But the _cache_? And the foxes that wore the collars?" "Nex' year I hunt caribou agin, but I ain' go by Hill lak', you bet. Young Injun 'long _nem_ Clawhammer, an' we swing roun' by de beeg lak' an' com' by de cabin. Lots of tracks, but I ain' see James Dean tracks. By-m-by, we com' on de camp of 'bout ten Innuit. Dey mak' de track by de cabin, an' dey got all de stuff out. I ain' see James Dean. _S'pose_ James Dean dead. He los' de medicine, an' de _tamahnawus_ git um. "So I keep way from Hill Lak'. T'ree, four year go by, an' de fox trappin' is bad. I ain' so mooch fraid of _tamahnawus_ no mor' an' I t'ink 'bout dem plent' fox tracks on Hill Lak' so me an' Clawhammer we go dere. We set 'bout twent' traps de firs' day. Never see so many fox track. We set um by de hill. We git t'rough early an' set up de tent on de shore of de lak'. She almos' sundown an' I look up de hill an' rat beside wan leetle rock-ledge, I see wan fine black fox. I grab de gun, an' tak' de res' on de sled, an' den I hear de yell! It soun' lak' wan man w'at is los'! But it com' from de fox! I shoot queek, an' de fox com' roll down de hill! Clawhammer he run an' git um, an' den we see it--de collar of ermine skin! Den I know dat de _tamahnawus_ fox James Dean say talk lak' de man, an' I ver' mooch scare. I ain' tell Clawhammer 'bout James Dean, an' he t'ink som' wan git los' mak' de yell. He ain' see it com' from de fox. I look on dat leetle fox, an' I see he ver' dead. But no blood. De fur jes' scratch' cross de back of de head--but, she ver' dead--I look good. "Clawhammer he wan' to skin dat fox, but I don' know w'at to do. If de Injun kill de fox, he mus' got to skin um. Dat bad to waste de fox. _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ don' want de Injun to waste de peoples. I got to t'ink 'bout dat an' so I lay de fox behine de tent an' mak' de supper. After supper I t'ink long tam. _Tamahnawus_, she bad spirit. _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_, she good spirit. If I skin de fox, _tamahnawus_ git mad on me. If I ain' skin de fox, _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ git mad on me. I ain' know w'at to do. I t'ink som' mor'. By-m-by I t'ink dat bes to skin de fox. I ain' know where _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ liv'. If I mak' um mad I ain' kin giv' um no present. Better I mak' _tamahnawus_ mad cos he liv' rat here, an' if I mak' um mad I kin give um de present an' mebbe-so he ain' stay mad on me. So, I go behine de tent to git de fox. But, de fox, she gon'! An' de track show she gon' back up de hill, an' I ver' mooch scare--cos she was dead! "In de morning Clawhammer say he look at de traps to de wes', an' swing on roun' de hill to fin' de track of de man w'at git los' an' yell. I ain' say nuttin', an' he start ver' early. I go look at de traps down de lak', an' w'en de sun com' up, I hear de yell agin! An' I ver' mooch scare, cos I'm fraid de _tamahnawus_ mad on me for kill de fox w'at yell lak de man. So I go back, an' I skin two fox w'at I ketch in de trap. Clawhammer ain' back, so I go an' build de _cache_. An' I put my blankets an' rifle on it, an' plenty grub, for de present to _tamahnawus_. Clawhammer com' 'long an' he say he ain' fin' no track. He begin to git scare 'bout dat yell, w'en he don' fin' de track. So he show me wan fox what he took from de trap. It is de black fox wit' de ermine collar! Clawhammer ver' mooch scare now. He wan' to run away. But I tell um we got to skin dat fox. If we don' skin um, we goin' to mak' _Sah-ha-lee Tyee_ ver' mad. _Tamahnawus_ he ver' mad anyhow; so we mak' him de present, an' we skin de fox, an' put de skin an' de collar on de _cache_ too. Den mebbe-so _tamahnawus_ ain' so mad w'en he git de guns an' de blankets, an' de fox skin back. So we go 'way from dat lak' ver' fas'. "Dat day I bre'k my leg. An' nex' day Clawhammer's tepee burn up. So we git bad luck. Den de bad luck go 'way, cos _tamahnawus_ fin' dat _cache_, an' he ain' so mad. But every tam de leetle moon com' I tak' som' mor' grub to de _cache_. An' so, I keep de luck good." "And do you think it's still there on the _cache_--the fox skin and the collar?" The Indian shrugged. "I ain' know 'bout dat. Mebbe-so de _tamahnawus_ fox com' an' git he's skin. 'Bout wan year ago Bear Lake Injun, _nem_ Peter Burntwood, trap wan fox way up on de beeg lak'. She black fox, an' she got de collar of ermine skin. Me--I'm over to Fort Norman w'en he bring in de skin an' de collar, an' trade de skin to McTavish." "What did McTavish make of it?" asked Connie eagerly. "He ain' b'lieve dat. He t'ink Peter Burntwood mak' dat collar to fool um. He say Peter Burntwood lak too mooch to tell de beeg lie." "But didn't you tell McTavish about the fox you shot, and the one you trapped with the collar on?" "No. I ain' say nuttin'. Dat hurt too mooch to bre'k de leg. I ain' want dat _tamahnawus_ mad on me no mor'." Connie was silent for a long time as he racked his brain for some reasonable explanation of the Indian's strange story, pieced out by what he, himself, had actually seen and heard at the lake. But no explanation presented itself and finally he shook his head. "W'at you t'ink 'bout dat?" asked Pierre Bonnet Rouge, who had been watching the boy narrowly. "I don't know. There's something back of it all--but I can't seem to figure what it is. I'm going back to that lake, though, and I'm going to stay there till I do know." The Indian shook his head forebodingly. "Dat better you keep way from dat lak'. She no good. James Dean he fool wit de _tamahnawus_. An' he hav' de strong medicine to mak' de _tamahnawus_ do lak' he tell um. But de _tamahnawus_ git James Dean. An' he git you--too." Connie waited for two days after 'Merican Joe returned from the trap line before he even mentioned returning to The-Lake-of-the-Fox-That-Yells, as the Indians had renamed Hill Lake. Then, one evening he began to make up a pack for the trail. "Were you goin'?" asked 'Merican Joe, eying the preparations with disapproval. "It's about time we went down and looked at those fox traps, isn't it?" he asked casually. "And we ought to get some more out." The Indian shook his head. "Me--I'm lak' dat better we let de _tamahnawus_ hav' dem fox trap. We go on som' nudder lak' an' set mor'." "Look here!" ripped out the boy, angrily, "if you're afraid to go you can stay here and snare rabbits like a squaw! I ain't afraid of your _tamahnawus_, and I'll go alone! And I'll stay till I find out what all this business is about--and then I'll come back and laugh at you, and at Pierre Bonnet Rouge, too. You're a couple of old women!" 'Merican Joe made no answer, and after puttering a bit he went to bed. When Connie awakened, before daylight the following morning, the fire was burning brightly in the stove, and 'Merican Joe, dressed for the trail, was setting the breakfast table. Connie drew on his clothing and noticing that the pack he had thrown together the night before was missing, stepped to the door. A pack of double the size was lashed to the sled, and the boy turned to 'Merican Joe with a grin: "Decide to take a chance?" he asked. The Indian set a plate of beans on the table and looked into the boy's eyes. "Me--I'm t'ink you too mooch _skookum_. Wan tam on Spur Mountain, I say you good man, an' I say 'Merican Joe, she good man, too. But she ain' so good man lak you. She scare for _tamahnawus_ mor' as anyt'ing on de worl'. Rat now I'm so scare--me--dat de knees shivver, an' de hair com's from de head an' crawl up an' down de back an' de feet is col' lak de piece of ice, an' de belly is sick lak I ain' got nuttin' to eat in my life. But, I'm goin' 'long, an' I stan' rat beside you all de tam, an' w'en de _tamahnawus_ git Connie Mo'gan, by Goss! she got to git 'Merican Joe, too!" The boy stepped to the Indian's side and snatched his hand into both his own. "'Merican Joe," he cried, in a voice that was not quite steady, "you're a brick! You're the best doggone Injun that ever lived!" "Me--I'm de scarest Injun ever liv'. I bet I lak she was nex' week, an' I was t'ousan' miles 'way from here." "You're braver than I am," laughed the boy; "it's nothing for me to go, because I'm not scared, but you're scared stiff--and you're going anyway." "Humph," grinned the Indian, "I ain' know w'at you mean--you say, if you scare, you brave--an' if you ain' scare, you ain' so brave. By Goss! I lak dat better if I ain' so mooch brave, den--an' ain' so mooch scare neider." Travelling heavy, darkness overtook them some six or eight miles from their destination, and they camped. The sun was an hour high next morning when they pushed out on to the snow-covered ice and headed for the high hill at the end of the lake. 'Merican Joe agreed to look at the traps on the way up while Connie held the dogs to a course parallel to the shore. As the Indian was about to strike out he pointed excitedly toward the point where he had made the first set. Connie looked, and there, jumping about on the snow, with his foot in the trap was a beautiful black fox! It is a sight that thrills your trapper to the marrow, for here is the most valuable skin that it is possible for him to take, and forgetting for the moment his fear of the lake, 'Merican Joe struck off across the snow. A few moments later he halted, stared at the fox, and turning walked slowly back to the sled. "Mebbe-so dat fox is de fox dat yell lak' de man. She black fox, too. Me--I'm 'fraid to tak' dat fox out de trap. I'm 'fraid she talk to me! An' by Goss! She say jus' wan word to me, I git so scare I die!" Connie laughed. "Here, you take the dogs and I'll look at the traps. I remember where they all are, and I'll take out the foxes. But you will have to reset the traps, later." As Connie approached, the fox jerked and tugged at the chain in an effort to free himself from the trap, but he was fairly caught and the jaws held. Connie drew his belt ax, for 'Merican Joe had explained that the fox is too large and lively an animal to be held with the bow of the snowshoe like the marten, while the trapper feels for his heart. He must be stunned by a sharp blow on the nose with the helve of the ax, after which it is an easy matter to pull his heart. As he was about to strike, the boy straightened up and stared at a small white band that encircled the neck of the fox. It was a collar of ermine skin! And as he continued to stare, little prickly chills shot up and down his spine. For a moment he stood irresolute, and then, pulling himself together, he struck. A moment later the fox's heart-strings snapped at the pull, and the boy released the foot from the trap, and holding the animal in his hands, examined the ermine collar. It was nearly an inch wide, of untanned skin, and was tied at the throat. "No Injun ever tied that knot," muttered the boy, "and there's no use scaring 'Merican Joe any more than necessary," he added, as with his sheath knife he cut the collar and placed it carefully in his pocket, and carrying the fox, proceeded up the shore. In the fifth trap was another black fox. And again the boy stared at the ermine skin collar that encircled the animal's neck. He removed this collar and placed it with the first. 'Merican Joe was a half-mile out on the lake, plodding along at the head of the dogs. The two foxes were heavy, and Connie decided to carry them to the sled. 'Merican Joe stared, wide-eyed, at the catch. "Did dey talk?" he asked, huskily. And when Connie had assured him that they had not, the Indian continued to stare. "Dat funny we git _two_ black fox. De black fox, he ain' so many. You trap wan all winter, you done good. We got two, sam' day. I ain' never hear 'bout dat before!" "I knew this was a good lake for foxes," smiled the boy. 'Merican Joe nodded, sombrely. "Som't'ing wrong. Dat lak' she too mooch good for fox. Som' t'ing wrong." The twelfth trap yielded another black fox, and another ermine collar, and as the boy removed it from the animal's neck he gave way to an expression of anger. "What in thunder is the meaning of this? Who is out here in the hills tying ermine collars on black foxes--and why? The most valuable skin in the North--and some fool catches them and ties a collar on them, and turns them loose! And how does he catch them? They've never been trapped before! And how does it come there are so many of them and they are so easy to trap?" He gave it up, and returned to the sled, to show the astounded 'Merican Joe the third black fox. But the Indian took no joy in the catch, and all the time they were setting up the tent in the shelter of a thicket at the foot of the high hill, he maintained a brooding silence. "While you skin the foxes, I guess I'll slip over and have another look at that _cache_," said the boy, when they had eaten their luncheon. "You sure git back, pret' queek?" asked the Indian, "I ain' want to be here 'lone w'en de sun go down. I ain' want to hear dat yell." "Oh, I'll be back long before sundown," assured Connie. "That yell is just what I _do want_ to hear." At the _cache_ he raised the rotting blanket and peered beneath it and there, as Pierre Bonnet Rouge had told him, was a black fox skin, and its ermine collar. The boy examined the collar. It was an exact counterpart of the three he had in his pocket. He replaced the blanket and walked slowly back to camp, pondering deeply the mystery of the collars, but the more he thought, the more mysterious it seemed. CHAPTER XVIII THE MAN IN THE CAVE It was late afternoon when 'Merican Joe finished skinning the three foxes and stretching the pelts. As the sun approached the horizon Connie seated himself upon the sled at a point that gave him a clear view of the rock-ledge on the hillside. 'Merican Joe went into the tent and seated himself on his blankets, where he cowered with his thumbs in his ears. The lower levels were in the shadows, now, and the sunlight was creeping slowly up the hill. Suddenly, from the rock-ledge appeared a black fox. Connie wondered if he, too, wore an ermine skin collar. The fox sniffed the air and trotted off along the hillside, where he disappeared behind a patch of scrub. Again the boy's eyes sought the ledge, another fox was trotting away and still another stood beside the rock. Then it came--the wild quavering yell for which the boy waited. The third fox trotted away as the yell came to its wailing termination, and Connie leaped from the sled. "It's just as I thought!" he cried, excitedly. "_The fox never gave that yell!_" The boy had expected to find just that, nevertheless, the actual discovery of it thrilled him with excitement. The head of 'Merican Joe peered cautiously from the tent. "Who giv' um den?" he asked in fear and trembling. "The man that's at the bottom of that fox-hole," answered the boy, impressively, "and if I'm not mistaken, his name is James Dean." The Indian stared at the boy as though he thought he had taken leave of his senses. "W'at you mean--de bottom of de fox-hole?" he asked "Dat hole so leetle small dat de fox she almos' can't git out!" "That's just it!" cried the boy. "That's just why the man can't get out." "How he git in dere?" asked 'Merican Joe, in a tone of such disgust that Connie laughed. "I'll tell you that tomorrow," he answered, "after James Dean tells me." "If de yell com' from de hole, den de _tamahnawus_ mak' um," imparted the Indian, fearfully. "An' if he can't get out dat better we let um stay in dere. Ain' no man kin git in dat hole. I ain' know nuttin' 'bout no James Dean." A half-hour before sunrise the following morning Connie started up the slope, closely followed by 'Merican Joe, who mumbled gruesome forebodings as he crowded so close that he had to keep a sharp lookout against treading upon the tails of Connie's rackets. When they had covered half the distance a black fox broke from a nearby patch of scrub and dashed for the hole in the rock-ledge, and as they approached the place another fox emerged from the thicket, paused abruptly, and circled widely to the shelter of another thicket. Arriving at the ledge, Connie took up his position squarely in front of the hole, while 'Merican Joe, grimly grasping the helve of his belt ax, sank down beside him, and with trembling fingers untied the thongs of one of his snowshoes. "What are you doing that for?" asked Connie, in a low voice. "Me--I'm so scare w'en dat yell com', I'm 'fraid I runaway. If I ain' got jus' wan snowshoe, I can't run." "You're all right," smiled the boy, as he reached out and laid a reassuring hand upon the Indian's arm, and hardly had the words left his lips than from the mouth of the hole came the wild cry that mounted higher and higher, and then died away in a quavering tremolo. Instantly, Connie thrust his face close to the hole. "Hello!" he cried at the top of his lungs, and again: "Hello, in there!" A moment of tense silence followed, and then from the hole came the sound of a voice. "Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello! Don't go 'way--for God's sake! Hello, hello, hello----" "We're not going away," answered the boy, "we've come to get you out--James Dean!" "James Dean! James Dean!" repeated the voice from the ground. "Get James Dean out!" "We'll get you out, all right," reassured the boy. "But tell us how you got in, and why you can't get out the same way?" "There's no way out!" wailed a voice of despair, "I'm buried alive, an' there's no way out!" "How did you get in?" insisted the boy. "Come, think, because it'll help us to get you out." "Get in--a long time ago--years and years ago--James Dean is very old. The whole hill is hollow and James Dean is buried alive." Connie gave up trying to obtain information from the unfortunate man whose inconsistent remarks were of no help. "I'll see if these rocks are loose," he called, as he scraped the snow away from the edges of the hole and tapped at the rock with the back of his belt ax. "It ain't loose!" came the voice. "It's solid rock--a hundred ton of it caved in my tunnel. The whole hill is quartz inside and I shot a face and the hill caved in." A hurried examination confirmed the man's statement. Connie found, under the snow, evidences of the mouth of a tunnel, and then he saw that the whole face of the ledge had fallen forward, blocking the tunnel at the mouth. The small triangular opening used by the foxes, had originally been a notch in the old face of the ledge. The boy stared at the mass of rock in dismay. Fully twelve feet of solid rock separated the man from the outside world! Once more he placed his mouth to the hole. "Hello, James Dean!" "Hello!" "Isn't there any other opening to the cave?" he asked. "Opening to the cave? Another opening? No--no--only my window, an' that's too high." "Window," cried Connie. "Where is your window?" "'Way up high--a hundred feet high. I've carried forty ton of rock--but I never can reach it--because I've run out of rock--and my powder and drills was buried in the cave-in." "I'm going to find that window!" cried the boy. "You go back and get as close to the window as you can, and yell and I'll find it, and when I do, we'll pull you out in a jiffy." "It's too high," wailed the man, "and my rock run out!" "Go over there and yell!" repeated the boy. "I'll let a line down and we'll pull you out." Turning to 'Merican Joe, whose nerve had completely returned when he became convinced that the author of the strange yell was a man of flesh and blood, the boy ordered him post-haste to the tent to fetch the three coils of strong _babiche_ line that he had added to the outfit. When the Indian had gone, Connie struck straight up the hill, examining the surface of the snow eagerly for sight of a hole. But it was not until two hours later, after he and the Indian had circled and spiralled the hill in every direction, that he was attracted to a patch of scrawny scrub by the faint sound of a long-drawn yell. Into the scrub dashed the boy, and there, yawning black and forbidding, beneath a low rock-ledge, was a hole at least four feet in height, and eight or nine feet wide. And from far down in the depths came the sound of the voice, loud and distinct now that he stood directly in front of the hole. The boy called for 'Merican Joe, and while he waited for the Indian to come, he noted that the edges of the hole, and all the bushes that over-hung its mouth were crusted thickly with white frost. Carefully he laid flat on his belly and edged himself along until he could thrust his face into the abyss. The air felt very warm--a dank, damp warmth, such as exudes from the depths of a swamp in summer. He peered downward but his eyes could not penetrate the Stygian blackness out of which rose the monotonous wail of the voice. "Strike a light down there!" cried the boy. "Or build a fire!" "Light! Fire! Ha, ha, ha." Thin, hollow laughter that was horrible to hear, floated upward. "I ain't had a fire in years, and years--an' no light." "Wait a minute!" called the boy, and began to collect dry twigs which he made into a bundle. He lighted the bundle and when it was burning fiercely he shouted, "Look out below!" And leaning far inward, he dropped the blazing twigs. Down, down like a fiery comet they rushed through the darkness, and then suddenly the comet seemed to explode and a million tiny flames shot in all directions as the bundle burst from contact with the rock floor. "Pile the sticks together and make a fire!" called the boy, "and I'll toss you down some more!" He could see the tiny red faggots moving toward a central spot, and presently a small blaze flared up, and as more twigs were added to the pile the flame brightened. Connie collected more wood, and calling a warning, tossed it down. Soon a bright fire was burning far below, and in the flickering light of the flames the boy saw a grotesque shape flitting here and there adding twigs to the fire. He could not see the man clearly but he could see that his head and face were covered with long white hair, and that he was entirely naked except for a flapping piece of cloth that hung from his middle. 'Merican Joe arrived with the _babiche_ lines, and as the boy proceeded to uncoil and knot them together, he sent the Indian to the tent for some blankets. When he returned the line was ready, with a fixed loop in the end. "All right!" called the boy, "here comes the line. Sit in the loop, and hold on to the rope for all you're worth, and we'll have you out in a few minutes!" He could hear the man talking to himself as he hovered about the fire so closely that the flames seemed to be licking at his skin. The man looked upward, and Connie paid out the line. When it reached the bottom, the boy noted that there was only about ten feet of slack remaining, and he heaved a sigh of relief. He could feel the man tugging at the rope, and after a moment of silence the voice sounded from below: "Haul away!" Connie and 'Merican Joe braced their feet on the rocks and pulled. They could feel the rope sway like a pendulum as the man left the floor, and then, hand over hand they drew him to the surface. While the Indian had gone for the blankets, Connie had cut a stout pole to be used to support the load while they got the man out of the hole. Even with the pole to sustain the weight it was no small task to draw the man over the edge, but at last it was accomplished, and James Dean stood once more in the light of day after his years of imprisonment in the bowels of the earth. With a cry of pain the man clapped his hands to his eyes, and Connie immediately bound his handkerchief over them, as 'Merican Joe wrapped the wasted form in thickness after thickness of blankets. When the blankets were secured with the _babiche_ line the Indian lifted the man to his shoulders, and struck out for the tent, as Connie hurried on ahead to build up the fire and prepare some food. The bandage was left on the man's eyes, for the daylight had proved too strong, but after the tent had warmed, the two dressed him in their extra clothing. The man ate ravenously of broiled caribou steak and drank great quantities of tea, after which, the day being still young, camp was struck, and the outfit headed for the cabin. It was midnight when they drew up at the door, and soon a roaring fire heated the interior. Connie turned the light very low, and removed the bandage from the man's eyes. For a long time he sat silent, staring about him, his eyes travelling slowly from one object to another, and returning every few moments to linger upon the faces of his rescuers. At times his lips moved slightly, as if to name some familiar object, but no sound came, and his eyes followed every movement with interest, as 'Merican Joe prepared supper. When the meal was ready the man stepped to the pole-shelf that served as a washstand, and as he caught sight of his face in the little mirror that hung above it, he started back with a cry of horror. Then he stepped to the mirror again, and for a long time he stared into it as though fascinated by what he beheld. In a daze, he turned to Connie. "What--what year is it?" he asked, in a voice that trembled with uncertainty. And when the boy told him, he stood and batted his squinting eyes uncomprehendingly. "Six years," he mumbled, "six years buried alive. Six years living with weasels, and foxes, and fish without eyes. I was thirty, then--and in six years I'm eighty--eighty years old if I'm a day. Look at me! Ain't I eighty?" In truth, the man looked eighty, thought Connie as he glanced into the face with its faded squinting eyes, the brow wrinkled and white as paper, and the long white hair and beard that hung about his shoulders. Aloud he said, "No, you'll be all right again in a little while. Living in the dark that way has hurt your eyes, and turned your skin white, and the worry about getting out has made your hair turn grey but you can cut your hair, and shave off your whiskers, and the sun will tan you up again. Let's eat now, and after supper if you feel like it you can tell us how it happened." The man ate ravenously--so ravenously in fact, that Connie who had learned that a starving man should be fed slowly at first, uttered a protest. "You better go a little easy on the grub," he cautioned. "Not that we haven't got plenty, but for your own good. Anyone that hasn't had enough to eat for quite a while has got to take it slow." The man looked at the boy in surprise. "It ain't the grub--it's the _cooking_. I've had plenty of grub, but I ain't had any fire." After supper the man begged to be allowed to help wash the dishes, and when the task was finished, he drew his chair directly in front of the stove, and opening the door, sat staring into the flames. "Seems like I just got to look at the fire," he explained, "I ain't seen one in so long." "And you ate all your grub raw?" asked the boy. James Dean settled himself in his chair, and shook his head. "No, not raw. I might's well begin at the start. There's times when my head seems to kind of go wrong, but it's all right now." "Wait a few days, if you'd rather," suggested the boy, but the man shook his head: "No, I feel fine--I'd about give up ever seein' men again. Let's see where'll I begin. I come north eight year ago. Prospected the Coppermine, but there ain't nothin' there. Then I built me a cabin south of the big lake. From there I prospected an' trapped, an' traded with McTavish at Fort Norman. One time I struck some colour on the shore of the lake, right at the foot of the hill where you found me. Looked like it had come out of rotted quartz, an' I figured the mother lode would maybe be in the hill so I fetched my drills, an' powder, an' run in a drift. I hadn't got very far in when I shot the whole face out and busted into a big cave. The whole inside was lined with rotten quartz, but it wasn't poor man's gold. It was a stamp mill claim. "I prodded around in the cave all day, an' that evenin' some Injuns come an' camped near my tent. They was goin' to trap fox, an' I didn't want 'em around, so I went over to their camp an' told 'em there was a _tamahnawus_ around. Two of 'em was scairt stiff, but one wasn't. I told 'em they was a fox that could talk like a man. But one buck, he figured I was lyin', so to make the play good, I told 'em I had the medicine to make the _tamahnawus_ do what I told him. I said I would make him burn the snow, so I slips back to my tent and laid a fuse out on the lake, an' put about a pound of powder at the end of it, an' while she was burnin' I went back. The Injuns could see the fuse sputterin' out on the lake, but this one buck said it was a piece of rope I'd set afire. I told him if it was rope it would go out, but if it was _tamahnawus_ I'd tell him to make a big fire. So I yelled at the _tamahnawus_ a couple of times, and when the spark got to the powder she flashed up big, an' like to scairt them Injuns to death. In the morning they beat it--an' that was the end of them. If you're smart you can out-guess them Injuns." The man paused, and Connie, although he said nothing, smiled grimly for well he knew that the man had paid dearly for his trick. "Nex' day I decided to shoot down a face of the rotten quartz to see how thick she was, an' I drilled my holes an' tamped in the shots, an' fired 'em. I had gone back in the cave, instead of steppin' outside, an' when the shots went off the whole ledge tipped over, an' plugged up my tunnel. I'd shoved my drills an' powder into the tunnel, an they was buried. "Well, there I was. At first I yelled, an' hollered, an' I clawed at the rock with my hands. Then I come to. The cave was dark as pitch, the only light I could see come through under the rocks where the foxes use--only they wasn't any foxes then. There I was without nothin' to eat an' drink, an' no way out. I had matches, but there wasn't nothin' to burn. Then I started out to explore the cave. It was an awful job in the dark. Now an' then I'd light a match an' hold it till it burnt my fingers. It was a big cave, an' around a corner of rock, five or six hundred foot back from the hole, I found the window you drug me out through. That let in a little light, but it was high up an' no way to get to it. I heard runnin' water, an' found a crick run right through the middle of that room, it was the biggest room of all. In one place there was a rapids not over six inches deep where it run over a ledge of rocks. I crossed it, an' found another long room. It was hot in there an' damp an' it stunk of sulphur. There was a boilin' spring in there, an' a little crick run from it to the big cold crick. I heard a splashin' in the rapids an' I was so scairt I couldn't run. There wouldn't have been no place to run to if I could. So I laid there, an' listened. The splashin' kept up an' I quit bein' so scairt, an' went to the rapids. The splashin' was still goin' on an' it took me quite a while there in the dark to figure out it was fish. Well, when I did figure it, I give a whoop. I wasn't goin' to starve, anyhow--not with fish, an' a boilin' spring to cook 'em. I took off my shoes an' waded in an' stood still in the rapids. Pretty quick I could feel 'em bumpin' my feet. Then I stuck my hands in an' when they bumped into 'em I'd throw 'em out. I got so I never missed after a couple of years. They run in schools, an' it got so I knew when they was up the river, an' when they was down. I'd scoop one or two out, an' carry 'em to the spring, an' I made a sort of pen out of rocks in the boilin' water, an' I'd throw 'em in, an' a half-hour or so later, they'd be done. But they stunk of sulphur, an' tasted rotten, an' at first I couldn't go 'em--but I got used to it after a while. "The first year, I used to yell out the door, about every couple of hours, then three times a day, an' at last I only yelled when the light in the hole told me the sun was going down, an' again when it come up. In summer a rabbit would now an' then come in the hole an' I got so I could kill 'em with rocks when they set for a minute in the light at the end of the hole. They was plenty o' weasels--ermine they call 'em up here, but they ain't fit to eat. Towards spring a couple of black fox come nosin' into the hole, an' I slipped in a rock so they couldn't get out. I done it first, jest to have company. They was so wild, I couldn't see nothin' but their eyes for a long time. But I scooped fish out for 'em an' fed 'em every day in the same place an' they got tamer. Then they had a litter of young ones! Say, they was the cutest little fellers you ever saw. I fed 'em an' after a while they was so tame I could handle 'em. I never could handle the old ones, but they got so tame they'd take fish out of my hand. "All this time I used to go to the hole every day, an' two or three times a day, an' lay with my face in it, so my eyes would get the light. I was afraid I'd go blind bein' all the time in the dark. An' between times I'd carry loose rock an' pile it under that window. I spent years of work on pilin' them rocks, an' then I used up all the rocks an' had to quit. "When the little foxes got about a quarter grow'd I took 'em one at a time, an' shoved 'em out the hole, so their eyes wouldn't go bad. After a while I could let 'em all out together, an' they would always come back. I was careful to keep 'em well fed. But I didn't dare let the old ones go, I was afraid they'd never come back an' would drag off the little ones, too. It wasn't so long before them six little fellows could beat me scoopin' out fish. Well, one day the big ones got out, an' the little ones followed. They'd clawed the rock away where I hadn't jammed it in tight. I never felt so bad in my life. I sat there in the dark and bawled like a baby. It was like losin' yer family all to once. They was all I had. I never expected to see 'em again. They stayed out all night, but in the mornin' back they all come--big ones an' all! After that I left the hole open, an' they come an' went as they pleased. Well, they had more little ones, an' the little ones had little ones, until they was forty or fifty black fox lived with me in the cave--an' I had 'em all named. They used to fetch in ptarmigan an' rabbits an' I'd take 'em away an' eat 'em. Then one or two begun to turn up missin' an' I figured they'd be'n trapped. That give me an idea. If I could tie a message onto 'em, maybe sometime someone would trap one and find out where I was. But I didn't have no pencil nor nothin' to write on. So I begun tearin' strips from my coat an' pants an' tied 'em around their necks, but the goods was gettin' rottin, an' bushes clawed it off, or maybe the foxes did. I used up my coat, an' most of my pants, an' then I used ermine skins. I figured that if any one trapped a black fox wearin' an ermine skin collar it would call for an investigation. If it was a white trapper he would tumble right away that something was wrong, an' if it was an Injun he would brag about it when he traded the fur, an' then the factor would start the investigation. But nothin' come of it till you come along, although they was several of them foxes trapped--as long as three years back. But I kept on yellin' night an' mornin'. Sometime, I know'd someone would hear. An' that's all there is to it, except that my clothes an' shoes was all wore out--but I didn't mind so much because it was warm as summer all the time, an' no mosquitoes in the cave." "And now you can rest up for a few days, and well take you to Fort Norman," smiled Connie, when the man relapsed into silence, "and you can go out in the summer with the brigade." "Go out?" asked the man, vaguely. "Go out where?" "Why!" exclaimed the boy, "go out--wherever you want to go." The man lapsed into a long silence as he sat with his grey beard resting upon his breast and gazed into the fire. "No," he said, at length, "I'll go to Fort Norman, an' get some drills an' powder, an' shoot me a new tunnel. I'll take a stove so I can have a fire, an' cook. I like the cave. It's all the home I got, an' someone's got to look after them foxes." "But the gold?" asked the boy. "How about bringing in a stamp mill and turn your hill into a regular outfit?" James Dean shook his head. "No, it would spoil the cave an' besides where would me and the foxes go? That hill is the only home we've got--an' I'm gettin' old. I'm eighty if I'm a day. When I'm dead you can have the hill--but you'll look after them foxes, won't you, boy?" A week later Connie and 'Merican Joe and James Dean pulled up before the Hudson's Bay Post at Fort Norman, and, as the boy entered the door, McTavish greeted him in surprise. "You're just the one I want!" he cried. "I was just about to send an Indian runner to your cabin with this letter. It come from the Yukon by special messenger." Connie tore the document open, and as he read, his eyes hardened. It was from Waseche Bill, and it had not been intrusted to "Roaring Mike O'Reilly" to transcribe. It ran thus: MR. C. MORGAN, Cannady. Son, yo better come back yere. Theys an outfit thats tryin to horn in on us on Ten Bow. They stack up big back in the states--name's Guggenhammer, or somethin' like it, an they say we kin take our choist to either fight or sell out. If we fight they say they'll clean us out. I ain't goin' to do one thing or nother till I hear from you. Come a runnin' an' les here you talk. Your pard, W. BILL. "What's the matter, son, bad news?" asked McTavish, as he noted the scowling face of the boy. "Read it," he snapped, and tossed the letter to the big Scotchman. Then stepping to the counter he rapidly wrote a report to Dan McKeever, in re the disappearance of James Dean, after which he turned to 'Merican Joe--"I've got to go back to Ten Bow," he said. "All the traps and the fur and everything we've got here except my sled and dog-team are yours. Stay as long as you want to, and when you are tired of trapping, come on over into the Yukon country, and I'll give you a job--unless the Guggenhammers bust me--but if they do they'll know they've been somewhere when they get through!" And without waiting to hear the Indian's reply, the boy turned to McTavish and ordered his trail grub, which 'Merican Joe packed on to the boy's sled as fast as the factor's clerk could get it out. "So-long," called Connie, as he stood beside the sled a half-hour later. "Here goes a record trip to the Yukon! And, say, McTavish, give James Dean anything he wants, and charge it to me!" "All right, lad," called the factor, "but what are ye goin' to do? Dan McKeever'll be wantin' to know, when he comes along?" "Do?" asked the boy. "Yes, are ye goin' to sell out, or fight 'em?" "Fight 'em!" cried the boy. "Fight 'em to the last ditch! If they've told Waseche we've _got_ to sell, I wouldn't sell for a hundred million dollars--and neither would he! We'll fight 'em--and what's more we'll beat 'em--you wait an' see!" And with a yell the boy cracked his whip, and the dogs, with the great Leloo in the lead, sprang out on to the long, long trail to the Yukon. THE END. _A Selection from the Catalogue of_ G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS [Illustration] Complete Catalogues sent on application Connie Morgan in the Lumber Camps By James B. Hendryx Author of "Connie Morgan in Alaska," "Connie Morgan with the Mounted," etc. All his many friends will be glad to greet Connie Morgan again. This time we find him in the timber regions of northern Minnesota, where he solves a mystery that robbed him and his partner of thousands of dollars' worth of logs. He is the same straight-forward lad "who finds out what has to be done, and does it the best he knows how." Mr. Hendryx has lived much in the lumber woods and has written an excellent, exciting story of adventure. G.P. Putnam's Sons New York London Connie Morgan in Alaska By James B. Hendryx Author of "The Promise," "The Law of the Woods," etc. _12°. Over twenty illustrations_ Mr. Hendryx, as he has ably demonstrated in his many well-known tales, knows his Northland thoroughly, but he has achieved a reputation as a writer possibly "too strong" for the younger literary digestion. It is a delight, therefore, to find that he can present properly, in a capital story of a boy, full of action and adventure, and one in whom boys delight, the same thorough knowledge of people and customs of the North. G.P. Putnam's Sons New York London Connie Morgan with the Mounted By James B. Hendryx Author of "Connie Morgan in Alaska" _Illustrated._ It tells how "Sam Morgan's Boy," well known to readers of Mr. Hendryx's "Connie Morgan in Alaska," daringly rescued a man who was rushing to destruction on an ice floe and how, in recognition of his quick-wittedness and nerve, he was made a Special Constable in the Northwest Mounted Police, with the exceptional adventures that fell to his lot in that perilous service. It is a story of the northern wilderness, clean and bracing as the vigorous, untainted winds that sweep over that region; the story of a boy who wins out against the craft of Indians and the guile of the bad white man of the North; the story of a boy who succeeds where men fail. G.P. Putnam's Sons New York London The Promise A Tale of the Great Northwest and of a Man Who Kept His Word By James B. Hendryx A tale of a strong man's regeneration--of the transformation of "Broadway Bill" Carmody, millionaire's son, rounder, and sport, whose drunken sprees have finally overtaxed the patience of his father and _the_ girl, into a Man, clear-eyed and clean-lived, a true descendant of the fighting McKims. The Texan A Story of the Cattle Country By James B. Hendryx Author of "The Promise," etc. A novel of the cattle country and of the mountains, by James B. Hendryx, will at once commend itself to the host of readers who have enthusiastically followed this brilliant writer's work. Again he has written a red-blooded, romantic story of the great open spaces, of the men who "do" things and of the women who are brave--a tale at once turbulent and tender, impassioned but restrained. G.P. Putnam's Sons New York London The White Blanket By Belmore Browne Author of "The Quest of the Golden Valley," etc. _12°. Illustrated_ A sequel to _The Quest of the Golden Valley_, this time taking the chums through the vicissitudes of an Alaskan winter. They trap the many fur-bearing animals, hunt the big game, camp with the Indians, do dog-driving, snow-shoeing, etc. With the coming of spring they descend one of the wilderness rivers on a raft and at the eleventh hour, after being wrecked in a dangerous canyon, they discover a fabulous quartz lode, and succeed in reaching the sea coast. G.P. Putnam's Sons New York London 
34229	----	STEEL TRAPS. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE TRAPS--ALL SIZES.] STEEL TRAPS. Describes the Various Makes and Tells How to Use Them--Also Chapters on Care of Pelts, Etc. BY A. R. HARDING. PUBLISHED BY A. R. HARDING PUBLISHING CO. COLUMBUS, OHIO Copyright 1907 By A. R. Harding. CONTENTS. I. Sewell Newhouse II. Well Made Traps III. A Few Failures IV. Some European Traps V. Proper Sizes VI. Newhouse Traps VII. Double and Webbed Jaw Traps VIII. Victor and Hawley & Norton Traps IX. Jump Traps X. Tree Traps XI. Stop Thief Traps XII. Wide Spreading Jaws XIII. Caring For Traps XIV. Marking Traps XV. How to Fasten XVI. How to Set XVII. Where to Set XVIII. Looking at Traps XIX. Mysteriously Sprung Traps XX. Good Dens XXI. The Proper Bait XXII. Scent and Decoys XXIII. Human Scent and Sign XXIV. Hints on Fall Trapping XXV. Land Trapping XXVI. Water Trapping XXVII. When to Trap XXVIII. Some Deep Water Sets XXIX. Skinning and Stretching XXX. Handling and Grading XXXI. From Animal to Market XXXII. Miscellaneous Information LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Newhouse Traps--All Sizes Mr. Sewell Newhouse The First Shop Old Newhouse Trap A Well Made Trap Limb Growing Thru Jaws "Bob Tail" Trap Defective Pan Bearing The All Steel The Modified All Steel Poor Setting Device Double Jaw Without Dog The Duplex The "No Cross" German Fox Trap English Rabbit Trap Awaiting The Trapper Wisconsin Trapper, Furs and Traps Mink, Trapped Under An Old Root No. 0 Newhouse Trap No. 1 Newhouse Trap No. 1 1/2 or Mink Trap No. 2 or Fox Trap No. 3 or Otter Trap No. 4 or Wolf Trap No. 2 1/2 or Otter Trap With Teeth No. 3 1/2 or Extra Strong Otter Trap No. 21 1/2 Without Teeth Offset Jaw Beaver Trap Detachable Clutch Trap Newhouse Special Wolf Trap Small Bear Trap Small Bear Trap With Offset Jaws Standard Bear Trap Regular Bear Trap With Offset Jaws Grizzly Bear Trap Bear Trap Chain Clevis Steel Trap Setting Clamp No. 81 or Webbed Jaw Trap No. 91 or Double Jaw Trap A Morning Catch of Skunk No. 1 Victor Trap No. 4 Victor Trap No. 1 Oneida Jump No. 4 Oneida Jump A "Jump" Trap Trapper The Tree Trap Tree Trap Set and Animal Approaching Animal Killed in Tree Trap Stop Thief Trap Method of Setting Stop Thief Trap Trapper's Cabin and Pack Horses Trapper Making Bear Set Washing and Greasing Traps Putting the Traps in Order Traps and Trapper Marked and Ready to Set The Sliding Pole A Staple Fastening Shallow Water Set Hole Set Before Covering Another Hole Set Before Covering Hole Set After Covering Wrong Position Set The Three Log Set Marten Shelf Set Big Game Set Ring or Loop Fastening Caught Within the Limits of Chicago Fox, Wolf or Coyote Trail Fox, Wolf or Coyote on the Run Muskrat Tracks Mink and Opossum Tracks Wisconsin Trapper--Knows Where to Set Profitable Day's Catch Snowshoeing Over the Trapping Line Once Over the Line--White Weasel Caught Just Before a Cold Snap Bait Stealer--Bird Northern Trapper With Pack Basket Some Northern Furs Nebraska Trapper's One Night Catch Night's Catch by Colorado Trapper Both Trappers--Father and Daughter Part of Connecticut Trapper's Catch Eastern Trapper's Catch Caught Where Scent Is Much Used Young Trappers Discussing Scent Teaching The Boy Art Of Trapping Trapper's Home In Colorado A Few Days' Catch The Inside of Northern Trapper's Cabin Coyote Trapping on the Cattle Ranches Eastern Mink--November Caught Muskrat House Wolf Caught at "Bank Set" Lynx Caught in Steel Trap Marten Caught in Shelf Set Shelf Set and Fastening Squirrel Caught on Stump Raccoon Caught in Oneida Jump Red Fox Caught at Dry Land Set Opossum Caught in No. 1 Newhouse Black Skunk in No. 1 1/2 Victor Baited and Caught at Cubby Set There To Stay-In A Newhouse Mountain Lion Securely Caught Beaver, Trap and Trapper Large Otter Caught in No. 3 Newhouse Muskrat Caught in Double Jaw A Morning's Catch of Rats The Black Water Marsh Just After the Season Opens Deep Water Set Trap Fastening Skinning a Bob Cat Single and Three Board Stretcher Some Stretching Patterns Dakota Trapper's Method Holder For Skinning Wire Coon Method Wire and Twig Coon Method Size of Stretching Boards Pole Stretchers Fleshing Board Stretching Frame Skin on Stretcher Hoop Stretcher The Home Shanty A Line Shanty [Illustration: A. R. Harding.] INTRODUCTION. To those that have followed the setting of Steel Traps there is a fascination or "fever" which comes over them every fall about the time of the first frosts. The only remedy seems to be a few weeks on the trap line. While some look upon trapping as an unprofitable business, yet the number is becoming rapidly less, for more and more people are yearly deriving pleasure, profit and health from out-door life such as trapping, hunting, etc. There are thousands of trappers scattered over America who are reaping a harvest of fur each year from their Steel Traps valued at hundreds of dollars in addition to the healthful sport they enjoy. In some parts of Canada and the Northwest a trapper in a year catches fur the value of which together with the bounty brings him $1,000.00 to $2,000.00. It is said on pretty good authority that a trapper in British Columbia a few years ago caught upwards of $6,000 worth of fur, principally marten, in one season. There are many thousands of trappers scattered from the Gulf of Mexico to the Arctic Ocean and from the Pacific to the Atlantic that make hundreds of dollars each year with Steel Traps. There is also a vast number who trap only a few weeks each season. This includes boys and farmers after the busy season. The actual number engaged in trapping is not known. Neither is the actual value of the raw fur catch, but it is thought to exceed $10,000,000 yearly. Is it any wonder then that so many want to know more about Steel Traps and Trapping? Considerable of the information herein in regard to traps, scent, decoy, etc., is gathered from old and experienced trappers from all parts of America as well as from the great trap manufacturers, Oneida Community Ltd., so that readers can rely upon the information imparted in this book as being trustworthy. Some books, purporting to be of value to hunters and trappers, are written by men who have never followed a line of traps or been in close touch with trappers. The author of this work has been engaged for many years in trapping and collecting furs and has come into close contact with many of the leading trappers of the country. Steel Traps are far superior to Snares or Deadfalls from the fact that they can be used for both land and water trapping while Snares and Deadfalls are adapted to Land Trapping only. A. R. Harding. CHAPTER I. SEWELL NEWHOUSE. Mr. Sewell Newhouse, the inventor of the Newhouse Trap grew up surrounded by the Iroquois Indians of the Oneida Tribe; that tribe which alone of all the Red men cast in their lot with the Americans in our great struggle for liberty. [Illustration: MR. SEWELL NEWHOUSE.] At an early age he learned the gunsmith's trade. In those days guns were all made by hand, and in small shops. Mr. Newhouse soon became very skillful both in making and shooting the rifle. At that time "Turkey Shoots" were very popular, and Mr. Newhouse was always sure of his bird at sixty to eighty rods. It was a puzzle to many of the old hands how he managed to shoot so accurately, even when the wind was blowing "half a gale" till it was finally discovered that he had fitted his rifle with an adjustable wind sight. This was one of his early inventions that has now come into common use in target shooting. The Indians were very fond of shooting at a mark both with the rifle and the bow and arrow, but they would seldom try conclusions with "Sewell"--as they all called him--for he could always out shoot them with the rifle, and very few of the tribe were as skillful as he with the bow and arrow. In wrestling too, a favorite game of the day, Mr. Newhouse was more than a match for the best men of his time both white and red. Some time before the year 1840, Mr. Newhouse undertook the manufacture of traps and so popular had his traps become that in 1842 they were well known to all the tribes of the state, so that about this year, when a large part of the Oneidas moved to Green Bay, Wisconsin Territory, an essential part of this outfit was a stock of Newhouse's traps. Thus their fame spread to the West. It is related that a delegation of chiefs from one of the Algonquin tribes of the Great Lake region once called at Mr. Newhouse's Shop. They had used some traps from a rival manufacturer but were much disgusted with them for in the intense cold of their country the springs would break. "As breaks the pipe of peace in war time." They looked over his stock of Traps, pressed down the springs with their moccasined feet, grunted and shook their heads in disapproval. Then Sewell went out to the frozen creek nearby, the savages watching in silence. He chopped out a huge piece of ice, and bringing it to the shop broke it into pieces which he threw into a large tub of water, then setting half a dozen of the Traps he plunged them into the water, and in sight of the astonished and pleased Red Men he sprung them all off. This severe test was enough for the visitors, and at his own price Mr. Newhouse sold them his entire stock of traps. The affair greatly pleased the neighboring Oneidas for well they knew when their "Sewell" made and tempered a trap spring by his secret and "magical" process it would stand up to its work under any and all circumstances. [Illustration: THE FIRST SHOP.] Early in the fifties Mr. Newhouse removed from his home at The Oneida Castle up the Valley to a spot now known as Kenwood. Here close by the bank of the rushing Oneida he established himself in a little smithey and began to make his famous traps on a larger scale. He was soon after assisted by some of the mechanics of the Oneida Association--as the old Oneida Community was then called--of which Mr. Newhouse had become a member. In a few years it became evident from the increasing demand that the business must be enlarged and a small factory was built for the purpose. Still the demand continued to increase as the Community began to send out an agent to solicit orders in the West. The great Hudson Bay Company sent in some large orders a custom by the way, which they have continued annually from that early time until the present day. More shops were erected, water power and special machinery were introduced but still the demand outgrew the supply, till finally the Community was obliged to build on a much larger scale at the present site of its factory, where the waters of Sconondoa Creek furnished for a long time ample power for the business. Here Mr. Newhouse for many years after he ceased to work at the bench and forge, spent his time in perfecting the manufacture and in the general oversight and inspection of the work. With the eye of a lynx he was ever alert to see that no trap bearing his name went out of the factory except in perfect condition. Here before he left this world for his long, long rest he carefully educated and trained a number of men to continue the business with the same painstaking spirit he had so long maintained. The Trap illustrated here is one of the earliest made by S. Newhouse after the business was established in the Oneida Community Shops about the year 1853. [Illustration: OLD NEWHOUSE TRAP.] Every piece was hand forged from wrought iron or steel. It was roughly but strongly made and has endured for over half a century. This trap belonged to one of the pioneers of Wisconsin who had used it for many years. It is still in good working order, the spring being as lively as on the day Mr. Newhouse so carefully and skillfully forged and tempered it. CHAPTER II. WELL MADE TRAPS. Among the first requisites and of the utmost importance to successful trapping is the possession of an outfit of _well made Steel Traps_. That the young trappers may understand what are the requisites of a good trap we will describe in detail one that has held its own in the estimation of the professional trappers for sixty years, and then we will endeavor to point out wherein the many so-called "improvements," that have been put on the market, have uniformly failed of success. What the main spring is to a watch, a trap spring is to a trap, and unless the spring is made of a properly compounded steel and is of the right form and proportion and correctly tempered it will surely fail and make the whole trap worse than useless. Certain mixtures of pig iron are used in making spring steel and if these mixtures are varied from in any particular or if the steel has a surplus of carbon, or is deficient in that element, it will not take a proper temper and consequently is of no value. A proper manipulation in the rolling mill is also necessary, or the steel may be entirely ruined in rolling. A good spring when set should show a nearly uniform curve throughout. This indicates that it is properly tapered so as to bring a uniform strain on the steel. The lasting qualities of a spring are greatly dependent on the correctness of this point. [Illustration: A WELL MADE TRAP.] The "bows" or holes in the spring must be of a proportion to properly fit the jaws and have such a "twist" as will allow them to lie flat when set, and the temper must be so moderated as not to be brittle or "high", otherwise they may break if sprung without anything between the jaws. For it is well known that it is a much harder strain on any trap to be sprung thus than to snap on to the leg of an animal. Another very important thing is to have the strength of the spring proportioned to the size of the trap, for an excessively stiff spring is more apt to break the leg bone of the animal and increase the liability of "legging" as the trappers call it, while a very weak spring may allow a vigorous animal to draw its foot out, especially if caught low down. And last but more important than anything else, the spring must have just the right temper, for a bad tempered trap spring is like a bad tempered wife, a worse than useless encumbrance. And do not let the tyro imagine that it is easy to temper a trap spring, for it requires a long experience and very expensive and carefully studied conditions and apparatus to produce anything like uniform results. Few persons realize the unusually trying conditions under which a trap spring has to do its work, and it is safe to say that no mechanical contrivance performs its functions with greater precision than a well made and tempered trap spring. A No. 1 spring weighs less than three ounces and will exert a force of between 70 and 80 lbs., and one of these has been known to remain under strain for over thirty years and then spring as promptly as though just set. The jaw of a trap should have a good wide bearing surface, otherwise it will be apt to break the animal's leg bone, a calamity always to be avoided, especially in dry land trapping, for as before remarked "legging" is thus likely to follow. Anything like a sharp cutting edge or a saw tooth is especially objectionable, for our object in catching an animal is to obtain its fur and not to amputate its limbs. As a prevention of "legging" the Nos. 81, 91, 91 1/2 traps, described elsewhere, are especially designed. The pintle or end bearings of the jaws should fit loosely in the holes to allow for rusting and a little freezing, and there should also be a slight end play for the same reason. The weight and strength of a jaw should be sufficient to prevent it from being sprung or bent enough to throw it out of its bearing when it is set or when sprung by the animal. Much diversity of opinion obtains regarding the proportionate size of the pan or treadle. Some trappers like a large pan similar to that used in the Jump trap, but it is safe to say that the greater majority, especially among the old and experienced trappers, prefer the smaller sizes, and for obvious reasons. When an animal steps on a small pan he is caught to stay, but with a large one he may be "nipped" or his foot may be thrown out altogether. At any rate his education has been immensely advanced and it will take a trapper with a "long head" to get him into a trap next time. The pan should fit loosely in its bearing for as is well known, rusting increases the size of a piece of iron and as there are four surfaces to rust in a pan bearing, ample room must be left. [Illustration: LIMB GROWING THRU JAWS. This trap was made about 1875 and no part had given way from the tremendous pressure. Surely a good Newhouse.] The dog or latch should be thick and narrow rather than wide, as presenting less surface for the animal to step on. It should be curved and pointed in such a way as to hold up the pan but so as to "go off" "easy" or "hard" in proportion to the size of the animal trapped for. This is a nice point for each trapper to decide for himself and it is this susceptibility to adjustment by curving or straightening the dog that makes this old "trigger arrangement" superior to any other that has been invented. Of course, the cross and bottom pieces must be made in proportion to the other parts of the trap and the experienced trapper or inspector knows how to so bend them as to make them conform correctly therewith. The chain should be strong enough to hold any animal for which the trap is designed. It goes without saying that a good swivel is indispensable, as well as a reliable ring and wedge for fastening, and the "S" Hook sometimes furnished will be found very convenient as a means for attaching the trap to a drag. CHAPTER III. A FEW FAILURES. We present herewith a few photos taken from a collection of experimental traps and will endeavor to point out wherein these failed to prove themselves of practical value. [Illustration: BOB TAIL TRAP.] This trap was sometimes called the "Bob Tail" on account of its lack of a dog, and this feature was thought to be a valuable one as there was nothing to throw the animal's foot out, but it was found to be deficient in that it was not sensitive enough and it lacked any adjustability in its setting device. [Illustration: DEFECTIVE PAN BEARING.] This model was put on the market and sold for some time and seemed to be a very good trap. It was discovered, however, that the bearing of the pan was too low down for a delicate set and also sometimes caused trouble by freezing in mud. [Illustration: THE ALL STEEL.] This trap was at one time thought to be good and was tried by many trappers. It was found, however, to be very faulty in many respects. The bearing of the pan lay flat in the mud and would freeze. The setting device lacked any kind of adjustability and might either go off so hard that nothing could spring it or so easily that it would not stay set at all. The jaws which were made of thin sheet steel were not durable. [Illustration: THE MODIFIED ALL STEEL.] In this trap the method of attaching the pan was changed and the jaws were rendered more durable, but as the holding edges were made much thinner they were more liable to cut the animal's legs and on the whole the trap was not improved. [Illustration: POOR SETTING DEVICE.] This trap was invented to do away with the throwing out motion of the dog. It accomplished it, however, at such a sacrifice of other valuable features as to render it a useless invention. Its pan like others mentioned was liable to freeze up and it also lacked in easy adjustability and sensitiveness. Few of them were sold as they did not meet the approval of trappers of experience. [Illustration: DOUBLE JAW WITHOUT DOG.] A Double Jaw Trap was made without a dog as shown by the setting device, although ingenious in construction, was not sensitive. The holding power of the double jaw was good, especially in a dry land set, as all know who have tried the Newhouse No. 91 or 91 1/2. [Illustration: THE DUPLEX.] This trap was designed by a man who thought it desirable to fasten the bait to the pan. Only a novice at trapping would think of doing such a thing as that, as drawing the animal's attention to the trap is sure to excite his suspicion and to catch him by the head is not desirable, even if possible. A common trap is quite certain to only nip him and slip off. The trap as will be seen could be used also like a common one, but presented a very awkward appearance. A few experienced trappers gave it a trial but none of them seemed to favor it. [Illustration: THE NO CROSS.] This style was never put on the market. There have been invented quite a number of traps that have no cross piece but we do not know that any of them have been sold. CHAPTER IV. SOME EUROPEAN TRAPS. German Fox Trap. The cut below represents a German Trap, as made at the present time, and there are several German makers of similar traps. They are mostly hand made and vary slightly in style of construction from one another. The sizes cover all the different fur-bearing animals, but the traps are clumsily made and much more expensive than those of American Manufacture. [Illustration: GERMAN FOX TRAP.] It will be observed that the Pan is very large, in fact, it so nearly fills the space between the jaws, that there is quite a good chance that an animal would be thrown clear of the jaws when springing it. The setting devise has no delicacy of adjustment and the fulcrum of the pan is so low down it would be very likely to freeze solid in the mud. These traps are all provided with many large sharp teeth, and if the animal is caught high up they may do great injury to a valuable pelt. English Rabbit Trap. This remarkably clumsy looking concern is made in England and is used mostly in Australia and New Zealand for catching rabbits, which have become such a pest in those far away "Islands of the Sea." [Illustration: ENGLISH RABBIT TRAP.] The Australian rabbit trappers are mostly of English descent and like their forefathers are very conservative in their ideas, so in spite of its many defects, they stick to the use of this antiquated machine. Notice the size of the pan almost filling the opening in the jaw, width of the dog both tending to throw out the animal's foot. The sharp toothed jaws with thin cutting edges so apt to break the bone and help the rabbit to free itself. Note also the short half spring which the trappers say will not endure more than one or two years use and which is stationary and sets high up, thus making it hard to conceal. That there is need of something better than this to keep down these pests, may be believed, for it is stated that in spite of the fact that over two million dollars worth of their pelts and flesh are shipped to Europe annually, they are still on the increase. They have lately made their appearance in regions hitherto free from them. Owing to the enormous fecundity, they soon take nearly complete possession of a place as it is calculated that one pair may increase to about two million in a couple of years. Until the trappers adopt some more efficient trap it is difficult to see how they are to make much headway against this scourge of the land. CHAPTER V. PROPER SIZES. Trappers have done much, by pushing into the wilderness after fur-bearing animals and game, to advance civilization. Had the slower pursuits of logging, farming, etc., been depended upon the United States and Canada today would not be nearly so far advanced as they are. While in sections, the larger game is gone yet there is in parts of the North, West and South, much good trapping territory that will pay the hardy trapper for years to come. Even in the more thickly settled districts, trapping can be made a good paying business if the correct sizes are used and trappers pay attention to the proper season to trap. It seems that red fox, skunk and muskrat remain about as numerous in most sections as ever. In fact, the red fox in certain sections has only made its appearance of late years--since the country has become more thickly settled. Trappers in most sections can rest assured that they will have game to trap for years to come. In the rapid development of the country steel traps have played a wonderful part. They have subdued the monster bear and have caught millions of the small fur-bearing animals, adding largely to the annual income of the trapper. Steel traps have been in use for more than one hundred years but for many years after invented they were so expensive that they were not generally used. [Illustration: AWAITING THE TRAPPER.] Of late years they have become cheaper, owing to the increased facilities of those great trap manufacturers, the Oneida Community, who are always looking to trappers' interest by adding new and improved methods of manufacture as well as new traps to the extensive line already manufactured so that now their use has become general; in fact, the price is now so reasonable that the trapper, on his first expedition, can have a full supply. The professional trapper, who in the North, spends from seven to nine months in the woods has a supply of these traps, ranging from the smallest to the largest. His needs are such too that all of them are in use during the trapping season. A trapper can use from 50 to 250 traps. Trappers, as a rule, know what game they are going to trap and consequently the number of each kind or size required. If he is after bear, otter or beaver, etc., he can not use and tend as many as if he were trapping smaller game, such as skunk, mink, opossum, raccoon and muskrat. Traps are made in various sizes. The smallest, No. 0, is used for catching rats principally, while the largest, No. 6, is for the grizzly bear. Other sizes and the game to which they are adapted are: No. 1, known as the muskrat trap, but will hold mink, skunk, marten, etc. The jaws spread 4 inches. No. 81, size of No. 1 with web jaws for muskrat, mink and skunk. No. 91, size No. 1 with double jaws for muskrat and skunk. No. 1 1/2 mink rat, but will hold stronger game. The jaws spread 4 7/8 inches. No. 91 1/2, size of No. 1 1/2 with double jaws for mink and skunk. No. 2 fox trap, also used for coon. No. 2 1/2 otter with teeth; No. 24 1/2 same as No. 2 1/2 without teeth; No. 3 for otter and coyote; No. 3 1/2 extra large single spring otter with teeth; No. 31 1/2 same as No. 3 1/2 without teeth; No. 23 otter with clutch; No. 4 wolf and beaver; No. 14 beaver with offset jaw and teeth; No. 24 beaver with clutch; No. 4 1/2 timber wolves and mountain lion; No. 50 small bear; No. 150 small bear with offset jaw; No. 5 black bear; No. 6 grizzly bear. These are the well known Newhouse brand being by far the best trap made. This brand is put out in twenty-five different sizes. The weight per dozen of Newhouse traps given below will give a better idea of the relative sizes of these traps: No. 0 weighs 6 1/2 pounds; No. 1, 9 1/4 pounds; No. 1 1/2, 13 pounds; No. 2, 17 pounds; No. 3, 23 pounds; No. 4, 33 pounds; No. 2 1/2, 23 3/4 pounds; No. 4 1/2, 98 pounds; No. 50, 132 pounds; No. 5, 135 pounds; No. 6, 504 pounds. A single trap of the No. 6 weighs 42 pounds and it can be readily seen that they are very strong. The Newhouse is the strongest trap made and in fact the best for all fur-bearing animals. A No. 1 Newhouse is equal in holding power to a No. 1 1/2 of other brands. [Illustration: WISCONSIN TRAPPER, FURS AND TRAPS.] The following letters, from trappers of experience will be found of interest as bearing on the subject of proper sizes: "In buying your traps, do not get too large a trap for the animal you wish to catch. I know an old trapper that has trapped for forty years and all he uses for muskrat is a No. 0 Newhouse trap." "A rat does not gnaw the foot off as many trappers will tell you, but the forefoot is very tender and as a rat always struggles very hard when caught, it does not take very long to twist the foot off if the trap is not set so the rat will drown. Different trappers have different ways of fastening the traps when trapping for rats." "I use a No. 1 Newhouse trap for mink and a No. 1 1/2 for skunk. I notice that the Newhouse people have a new trap called the "Webbed Jaw Trap". I think this an excellent trap to use in very cold weather." "Yes, these otter traps are quite heavy, No. 3 1/2 Newhouse, but are sure to hold," writes a New England trapper who is being accompanied by a young trapper. "You asked me what the raise plate was for; it is for the otter to hit as he passes over, as you see he is very short legged, and the plate sets higher than the teeth on jaws of trap, and it will answer other purposes, as you will see when you set them. These otter and bear traps are alright and the animal that steps on the pan will stay or leave a foot. We have 9 otter and 4 bear traps. Let us look at fox traps. We have 25 "jumpers", No. 2 1/2; these are right for dry sets. Here are 25 No. 3 Newhouse for water sets. No. 2 Newhouse is just right for coon and fisher." Trappers in stating the size traps that they use for a certain animal show quite a difference. Some use a No. 1 Newhouse for coon while others use the No. 2 and as this is a double spring, the holding power is fully three times as much as the No. 1. In the Northern states where the coon grows much larger than in the South and Southwest, the No. 2 Newhouse is the trap. In the South the No. 1 1/2 Newhouse is a good mink trap as is also the No. 1 1/2 Victor and No. 2 Oneida Jump. The proper size trap to use for a certain animal, varies under different conditions. If the trapper is reasonably certain that no other species of animal than the one trapped for frequents the place then the best size for the animal being set for is the trap to use. On the other hand, should the trapper have out some traps for skunk, which need not be larger than No. 1 of the best or Newhouse variety, and any of the dens are visited by fox a larger trap should be used. If trapping for rats and you come to "rat signs" and also where there are coon and mink signs, a trap large enough to hold either should be set. [Illustration: MINK, TRAPPED UNDER AN OLD ROOT.] If blind or trail sets are made, it is well to have the trap sufficiently strong for the largest animal using it. Often different animals use the same trail or path leading from one den to another or to a log across a stream, etc. Elsewhere a complete description of the various makes and sizes of traps to use is given and also full instructions about setting, fastening, etc. This embraces the view of the manufacture, the trapper and of the author who has had years of experience and should be of great value to inexperienced users of Steel Traps. CHAPTER VI. NEWHOUSE TRAPS. In or about 1823 the first Newhouse traps were made. At that early date only a few of the smaller sizes were manufactured but these have been added to until now the famous Newhouse trap is manufactured in twenty-five different sizes. The smallest, No. 0, for rats and the largest, No. 6, for grizzly bear. These with the various intermediate sizes are adapted to catching all varieties of the fur-bearing and game animals of the world. In fact, it is said that the No. 6 will hold any living animal excepting the elephant. Under this heading the various makes of this trap are described; excepting the Double and Webbed Jaw, which are described in another chapter. Considerable of the description as given here is from the trap catalog of the Oneida Community, Oneida, N. Y., manufacturers of the Newhouse trap. For we believe that inasmuch as they have for more than half a century manufactured traps (during which time they have kept up a large correspondence with trappers in all parts of North America) much weight should be given their views. [Illustration: NO. 0, NEWHOUSE TRAP.] This, the No. 0, is the smallest size made. Spread of Jaws, 3 1/2 inches. It is used largely for catching gophers and house rats. It has a sharp grip and will hold larger game, but should not be overtaxed. [Illustration: NO. 1, NEWHOUSE TRAP.] This, the No. 1, has a spread of jaws of 4 inches. This trap is used for catching muskrat and other small animals and sold in greater numbers than any other size. Its use is well understood by professional trappers and it is the most serviceable size for catching skunks, weasels, rats and such other animals as visit poultry houses and barns. This trap is one that can be used to good advantage for other small fur-bearing animals. Trappers use large numbers of this size for muskrat, mink, opossum, civet and marten. Fox, coon, lynx and wild cat are often caught in this trap but we do not advise its use for these large animals. [Illustration: NO. 1 1/2, OR MINK TRAP.] This trap, No. 1 1/2, has a spread of jaws of 4 7/8 inches. This size is called the "Mink Trap" but it is, however, suitable for catching woodchucks, skunks, coon, etc. Professional trappers often use it for catching foxes. It is very convenient in form and is strong and reliable. In some states where skunks grow very large, such as in parts of Nebraska, Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota and the Dakotas, as well as other Northwestern sections this trap is much used. One advantage in using a trap of this size for mink is that they are caught high up and if by one of the front legs they are pretty sure to be dead before the arrival of the trapper. If used for mink at a water set, the animal generally soon drowns. [Illustration: NO. 2, OR FOX TRAP.] This trap, the No. 2, has a spread of jaws of 4 7/8 inches, being the same as No. 1 /2, but having two springs, it is, of course, much stronger. This size is commonly known as the "Fox Trap." This trap is often used for taking badger, fisher and coyote. Trappers sometimes remove one spring and use it for large coon, woodchuck and even for fox as some think with two springs the trap is too strong. [Illustration: NO. 3, OR OTTER TRAP.] This, the No. 3, has a spread of jaws of 5 1/2 inches. It is designated as the "Otter Trap." It is a very powerful trap and will hold almost any game smaller than a bear. This trap is used for taking beaver and also to some extent for small wolves and coyotes. [Illustration: NO. 4, OR WOLF TRAP.] This, the No. 4, has a spread of jaws of 6 1/2 inches. This is the regular form of Wolf Trap. It is longer than the No. 3 and has one inch greater spread of jaws. It is a favorite with those who trap and hunt for a living in the Northwest and Canada. It is extensively used for trapping the wolves and coyotes in the western stock raising regions. [Illustration: NO. 2 1/2, OR OTTER TRAP WITH TEETH.] This, the No. 2 1/2, has a spread of jaws of 6 1/2 inches. This is a single spring trap as shown. In some localities the otter grows to an unusual size, with great proportional strength, so that the manufacturers have been led to produce an especially large and strong pattern. The parts are heavier than the No. 3, the spread of jaws is greater and the spring stiffer. The jaws are equipped with teeth to keep the otter from getting free when once caught. The pan is also furnished with a raised plate which can be taken off if desired. [Illustration: NO. 3 1/2, OR EXTRA STRONG OTTER TRAP.] This, the No. 3 1/2, has a spread of jaws of 5 inches. This trap is for otter, but is used more especially for catching them on their "slides." For this purpose a thin raised plate of steel is adjusted to the pan so that when the trap is set the plate will be a trifle higher than the teeth on the jaws. The spring is very powerful, being the same as used on the No. 4 Newhouse Trap. If desired, the raised plate can be detached, making the trap one of general utility. [Illustration: NO. 21 1/2, WITHOUT TEETH.] Single Spring No. 21 1/2 has a spread of jaws of 5 1/4 inches. This trap is the same as No. 2 1/2 but is without teeth or Raised Plate as some trappers prefer it in this style. No. 31 1/2 Newhouse Trap is also a single spring being same as No. 3 1/2 but without Teeth or Raised Plate. Spread of jaws 6 1/2 inches. These traps, Nos. 21 1/2 and 31 1/2, are the largest smooth jaw, single spring sizes that are made. Professional trappers will find them especially valuable when on a long trapping line, as they are more compact and easier to secrete than double spring traps. The springs on these traps are made extra heavy. The No. 21 1/2 is practically a single spring No. 3 and the No. 31 1/2 a single spring No. 4. These traps are used for such animals as otter, beaver, wolf, wolverine, fisher and have been known to catch and hold Mountain Lion. [Illustration: OFFSET JAW BEAVER TRAP.] This trap is known as No. 14 and has a spread of jaws of 6 1/2 inches. This trap is the same in size as No. 4 Wolf but has heavier and stiffer springs and offset jaws, which allow the springs to raise higher when the animals leg is in the trap, and it is furnished with teeth sufficiently close to prevent the animal from pulling its foot out. The weight of this style is about 3 1/2 pounds each. [Illustration: DETACHABLE CLUTCH TRAP.] This trap is known as "Detachable Clutch Trap." The trap can be used with or without it. It is made in two sizes Nos. 23 and 24. No. 23 known as the "Otter Clutch" has a spread of jaws of 5 1/2 inches; No. 24 known as the "Beaver Clutch" has a spread of jaws of 6 1/4 inches. [Illustration: NEWHOUSE SPECIAL WOLF TRAP.] This trap is known as the No. 4 1/2 or "Newhouse Special Wolf Trap." It was put on the market to meet the demands of trappers for a new model of the Newhouse Trap especially designed for capturing the large timber wolves and mountain lions of the stock raising sections of the West. This trap has a spread of jaws of 8 inches. It is substantially made thruout and is provided with a pronged "drag," a heavy snap, an extra heavy steel swivel and a chain, five feet long, warranted to hold 2,000 pounds. This trap complete with chain and "drag" weighs about 9 pounds. [Illustration: SMALL BEAR TRAP.] This trap is known as No. 50, spread of jaws 9 inches. It is intended for catching small sized bears. In design it is exactly like the standard No. 5 Bear Trap, only that the parts are all somewhat smaller. Weight, 11 1/4 pounds each. This trap is also used for catching Mountain Lion. [Illustration: SMALL BEAR TRAP WITH OFFSET JAWS.] This trap is known as No. 150, spread of jaws, 9 inches. It is similar to No. 50, excepting that the jaws are offset, making a space five-eights inch between them. This allows the springs to come up higher when the bear's foot is in the trap and thus secure a better grip. The chance of breaking the bones in the foot are also lessened. Weight, 11 1/4 pounds each. [Illustration: STANDARD BEAR TRAP.] This trap is known as No. 5 or Black Bear. The spread of jaws is 11 3/4 inches. Weight of trap 19 pounds. It is furnished with a very heavy and strong cable chain. Bear trappers whether in the Canadian Wilds, the Swamps of the Southern States or among the Rocky or Appalachian Mountains, speak of the No. 5 as the Standard Trap. They are used principally for catching the Black Bear. [Illustration: REGULAR BEAR TRAP WITH OFFSET JAWS.] This trap is known as No. 15, spread of jaws 11 3/4 inches. To meet the views of certain trappers whose judgement is respected, the manufacturers designed a style of jaw for the No. 5 trap, making an offset of 3/4 of an inch so as to allow the springs to come up higher when the bear's leg is in the trap. This gives the spring a better grip. This trap weighs about 19 pounds. [Illustration: GRIZZLY BEAR TRAP.] This is known as the No. 6 or Grizzly Bear Trap and has a spread of jaws of 16 inches. It weighs complete, 42 pounds. This is the strongest trap made. The manufacturers say they have never heard of anything getting out of it when once caught. It is often called "the Great Bear Tamer." This trap is also used in Asia and Africa for catching lions and tigers. In fact the trap will hold any animal with the exception of the elephant and it will hold even that animal excepting possibly the larger ones. [Illustration: BEAR TRAP CHAIN CLEVIS.] This cut illustrates Bear Trap Chain Clevis and Bolt, intended as a substitute for the ring on the end of the trap chain, when desired. With this clevis a loop can be made around any small log or tree without the trouble of cutting to fit the ring. The chain is made five feet long suitable for any clog and the prices of bear traps fitted with it are the same as with the regular short chain and ring. [Illustration: STEEL TRAP SETTING CLAMP.] There is danger attached to setting the large traps when alone in addition to its being rather difficult, especially in cold weather, when the fingers are stiff. Should the trapper be in a boat the setting is still more difficult. A clamp (as shown) applied to each spring will, by a few turns of the thumb-screws, bend the springs to their places, so that the pan may be adjusted without difficulty. No. 4 clamp can be used on any trap smaller than No. 4 1/2. No. 5 and 6 are strong clamps, carefully made and especially adapted to setting the large traps Nos. 4 1/2, 50, 150, 5, 15 and 6. They do away with the inconvenience and dangerous use of levers. With clamps a trapper can easily and safely set these powerful traps. These clamps also come handy about the camp for other purposes. CHAPTER VII. DOUBLE AND WEB JAW TRAPS. No trapper should go into the woods without providing himself with an outfit of traps to meet any of the varying emergencies that are likely arise. For instance, along a deep stream it is generally easy to arrange a common trap so that by drowning the animal it will answer every purpose, but in a very small or shallow stream this is sometimes a difficult thing to accomplish. In such a case if the trapper has provided himself with a Webbed or Double Jawed Trap his chances of finding the game awaiting him on his return will be greatly increased. For a dry land set, especially on skunk, the Double Jaw will be found very effective. The fact that it catches very high up and also entirely prevents self-amputation is greatly in its favor. For foxes, which are often taken by the dry land method, the Double Jawed of a size corresponding to the regular No. 1 1/2 is getting to be a very popular trap. So, as we said before, each trapper, tho relying mainly on the old and well tried lines, should provide himself with a few of these odd styles and thus add greatly to his versatility of resources, that he may compete successfully with the ever increasing cunning of the many four-footed fur bearers of stream and forest. Trappers for years have contended that certain animals would gnaw out of traps, especially where the bone was broken by the jaws and the flesh had become numb from the pressure or from cold. It is known that skunks especially will gnaw at that portion of the foot or leg below jaws of trap. Where trappers have a long line of traps and cannot visit them every day they thus lose a number of animals. The Webbed and Double Jaw prevent the gnawing out from the fact that the animal can only gnaw to the lower jaw or web and is not able to get at the flesh between the jaws or under the web. Another animal that these traps are especially adapted for is the muskrat. This animal's legs especially the front ones, are very tender (both bone and flesh). A trap that breaks the bone, (unless the animal is soon drowned) may escape by the flesh of the leg twisting off in its endeavors to get free. Muskrats do not gnaw off their feet as some suppose. [Illustration: NO. 81, OR WEBBED JAW TRAP.] This, the Webbed Jaw, known as No. 81 has spread of Jaws of four inches. This is one of the Newhouse makes and corresponds in size to the regular No. 1 Newhouse. If trappers will observe the cross section of the jaws, as illustrated at the left, it is plain the animal can only gnaw off its leg at a point quite a distance below the meeting edges of the jaws. The flesh above the jaws as well as below will swell making it impossible for the animal to pull the leg stump out of the trap. [Illustration: NO. 91, OR DOUBLE JAW TRAP.] This, the Double Jaw, is manufactured in two sizes; namely, 91 with spread of jaws of 5 1/4 inches; No. 91 1/2 with spread of jaws of 6 1/4 inches. The No. 91 correspondent in size to the regular No. 1 Newhouse, while the No. 91 1/2 corresponds to the regular No. 1 1/2 Newhouse with the exception of the jaws. The Double Jaw traps are so constructed that they catch the animal high up on the leg. It is no uncommon occurrence for the trapper to find mink and other small animals dead when caught in this trap by the fore foot. It is supposed that the circulation of blood thus retarded stops the action of the heart. These traps are set the same as other steel traps, and directions given elsewhere apply to these as well. While the Webbed and Double Jaw traps were little known prior to 1905, trappers have been quick to see the advantage derived from using them. The Double Jaw has taken even better than the Webbed Jaw. The manufacturers had expected skunk trappers largely to be the buyers and this would include roughly speaking the section east of the Rocky Mountains, south of Manitoba and Quebec and north of the States bordering on the Gulf of Mexico. But the demand sprung up from all parts of America. This shows that trappers are finding these traps good ones for other animals than skunks and muskrats for which they were especially designed. The fact that trappers found out about these traps so quickly is due largely to that up-to-date trappers' magazine--Hunter-Trader-Trapper, published at Columbus, Ohio, and which reaches trappers in all parts of America. The Oneida Community, Ltd., Oneida, N. Y., manufacturers of these traps were and are liberal users of advertising space in the Hunter-Trader-Trapper to let trappers know of improvements in the trap line that are of value to them. [Illustration: A MORNING CATCH OF SKUNK.] If you have never tried any of the No. 81, which is the Webbed Jaw, or Nos. 91 or 91 1/2, the Double Jaw, we feel sure that you are not familiar with traps that will increase your catch. We believe that all trappers should have at least a few of these traps. CHAPTER VIII. VICTOR AND HAWLEY & NORTON TRAPS. In the Victor is a good trap considering the cheap price at which it is sold and as the manufacturers say: "Is the most popular trap in the world." While professional trappers use largely the Newhouse, yet in thickly settled sections and where trappers are constantly bothered by trap "lifters," the Victor is much used. While the trap is sold at a very low price, yet it is the best trap manufactured in the regular or long spring trap, with the exception of Newhouse, or H. & N. The Victor is manufactured in six sizes and each is adapted to the following use: No. 0, rat or gopher; No. 1, muskrat; No. 1 1/2, mink; No. 2, fox; No. 3, otter; No. 4, beaver. The Nos. 0, 1 and 1 1/2 are single spring; Nos. 2, 3 and 4, double. The illustration showing No. 1 represents also Nos. 0 and 1 1/2 as they are different only in size. The illustration showing No. 4 represents Nos. 2 and 3 also as they are different only in size. These traps are not so strong in any part as the Newhouse and trappers should bear this in mind when setting for the various animals. [Illustration: NO. 1, VICTOR TRAP.] The No. 1 1/2 known as the mink trap is also a splendid muskrat trap, having greater spread of jaws than the No. 1 and being heavier than the No. 1 is just right to catch and drown rats. [Illustration: NO. 4, VICTOR TRAP.] The Nos. 2, 3 and 4 are all double spring and made for fox, otter and beaver and while trappers catch large numbers of these animals in Victor traps, yet the more experienced ones prefer the Newhouse traps even at the advanced price. The Victor is used largely for taking the smaller fur bearers. It is sold in large quantities in all parts of the United States and Canada. The Hawley & Norton is made only in six sizes: Nos. 0, 1 and 1 1/2 single spring; Nos. 2, 3, and 4, double spring. A lighter grade of stock is used in manufacturing these traps so that they can be made somewhat cheaper than the Newhouse and altho not as strong, they are a good reliable trap. CHAPTER IX. JUMP TRAPS. While the Jump Trap has been in use in the Eastern part of the United States for upwards of fifty years, principally in the New England and Sea Coast States, the use of these traps in all parts of the country did not become general until a few years ago. The trap derives its name "Jump" from the fact that the spring is so arranged that when the trap is touched off or sprung by an animal or otherwise, it "Jumps", thus catching the animal high up on the leg. Trappers that have not used these traps express doubts of their "Jumping" and catching high on the animal's leg, but hundreds of letters received by the manufacturers from trappers and also published in the Hunter-Trader-Trapper prove that they do "Jump." The manufacturers claim these points in their favor. They are somewhat lighter than the regular form of double spring traps and the trapper going far into the woods can carry a greater number; they set much flatter; can be set in smaller space; springs are out of the way as no spring extends beyond the jaws; pans are large so that no animal can step between the jaws without springing the trap. The traps are set much the same as other steel traps. The B. & L. trap is manufactured in six sizes, viz; Nos. 0, 1 and 2, single spring; Nos. 2 1/2, 3 and 4 double spring. Some years ago the Oneida Community, Ltd., Oneida, N. Y., began manufacturing a "Jump" trap which is known as the "Oneida Jump". This trap has a new style of jaws. The old style was made of thin steel whereas these have full, wide-faced jaws, so that the chances of breaking the bone in the leg are lessened. This trap has a chain attachment, fastening at the end of the jaw opposite the spring, so that when the animal is caught and struggles to get free the foot is only gripped the tighter. The trapper, however, can fasten the chain on the end of the crossbar, opposite dog, as there is a hole drilled there for that purpose. [Illustration: NO. 1, ONEIDA JUMP.] The "Oneida Jump" is manufactured in nine sizes. This illustration shows a No. 1. It is a single spring as are also No. 0 and 2; the other sizes have double springs. [Illustration: NO. 4, ONEDIA JUMP.] These sizes, No. 0 to No. 4, are adapted to catching the various animals with the exception of timber wolves and bears, altho the larger sizes are used for taking the coyote and small wolf. The sizes adapted for the various animals are: No. 0, rat and gopher; No. 1, muskrat; No. 2, mink; No. 2 1/2, coon or skunk; No. 12 1/2, same as 2 1/2, with teeth; No. 3, fox or otter; No. 13, same as No. 3, with teeth; No. 4, otter or wild cat; No. 14, same as No. 4, with teeth. The No. 2 is a splendid mink trap from the fact that it takes little room and can be set in many places where the end spring cannot be placed to advantage. The No. 2 for mink and the No. 2 1/2 for coon are much used at log sets as they lie so flat that but little cutting is required. The No. 2 is also coming into use as a marten trap especially for log and notched tree sets. The arrangement of the springs is such that the ends only extend about an inch beyond the jaws so that the double spring sizes even, do not take nearly as much room to set as the regular or end spring trap. It makes no difference what kind of a set is to be made--water, land or snow, the fact that this make of trap takes but little room and lies very flat, should not be lost sight of. This sometimes is quite an advantage. [Illustration: A JUMP TRAP TRAPPER.] The most successful trappers are those who use some of the various styles of traps for there are certain sets where each can be used to the best advantage. The "Jump Traps" are moderate priced and being light and strong for their size, trappers are taking to them, finding that for certain sets they have no equal. No trapper should start out for the season without some "Jumps." CHAPTER X. TREE TRAPS. Experienced trappers fully appreciate the importance of having a trap that when the animal is caught, it is caught to stay, and instantly killed instead of being held a captive by the foot or leg. Many fully realize the importance of a humane trap that will accomplish this, and have found many good points in the Tree Trap. Most practical trappers know that one of the most successful ways to set steel traps for many kinds of animals, is to suspend the bait about two feet over the trap, compelling the animal to step on the pan of the trap in order to get at it. This may be very good, but in case of a heavy snow fall, a set of this kind means that your trap is snowed under, and you not only experience great difficulty in locating your trap, but often are unable to do so at all until spring, or when the snow disappears. [Illustration: THE TREE TRAP.] In order that readers may fully understand how the Tree Trap is used, two sketches are shown. One showing the trap set, with a mink approaching; the other one having caught Mr. Coon, and killed him instantly, not damaging the fur. This trap can be securely nailed to a tree, stump or stake, and should be at least two feet from the ground, though always in sight and easy to get to. In case of deep snow all you have to do is to bend the nails around, loosening the trap and renail it a few feet higher up. How to Set. If possible find a suitable tree over a den or close to a runway. Leave the trap set with the safety hook holding it (don't spring the trap unless nailed securely), place against the tree, two or three feet from the ground; mark the distance between the lower notches in the base of trap on the tree. Then drive two nails (six or eight-penny will do) leaving enough of the nail head so the two bottom notches will hook over the nail heads tightly, then drive the nails in the two upper notches as far as they will go. This will fasten the base of the trap tightly to the tree, which is important. Next bait the hook; seeing that the bait is secure; some tie it on with a string or thread. Now release the safety hook and your trap is ready. Some trappers prefer to throw some dead grass, leaves or boughs on top of the trap, which help to conceal it, this is a good idea. A piece of a rabbit, squirrel, bird or chicken makes a splendid bait. Fish is good for mink. One great advantage of Tree Trap over many other traps is that when it catches the animal, it not only holds, but kills it. While traps should be looked after every other day in good trapping weather; with the Tree Trap twice a week will do without the game escaping, as is often the case with common steel traps, but you cannot afford to take chances. Of course, in very warm weather, traps should be looked at more frequently. On the other hand, during very severe weather, the trapper need not make the rounds more than once a week. This is important to the trapper who has a long line of traps out. Trappers should by all means have some Tree Traps among their outfit, in fact, as already mentioned, the most successful trappers have a supply of all kinds of traps. [Illustration: TREE TRAP SET AND ANIMAL APPROACHING.] [Illustration: ANIMAL KILLED IN TREE TRAP.] The Tree Trap does not weigh as much as a steel trap required to catch the same size animals, and when set secured by safety hook, they are compact; occupying very little space. These traps are made by the Animal Trap Co., Lititz, Pa., and are highly recommended for marten. Tree Traps are manufactured in four sizes adapted to catching the following animals: No. 0 the smallest size, for weasel; No. 1, for mink, marten, and civet; No. 2, for skunk and opossum; No. 3, for coon, fisher and wild cat. This trap can be used to splendid advantage during deep snows as it can easily be set against the side of a tree at any height the trapper desires, thus proving what has been said before, that the most successful trapper has some of all kinds of traps. The greatest field for the Tree Trap is the North, yet trappers in the Central and Southern States are already using them to a considerable extent for coon and opossum; also for skunk and mink. CHAPTER XI. STOP THIEF. STOP THIEF TRAPS are manufactured by the Animal Trap Co. A great deal has been said for and against this trap, but like all traps, one must know how to use them. Trappers that have taken the trouble to learn how to set them report good results. A great many that were quick to condemn them at first now praise them highly. The manufacturers say the No. 1 is for squirrels; No. 2, for mink and marten; No. 3, for skunk and opossum; No. 3 1/2 for fox and raccoon; No. 4, for wolves. But we think the larger sizes should be used for mink and skunk. In trapping for mink, fish, bird or muskrat is the best bait but a hungry mink will eat almost any kind of fresh meat. When convenient, scatter dry grass or leaves over the trap but do not cover the hole. If no hole is found, make one or two in earth or snow. Fasten the trap with a chain or piece of wire to a stake or drag of some kind, when near the water. No fastening is needed if there is no water near. Find where the raccoon, skunk, civet cat, opossum, etc., frequent and set the trap in the same way as for mink. Bait with bird, chicken and the like. Oil the working parts of trap to prevent rust. [Illustration: STOP THIEF TRAP.] The Stop Thief Trap is thought very highly of by some trappers for use in a peculiar situation and like the New Tree Trap, tho not as yet well known, it is likely to prove a very effective machine in the hands of men who know how to use it. I procure a crotched stick, writes a Pennsylvania trapper, the prongs of which are about 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 inches in diameter and of sufficient spread to fit the trap with which they are to be used. I send a drawing which will make it plainer than a page of description. The best way of setting a trap thus equipped will readily suggest itself according to the place selected. [Illustration: METHOD OF SETTING STOP THIEF TRAP.] When setting at a hole which the animal is known to be in, the wood part or crotch may be placed next the hole or ground and there will not be much of the iron of the trap exposed to the animal as it comes out. Or, if setting where the animal is expected to come and enter the hole, the trap would be best placed with the wood out. With the latter set one would have to be careful to place the trap so that nothing would interfere with the working. Traps thus rigged will, of course, weigh more than the bare trap and are more bulky and cumbersome, but where one is trapping in a timbered country the crotch need not be cut until upon the ground where it is to be used, or if in a section where timber is scarce, could be placed beforehand where it is to be used, just as one would do with stakes, rocks, drags, or clogs, spring poles and the like, when setting steel jaw traps. Dry timber could be used instead of green which would lighten materially. However, I prefer the heavier, as I think it holds the trap more firmly in place, thus requiring less fastening. Small wire is best to fasten the trap to the crotch as mice and squirrels will cut twine. While I feel that the Stop Thief will never begin to equal any steel jaw trap, I think there are times when it may be used to advantage, and I expect to try mine again the coming season and expect to do better with them than last season. CHAPTER XII. WIDE SPREADING JAWS. Occasionally I see in H-T-T, trappers advocating a large spreading trap, writes an experienced Canadian trapper, and some even go so far as to invite the trap manufacturers to make still wider ones than are now on the market. My experience in trapping, which was varied and extended over a number of years, is that it's a mistake to have a trap that catches the animals too high up. The best and most enduring hold a trap can have on an animal is the paw or just above where it joins the bottom of the leg. I have found this with beaver, foxes, marten, lynx, bear, and in fact all animals I have caught. Just above and the paw itself is a mass of sinews and muscle enveloped with a stronger skin than any part of the leg, and therefore must give more resistance. I have found a fox that was caught in a No. 2 Newhouse after three nights' struggle as secure as if newly seized. The jaws having closed securely across the thick part of the forepaw. [Illustration: TRAPPER'S CABIN AND PACK HORSES.] Again from a shortness of a proper sized trap I once set a No. 4, for a fox. The fox was caught between midnight and daylight, and when I visited the trap at the latter limit (six o'clock), it was high time, for another half hour of struggling and the fox would have been clear and away. The jaws had caught him half way up the foreleg and snapped the bone like a pipe shank. With his twisting and leaping there only remained a strip of skin and one tendon that kept him prisoner. For mink I have found a No. 0 trap, if carefully set with proper precaution, is as good and lucky as a No. 1 or 1 1/2 trap, as some trappers advocate. I used a bunch on a considerable sized lake last fall. The lake had numerous small creeks and rivers falling into it. At the junction of these with the lake I set my traps. They were all No. 0 selected on account of their lightness. As there was a long carry to get to the lake from a traveled route and added to the canoe, my gun, blanket and provisions, the traps were somewhat of a consideration, and I therefore took the one of less weight. I made two visits to the lake before it froze and got twenty mink, one marten and a female fisher. When I made a water set I saw that the bank outside went down pretty bold and I always tied a stone to the trap and thus insured the animal drowning. Where I set on land without fail I attached the chain to a tossing pole, thereby preventing the fur being damaged by mice or the animal being eaten by some other. Some may question the possibility of such small traps being for any length of time in order as a water set, but I must explain. The lake was of considerable size and the season the latter part of October. Such a lake at that season of the year is not subject to any fluctuations in the height of water. I may say in conclusion about this particular sized trap that on that trapping tour I only lost one mink, I found the trap sprung with a single toe in the jaws. The trap had been a dry set one, and by reading the signs I found some snow had melted and dripped from an overhanging branch on to the junctions of the jaws. This had frozen (the trap being in the shade) and prevented its usual activity. As a consequence It only caught on as the mink was in the act of lifting his foot, so I was satisfied it was the circumstances and not the fault of the trap that caused the missing of this mink. Another undesirable point about any trap is to have the springs too powerful for its intended use. One only wants a trap's jaws to close up sudden enough and to hold what it catches secure against any possibility of the animal withdrawing its foot. Once you have this it's all that's required or necessary. A trap with springs with a strength out of reason is awkward and vexatious to open, and when the animal is caught goes on with its continued pressure until the jaws of their own action almost sever the paw or leg, and the animal with very little struggling finishing the amputation. I knew an Indian once who had a bear trap which was not much larger in spread than a No. 4 trap. An ordinary man by placing a foot on each spring could set it, and yet that trap was his most reliable one. He had others too, but he took his "Davy" on that. It acted like that celebrated motto, "What we have, we hold." This trap was made from his own directions, and he had the jaws at their inner edge three-quarters of an inch thick and bevelled off to a quarter of an inch at the outer sides. As he aptly put it--"I want the trap to hold the bear until I go there and shoot it, not to chop off its foot." Another point about a bear trap that I consider could be remedied with advantage to the trapper, is to have the ordinary chains lengthened by a few links. It is not always possible to place the drag stick close up to the open trap, but where the chain is longer no difficulty would be found. A few more links would add very little to the weight or cost. [Illustration: TRAPPER MAKING BEAR SET.] To a lone trapper setting bear traps miles away from any human beings, it's a tricky and dangerous job. I consider a man so situated should, as a precaution, carry one of those patent clamps for depressing the springs, in his pocket. I am aware some do not use them, as they consider them too slow, preferring a couple of short levers jammed under a root and pressed down with the knees while the hands open the jaws and place the trigger. Others use a piece of stout cord to tie down one spring, while with their weight on the other the jaws fall apart. But accidents will happen to the most careful persons; by some inadvertence he might get caught by the hand or thoughtlessly step into it, and if he did not perish would have considerable difficulty in getting out, while with a cool head and a clamp within reach he could promptly free himself. I knew one man who lost his life in a bear trap and another who had almost succumbed to his suffering when found and released. There are three things with a trapper's life that I was always extremely polite and careful with--a bark canoe, a bear trap, and a gun. I handled these for forty years but never fooled with them. Had the Indian mentioned used the celebrated Newhouse traps, we feel sure that he would have found no cause to complain. While to some trappers the springs may sometimes appear to be too stiff, yet the face of the jaws are wide and as the manufacturers are always in correspondence with bear and other trappers, there is no question but that they know and are now manufacturing what meets the views of the majority of trappers. We believe that of some sizes they are making the face of the jaws even wider than formerly. The Newhouse bear traps are furnished with bear chain, clevis and bolt, illustrated and described under Newhouse Traps, but briefly described here. This chain is five feet long and with clevis can be fastened around any log which the trapper will want to use. One thing must be born in mind, viz: That when traps are set, they are covered, and should severe weather follow, freezing this covering, it requires a stiff spring to throw the jaws together quickly. Our belief is that more large animals escape from traps too weak than from the too strong ones. Yet there are times, no doubt, when had the spring been weaker and the face of the jaws wider, the results would have been fully as satisfactory. CHAPTER XIII. CARING FOR TRAPS. Note that traps should be examined carefully just before being set to see if they will work properly. New traps should be thoroughly greased with almost any kind of grease that has no salt in it. Salt will rust traps. It is to guard against rust as much as anything else that you should grease your traps, for in that condition they are not so apt to give good service. If you have a supply of traps that are badly rusted, kerosene poured over them and let stand for a few hours will tend to remove the rust. After you have cleaned all of the rust off possible, grease the trap carefully and thoroughly with some good fresh grease, such as lard or the fat of some animal. Good oil will answer if you can not get the animal fat. Trappers can usually get an animal or two and fry the fat from it. This is an easy task and with this grease your traps. If this is done with old traps at the close of the season it will help preserve them. It is a good idea, also just before trapping begins. [Illustration: WASHING AND GREASING TRAPS.] With new traps it is much more important that they be greased before setting as they will badly rust if not thus treated; old traps that have been greased a number of times can be neglected rather than the new ones. If possible it is best to attend to this several days before the traps are set, so that a part of the grease will be dried in, or evaporated so that in setting there will not be so much to get on your hands, clothes, etc. In this connection it will not be amiss to say that traps should be carefully gone over before they are set, to see that every part is in working order. There may be broken links in the chain, or other defects. The swivel may be rusty and will not turn and the first animal caught is apt to break the chain. Many times have trappers gone to their traps only to find a part of the chain remaining as some animal had broken it and escaped. All traps should be very carefully gone over and mended, otherwise you may not only loose the trap but a valuable pelt as well. What is best to apply to prevent their rusting? writes a number of trappers. Almost any oil will answer, but perhaps animal fat is best and can be obtained by trappers easily. Many trappers prefer to have their traps somewhat rusty, or at least want the newness worn off. It is not a bad idea to smear traps in the blood of rabbits or birds. To clean your traps, boil them in ashes and water, rinse clean in hot water, then dip in hot water with melted beeswax floating. Raise them slowly out of this so as to coat every part. Hang up to drain and dry and your traps are ready. In what condition are your traps for beginning a vigorous campaign; have you boiled them in soft maple bark or the husks of walnuts, to stain and eliminate the coating of rust, so that they will work well and be free of the animal scent from last season? All second hand traps should have this attention before trapping is begun. New traps will not take the stain until they have been used and rusted. If it is hard for you to get soft maple bark or black walnut husks, you can get a pound of logwood chips at the drug store which will be sufficient for a five-gallon kettle of water. After a good dye is made put in what traps the liquid will cover and boil 15 or 20 minutes for each lot. If the water gets low put on a pailful or so as it boils away. If you only have a few traps use less coloring material and less water. Logwood makes a jet black. [Illustration: PUTTING THE TRAPS IN ORDER.] When the fall trapping is over, the traps will be somewhat rusty again. Not many will go to the trouble to color them again in the same season, but now that the weather is cold and the rusting process is slow and you can renovate them and lubricate in the following manner: Smear all the rusty and working parts with fresh lard; also, the chain and swivel, and then with a wire hook or iron rod hold the trap over a small fire until the grease is melted and smokes. The heat will not hurt the trap so long as you do not heat the spring too hot. When the trap is cool enough to handle, rub it well with old paper to remove loose grease and you will have a trap that will not play you false. A good greasing like this will last all winter. This article will not appeal to the many, but to the few trappers who are so situated that their mode of trapping prevents them in bringing home their traps when the season is over. A man who has a long line of traps set out is often at loss as to their disposal for the summer months. To pack out on one's back a weight of iron at a season when walking in the bush is at its worst, especially if the trapper is to return and set up the same line the next season, is a useless labor and a heart and back breaking job. [Illustration: TRAPS AND TRAPPER.] To avoid this the best way is to "cache" them in bunches were they are to be used again. This I know is a risky plan where John Sneakum prowls the bush, yet it can be done in safety if one takes proper precaution to rub out his trail. The "caching" of them is not the only question to be considered but also to leave them hidden in such a way that when next required they may be at once serviceable for immediate use. My first venture at leaving them in the bush says a Northern trapper was in this way. I began at the furthest end of my line and gathered them till I had twenty. These I tied securely together with a piece of twisted bale wire through the rings. I then stepped off the main line to a clump of evergreens and bending a sapling down bow fashion, secured the bunch to the top and let the tree fly back to its place. Regaining the main line I took a memorandum in my note book as to the cache something like the following: Cache No. 1--"Bunch of twenty No. 1 traps, left opposite rotten stump on left hand side of road in thicket of evergreens, about thirty paces away," and so on with each deposit always mentioning some land mark as a guide to my finding them the next autumn. Well, this mode was not a success. It was alright as far as the safety of the traps were concerned, but I found them in a frightful state of rust from the action of the rain and atmosphere, and it took an hour of my time at each "cache" to rub them into a semblance of cleanliness. Moreover, there was a remote possibility of a bush fire running over that territory, which, while it might not consume the traps, the action of the flames would have drawn the temper from the springs to a degree that would have made them useless. The accidental leaving of an otter trap set all summer led me to "caching" my traps under water, that is those that I could conveniently carry to a lake or river. This otter trap when I came to it the following fall was covered with a light fluffy rust the color of yellow ochre. It stained my hands like paint, but was readily washed off. I held the chain in my hand and by sousing the trap up and down several times in the water, was surprised to see the metal come as clear as when first the trap left the shop. I therefore, ever afterwards hid those traps that were near a lake or river in the water. There were traps, however, which were too far from water to be easily transported and as the tree tops were voted bad, I set to considering other modes of storing them. The atmosphere being too corroding I decided to bury them underground. The result was that the next autumn I found those that were in clay or heavy Soil came out rusty, while those in sandy soil were very little acted upon, but the best conditioned were those hidden under rotten leaves or vegetable matter, so ever afterwards I kept my traps either in the water or hidden under the last conditions. When leaving a bunch in the water I simply tied the bunch together, went a little to one side of the direct canoe route and dropped them overboard in about three or four feet of water, being careful to have some noticeable object ashore in direct line. When next required I merely lashed a large cod hook to a short pole, fished them up, took them aboard my canoe and washed the bunch clean at a portage. In any case I do not think it is adding to the luck of a trap to have them greased and hung up in or about the house. The smell imparted to them is worse than the odor of clean iron. If I found a trap slow in snapping I usually rubbed a little odorless polish into the joints of the jaws and carried a rabbit's foot to use as a brush. CHAPTER XIV. MARKING TRAPS. Every trapper, like all other classes, have many things to contend with. One of the worst, perhaps, is the trap stealer, who having once found one of your traps will follow up your line and take them all. If he can not find them by your tracks, he is apt to hide close by and wait until you go the round, then follow up and take your entire outfit of traps. To be sure that they are your property you should mark each and every trap before the trapping season or just as soon as they are bought, at any rate before they are set. There are several ways to mark traps. One of the easiest and best ways is with a file. Select your mark or marks and file on each trap. Several notches filed on the under side of the trap will not injure the trap and will be a good means of identifying your property, should you ever happen upon them again. Place all the notches in the same position and at the same place on each trap and you have a good mark. The notches may be filed almost any place, excepting on the spring, and they should be filed on two or three different parts of the trap. Should the person who stole the traps attempt to file out the notches, you can tell from the places filed if they are your traps, as all have been marked exactly alike. [Illustration: MARKED AND READY TO SET.] The trap stealer, if he knows that they are marked with the owner's private mark, is not so apt to take them, for he knows that the owner, should he find them in his possession, can easily prove property. Whereas if there was no mark on the trap, the thief could not be convicted unless seen taking them. The thief also knows that if he is discovered, his trapping grounds will be watched. So having all traps marked in some way it lessens the chances of their being stolen as well as helps to identify them after they are taken. By all means mark all your traps--you may happen on some of them unexpectedly that have been missing for years. After you have marked a trap never trade or sell it, as you would then not be able, should you happen upon traps bearing your mark, to tell whether they had been sold or stolen. Many trappers who lose traps by "Sneakum" each year do not have them marked. Often your traps are stolen by some one in your own vicinity as they know they can set them. How about this if your traps are stamped with your own initials? The thief will know that you can identify your property, and will not be so apt to steal as he will be afraid to set them. When you mark your traps, never sell them, so that you know every trap bearing your initial is your property, making no difference where found. CHAPTER XV. HOW TO FASTEN. Before a trapper has much experience he loses much of his game, after it has been caught, by not having his traps properly fastened. Having his traps so securely staked that anything caught can get a dead pull is usually the way the trapper with little experience fails. How many of you are still driving stakes into the ground and otherwise fastening your traps so that when an animal is caught, it pulls on the chain? In trapping for muskrat, the stake may be used, but for any other animal, never. Even in the case of the muskrat the sliding pole is much better. This device is made as follows: Cut a pole or bush, say six or eight feet long, trimming off the branches so that the ring will readily slide nearly the length of the pole. On the end leave a few branches or short twigs so the ring will not slide off. The other end can be stuck into the bank or tied with the small end extending out into deep water. When a rat is caught, it makes for deep water and is drowned. If you use stakes to fasten your traps for muskrat, set them out into the water as far as possible so that your game cannot get to the land and will soon drown. [Illustration: THE SLIDING POLE.] The proper way to secure your trap, when trapping for other animals than muskrat, is to drive the staple into a small bush as shown in illustration, or the chain can be looped around the bush near the end, with a branch or two left on to keep the chain from slipping off. The size of the bush can be determined from the sized animals you are trapping. If there are no bushes convenient, a piece of fence rail or chunk will answer, altho these will not give so readily as the bush, which will move easily with each and every lunge of the animal caught so that its chances of getting out of the trap are lessened. [Illustration: A STAPLE FASTENING.] When your trap is thus fastened, the game will often get several feet or perhaps rods away from the den, but it is an easy matter to find the trap and game. If in an open field, a glance around will usually find the bush and game, while if in the woods, a trail will be left that can easily be followed. The important fact that traps thus fastened give with each and every pull and struggle of the animal should not be overlooked; in fact, if the trap has not a firm hold, the bush gives so easily that there is no chance for the animal to get a dead pull--that is, a solid one. See that all traps are fastened as above described and one of the principal causes of failure will have been remedied to a great extent and your game will not get away after once being caught. In case a trapper cannot visit his traps very often, or he is annoyed by the presence of those animals that are liable to destroy his catch, the use of the spring pole for dry land trapping will be found very efficient in preventing the loss of game. This contrivance is designed to lift the trapped animal high in the air and thus both hamper it in its efforts to escape and prevent other animals from devouring it. It is made as follows: If possible, select a standing sapling for the purpose. If this cannot be done, then cut a pole from some elastic wood, trim and drive it firmly in the ground, then fasten the trap chain to the upper end. Now bend down and catch the small end under a notched peg or root in such a way that the least struggle of an animal in the trap will release the pole and lift him high in the air. Of course the trapper will proportion the strength of his pole to the size of his intended victim. All trappers have experienced a feeling of regret when visiting traps where game has been caught and escaped. The ones who properly fasten traps seldom have their game escape, altho occasionally, when not securely caught and the trapper does not make his rounds often, an animal will get away. [Illustration: SHALLOW WATER SET.] For a shallow water set we commend the one shown above. Place a second stake eight or ten inches from the fastening stake having short stubs on both and the animal will soon wind himself up around the two and drown. CHAPTER XVI. HOW TO SET. Here is a very difficult question, How to Set? yet by carefully noting the illustrations in this chapter we believe that many will be benefited, especially inexperienced trappers. Some trappers have continued to set their traps, after years of experience with springs sticking straight out, that is, so that the animal will step upon the spring first. This often warns them of the danger. Others set traps without a sign of covering. In each instance they may catch a few rabbits and perhaps a skunk or two, but they are not trappers and will not catch much game. Having decided where you are going to set, if at a den, make an excavation the size of the trap and about an inch deep, place the trap in the position (just at the entrance of den) and so that an animal in going in or coming out will not step on the spring but on the pan of the trap. The trap should be in such a position that the animal will approach if preferably from the end opposite the spring. If the whereabouts of the animal cannot be determined, then the next best way for him to approach is from the spring end of the jaws, the spring always being thrown around towards the cross piece, out of the way. [Illustration: HOLE SET BEFORE COVERING.] If setting in a path in a run beside a log or a similar situation, set the jaws endways, not across the path and bring the pan a little to one side of the center, as near as you can judge where the animal will place his foot as he steps over the stick, stone or other object you have prepared for the purpose. Many trappers place traps well back in the den, but our experience has taught us not to do this. A trapper who has followed the tracks of an animal, in the snow, has undoubtedly noticed that he went to scores of dens but turned away after going to the mouth of most of them. From this it will readily be seen that a trap set well back in the den would not be disturbed, while set as shown would perhaps have caught the animal. After the trap is set, leaves, moss, grass, etc., should be carefully placed over the trap and chain, so that everything will appear as natural as possible. In covering traps, use whatever kind of material that was in mouth of den, that is, if the den was filled with leaves, cover the trap with leaves, etc. In this illustration the trap is purposely left uncovered so that trappers can see the position the trap should be in. [Illustration: ANOTHER HOLE SET BEFORE COVERING.] If there are other entrances to the den they should all be closed, with the exception of the one where the trap is set. The only time that it is advisable to close all entrances is when you are sure that an animal is within. You are only sure of this when your dog has holed an animal, or you have tracked one in the snow into the den. There may be times, however, when you have your traps baited and the bait has been taken from the inside. In such cases you feel confident that the game is within. At such times it may be the best policy to close up the entrance and set your trap within, yet, if properly set, you are reasonably sure to make a catch when the animal ventures out and also have a chance to make a catch, should an animal happen along on the outside. Traps should be set carefully and everything around the den left as natural as before setting. Dig a hole for your trap and carefully cover trap and chain with dirt, leaves or grass. Be careful that nothing gets under treadle of trap. After once setting traps, go only near enough to see that they are not sprung or containing game. [Illustration: HOLE SET AFTER COVERING.] When setting trap in wet earth, place paper, cat tail, dry leaves, grass or some substance under trap so that during freezing weather the earth will not freeze to spring and jaws, thus preventing its springing when an animal steps on the treadle. A little wool or cotton placed under treadle often keeps the dirt from getting under. It pays to set traps well--in fact too much pains cannot be taken. I often read of the disappointments of a trapper when visiting his line of marten traps to find ermine, squirrels, blue-jays and even mice caught in place of the animal he intended to catch. Now this is very vexatious, as the marten has departed for a district quite distant and is thus lost forever to him. An Indian or a regular trapper that knows his business always puts a spring twig under the pallet of his trap of sufficient strength to bear up the weight of these small fry and yet not too strong to prevent the larger animals from setting it off. In trapping for beaver and otter in open water we always use the spring to prevent mink and musquash from getting caught. Of course these are fur-bearers and proportionately valuable, yet there are times one does not wish to have them in the trap. Even in setting bear traps a spring under the pallet is used to prevent foxes, lynx, fishers and marten from springing it. This is doubly necessary in setting bear traps for the reason that when one has bear traps set the foregoing animals are unprime and consequently of next to no value. The spring for a No. 1 or a No. 1 1/2 trap is made from a lower small branch of a balsam or tamarack tree. Why I say lower branches is because it is not so full of gum and suppleness as the top branches, while not actually dry, it is sufficiently so to impart a spring effect. [Illustration: WRONG POSITION SET.] It is broken off about four inches in length and freed of needles. One end is introduced into the eye of the spring and the other end is deflected over and under the trap pan. By moving it out towards the outer part of the pan a greater strength and resistance can be obtained--lessening by pushing it the contrary way. For beaver or otter traps we usually take the root of a small spruce or tamarack, and for a bear trap, instead of putting one end into the eye of the spring, we cut a shorter and stouter piece and bend it over like this and it is placed under the pan; the two ends are carefully flattened and squared off to prevent slipping. After a little practice a man becomes quite an expert as to the proper tension required and it is very rarely a real trapper catches anything but what the trap was set for. This article is written for the benefit of beginners in the profession of trapping and not as a reflection on the knowledge of "Old Pards." A splendid all around covering for traps wherever available (and I speak from experience) is hemlock fanlike tips, writes a New York state trapper. Use only the flat spreading ends with thin stems to blanket trap--a single layer is enough for all practical purposes. This is the general purpose covering, suitable for all kinds of weather. The strong natural scent of the hemlock seems to inspire confidence, overcoming animal fear and caution. It neutralizes and makes harmless all unnatural scents so obnoxious to wild animals and prevents under pan obstruction. During the snowy weather, roof over the trap with brush, hemlock boughs, bark or such, with openings on all sides. Build the roof high and wide enough to sufficiently protect the trap and covering from snow and sleet. A good trapper uses only good traps. I will describe a few of my sets and hope they will be of value, writes a Rocky Mountain trapper. The first will be a mink set and, like the rest, is best prepared during the summer, then by the time trapping begins the newness is all gone. Set No. 1 is easily made by bending a few green willows in the shape of the letter U; stick them in a row six inches apart so the top of the bow will be four or five inches from the level. Cut some brush and pile on top and a stake or two driven in will keep it from going away in a freshet. This can be made in the water at a riffle or on the bank of the stream and you will be surprised to note the fine runway you have made. [Illustration: THE THREE LOG SET.] Set No. 2 is on the same principle, but is made of logs 8 inches in diameter and 5 or 6 feet long. It can be cut on the dotted lines for convenience in placing bait. Set a No. 1 1/2 or 2 trap at each end. This is as good as a hollow log. [Illustration: MARTEN SHELF SET.] No. 3 is a marten shelf. Like cut, make by nailing a 2-inch stick three or three and a half feet long on each side of a tree and cover the projecting ends with bark--use a weight on bark to keep it from blowing away; nail bait and place trap as shown. Use a spring pole of some description. [Illustration: BIG GAME SET.] No. 4 is my favorite for bear, mountain lion and in fact all larger game. Choose two trees near together and place a pole from one to the other on which to hang the bait; 1 is bait the height of which should be varied according to the game sought and 2 is the pole on which bait is hung; it can be nailed on or laid in forks. In setting steel traps the beginner is generally very careless. He simply sets his trap on the bare ground, brushes a few leaves over it and stakes it fast, or staples it fast to a stump or tree. As a rule he finds that the wind has blown the leaves off his trap, leaving it bare, or it has frozen fast to the ground, or if it has made a catch the game has escaped. In setting a steel trap, dig a hole an inch deep and the size and shape of the trap when set. Line this hole with dry leaves and set the trap in it, filling in between the jaws with dry moss and covering with dry, light substance in keeping with the surroundings. For trapping the shyer animals the smell of iron should be destroyed, which may be done by boiling the trap in cedar or hemlock tips. The trap should be covered with these tips so that trap and bed all smell alike. Do not make any tracks or have the bushes or grass trampled down around the trap. Animals are more afraid of human signs than they are of human scent, at least I have found it so. In setting the trap, be sure that the jaws lie down solid or the animal may tip the trap over by stepping on a jaw and you will think that you have a very cunning animal to deal with. If the trap is set at a den or enclosure, turn the spring to one side so the animal will not step on the spring. I prefer the Blake pattern trap as the trap may be set with the spring pointing straight out from the enclosure and the animal steps between the jaws, not over them. Be sure, when setting at a den or covered enclosure that the opening over the trap is large enough to allow the animal to walk over the trap, for if they must crawl over it they are apt to snap the trap by pressing against it and all the trapper finds is a little bunch of fur. In setting traps on dry land do not stake it down as the game will often escape by pulling its foot out of the trap. It is much better to fasten the trap to a brush drag. I leave a good stout prong near the big end of the brush. Bend this prong down and slip the ring over it. [Illustration: RING OR LOOP FASTENING.] When making a water set I stake the trap into the water full length of the chain. If the water is deep use the sliding pole. If you are trapping muskrats, clean out all snags and brush from around the trap or the rat may cut its skin in its struggles, which will lessen its value. Here is a method of drowning the beaver and otter which was told me by an old trapper. Take a good stout wire about eight or ten feet long and fasten it to the end of the trap chain. A heavy stone is tied to the chain of the trap and after the trap is set the wire is stretched up or down stream and fastened to a stake driven in the bank under water. When the game is caught it plunges into the water and the weight of the stone and trap pulls it down to the bottom. The trap and game are secured by pulling up on the wire. I have never used this method, but think it would be all right. If the trap is a "bolt" double spring, place the trap on the knee and press down spring and insert a nail--six or eight penny will do--under the jaw on the opposite side from the trigger or trip, being careful to insert far enough to hold and not slip out. Then set same as a single spring trap. If the trap has the slip in jaws, drill a small hole in the bottom piece just below the holes which the jaws are in for a nail. One spring will hold the pan up. When set, press the other spring down and pull out the nail. One trial will convince anyone that this is an easy and quick way to set a double spring trap. I have never tried this on anything larger than No. 4 wolf trap. Hundreds of times have I said things that I would not say in Church or Sunday School while setting one of these traps in the snow. Trapper language will come forth when one pinches his fingers on a cold, frosty morning. CHAPTER XVII. WHERE TO SET. Knowing exactly where to set in all cases can not be told unless the trapping region is seen as well as each den, but in a general way some points can be given that will prove of value. Favorable places to set can be made to include a number of situations. By this we mean that many take a good part of their catch each season at places away from the dens or homes of animals. Time and again have we seen traps set along creeks, in the woods, at drift piles and other places where there were no dens. Yet these trappers knew that fur-bearing animals frequented such places. A trapper always should be on the outlook for signs of game. These include dung at dens, tracks at dens and along creeks and low wet places, feathers and bones at dens, etc. A close inspection of dens, will also show long hairs, if the same is used much by animals just before the fur begins to get good, as they then shed many of the long hairs. The experienced trapper knows from these just what kind of an animal is using a certain den, and of course he knows what sized trap to use and how to proceed to set the same for the capture of the game. [Illustration: CAUGHT WITHIN THE LIMITS OF CHICAGO.] An important thing for all trappers to learn is to distinguish dens used by fur-bearing animals from those of rabbits, etc. This can be done in several ways: Long hairs of skunk, opossum, coon, etc., are frequently found in the entrance to dens; tracks of these and other animals should be watched for; pieces of bones and feathers near dens is also a good indication that game is in the near vicinity--at least it may be known that it has been there quite recently. There is as much in knowing the locality that game frequents as there is in how to set traps. The person who has made a study of the habits of fur-bearing animals knows pretty well the locality that each animal frequents. By this we mean that he knows that skunks, in the fall, are often found in open fields, in sink holes, etc., while later in the season they are found on higher land. This applies to the hilly sections in particular. Opossum and coon he knows are apt to be found in the dense woods, and mink along streams and swamps. Trappers who have long lines of traps will find that it saves time and walking to have their traps bunched; that is, where they set one trap, should there be many dens, they should set two or three more. After doing this they can travel some distance before setting others, unless extra good dens are found, or other dens directly on their route. We have known three traps, within 100 feet of each other all to contain game, but this is an exception. More often, to be sure, they are all empty when the trapper makes his round. Yet it often pays to have traps bunched as an animal may go to several dens and turn away but enter another only a few feet distant. The trapper who has only a few traps will do best by scattering them and baiting each trap. [Illustration: FOX, WOLF OR COYOTE TRAIL.] Along some bluff there may be a score or perhaps a hundred dens, and to set a trap at each is out of the question, with the trapper who has an abundance of traps, as well as the one who has only a few. At such places it is best to set your traps where there are the most signs. Traps set here should be baited and the bait placed back in the den, beyond the trap. [Illustration: FOX, WOLF OR COYOTE ON THE RUN.] It is not necessary to set traps in the dens to catch your game, altho that is considered one of the best places, for some animals have no certain dens, but hole up for the day, wherever daylight finds them. By this we mean they enter the first den they find. This being the case, trappers who know the locality, that is the feeding grounds of game, are most successful. Should you set your trap in the entrance to some den and no animal live there or pass that way there is no chance of being rewarded for the trouble. As is well known, most fur-bearing animals are carnivorous, feeding on flesh, and the trapper who can locate the place, that is the hunting grounds of the game he is trapping, is usually successful. Along creeks in the mud and sand, look for mink and coon tracks. If they are found often, their dens are not far off. Both of these animals are much given to traveling along creeks and low swampy land and we have seen at such a place bait nailed to a tree, some two feet from the ground, and a trap nicely set just beneath it. The trap too, was set in the right place, for game was caught. It may be that in your trapping rounds you will come to a den where a rabbit or some bird has been devoured. Often you find that it has been eaten close to the entrance. Here is just the place to set your trap for if the animal is not now within it is apt to return. The various sets made by trappers may be divided into three classes, known as land, water and snow sets, altho each can be varied to suit different cases. The land set is used for all land animals and includes sets made at dens in trails, paths, etc. [Illustration: MUSKRAT TRACKS.] Snow sets are largely used for the shyer animals such as fox and wolf altho trappers use this set for any land animal when they think conditions right. Traps when set for foxes and wolves are usually set just before a snow fall, if the trapper is enough of a weather prophet to do this. The water set is used mostly for otter, beaver and muskrat. Mink and raccoon are also caught in large numbers in water sets. Fox trappers in the Northeast catch many foxes in springs at water sets before hard freezing weather sets in. [Illustration: MINK AND OPOSSUM TRACKS.] I will give an excellent method of trapping animals on land writes an Ohio trapper. Fasten your bait to the body of a tree about a foot from the ground and near a den or other place frequented by the animals you want to catch. Dig up the ground at the foot of the tree and cover the loose earth with leaves, also place your brush drag near the tree and after the animal begins to eat the bait, set your trap right under it and about six or eight inches from the tree and fastening the trap to the brush drag. Replace the leaves over the trap and cover the chain with leaves or dead grass. Do not disturb anything around the trap but leave the drag, etc., just as it was before the trap was set. For mink fasten the bait on the side of a log, one end of which rests in the water and the other on the bank of the stream. The bait should be at least ten inches from the ground. Set your traps under the bait and staple the chain to the log. The first mink that comes along will pass under the log and stopping to investigate the bait will get his toes pinched. The best covering for this set is dead grass, leaves or snow. The best bait for mink is the head of a fowl or a piece of fish or muskrat. About trapping mink in their den; first, if you find a den where a mink is living, says a trapper, don't by any means mash the brush or grass down around the den holes, but approach it very carefully with not less than two traps, all set and ready to place at the mouth or entrance of the den. [Illustration: WISCONSIN TRAPPER--KNOWS WHERE TO SET.] Now look sharply to see which hole the mink uses most. You can tell by the leaves and the grass which are worn to a sort of chaff in the mouth or entrance of the den. If you look carefully you will perhaps see three or five holes. You will always see two or three holes larger than any of the rest. The smaller holes are to escape by when any larger animal comes into the den. If you look sharply you will notice a few inches from one of the holes another hole which he uses. Well, make a bed and place your trap deep enough to be covered lightly, just in front of this hole and so that your trap jaws will close lengthwise with the hole or the worn path. Never set your trap crosswise to a mink hole or run. Always drive your stake level, with the ground in which your trap is set if possible. Now go to the hole in front of the den and set your other trap or traps in the same manner, make just as little noise as possible while setting the traps and when leaving. CHAPTER XVIII. LOOKING AT TRAPS. It is known to secure best results, traps should be looked at each day and the earlier in the morning the better. A trapper who has out from 50 to 150 traps scattered for a distance of ten, fifteen or twenty miles has a good day's work before him, but the trapper who has only a few should make his round early in the morning. It may be that an animal is not securely caught and an early visit to the trap will still find your game fast, whereas had you waited till later in the day it would have escaped. [Illustration: PROFITABLE DAY'S CATCH.] Some trappers are inclined to believe that certain animals gnaw their legs off when caught. Our belief, after years of experience, is that if an animal is caught by the leg after some hours the flesh below the jaws of the trap becomes numb and the animal begins to gnaw it. If the bone is broken by the force of the jaws closing, the chances are that the animal may after a day or so escape. If the bone is not broken there is but little danger of the game getting away. The animal gnaws below the jaws, very seldom above. [Illustration: SNOWSHOEING OVER THE TRAPPING LINE.] One mistake that many trappers make is that on the first stormy or cold night of a prolonged cold spell, they neglect their traps until warm weather. Experienced trappers never do this; they know that the first night of a cold spell all animals are generally much more active than usual--they are hunting food and a good den. It seems that the fur-bearing animals are forewarned about the weather, or that instinct has endowed them with this power. At any rate they are on the alert the first night before a prolonged cold spell, and on just such nights the largest catches are usually made. A night that starts in only fairly cold and later turns quite cold--the beginning of a severe spell--is the night that the professional likes to see, or at any rate, he is out to his traps at the first sign of day. In the dead of winter it may be of little use to look at traps for most game. Altho some animals, such as the mink, fox and weasel, do not hole up on account of cold weather. Skunks have been known to remain in their dens for eight weeks in winter. Several cases are on record where these animals have been tracked to their dens, all entrances closed, traps set within and no catch made for eight weeks. In the Northern sections these animals hole up in December and remain there until early in February, unless there is a very warm spell. In other sections, in the South, they continue active throughout the entire season. In the Middle and Central States this animal remains in its den during severe weather only. At other times skunks have been known to remain in their dens for a month, but in such cases the animal has perhaps gone in on a rabbit, killed it and is living off its carcass. Where the trapper is after otter, beaver, and muskrat, and his sets are made with the sliding pole or with a wire fastened to end of chain leading to deep water so that the animal is drowned, the traps need not be looked at daily, for the game is dead and under water, in which condition the fur will not be injured for some days. [Illustration: ONCE OVER THE LINE--WHITE WEASEL.] Mink and coon are also caught in water sets, and should be drowned by using the same fastenings as for the water animals. It is a good idea to tie a weight to chain near the trap, so that when the animal is caught and gets into deep water, the additional weight helps to hold it down and so of course it drowns sooner. Spring poles are used in many of the Northern States and Canada, so that when an animal is caught it is lifted several feet into the air and out of reach of other animals, but in other sections the spring pole is little used and trappers should get over their lines of traps as often as possible, for there is always more or less danger of the animal escaping or being destroyed by larger game. The most successful trappers are those who visit their traps often. In addition to loosing little or no fur after once being caught, they keep their "sets" in good condition. The experienced trapper knows that the first night before severe weather each winter, his traps are much more liable to contain game than on almost any other night. Why is this? Animal instinct tells the animal that winter weather is coming, and they travel much more just previous to cold snaps hunting food and good warm dens. At this time, too, they go into most any den to explore it. Some trappers neglect their traps the first cold night. This is a mistake, for the animal often travels the first night of a cold spell as well as the night previous. Of course they do not travel as much the first cold night as the night previous, but some animals not suited with the den found, stir around another night looking for better quarters. [Illustration: CAUGHT JUST BEFORE A COLD SNAP.] This rule perhaps does not hold good for such animals as fox, mink, marten and other fur-bearers that keep traveling most nights during the winter, no matter how severe the weather, but with such animals as skunk, coon, opossum, muskrat, etc., it does. The first night of a cold spell early in the season and the first night of a warm spell during the winter, trappers should have their traps in good order. Many trappers, as soon as the trapping season opens, set traps for all kinds of fur-bearing animals that are found on their grounds. This as a rule is a mistake. Skunk and muskrat should be taken first, from the fact that skunks den up with the first severe weather and muskrat are hid under the ice. So trap these animals in earnest at the first of the season. On the other hand, mink and fox travel the coldest nights in midwinter as well as the warm ones; in fact, these two animals are most successfully trapped when some of the other fur-bearers are denned up. Coon, however, should also be trapped rather early, as they den up early in the season, although they come out on warm nights. By February 15th skunk are usually running again. This applies to central sections. Of course North and South, the conditions vary. In the extreme south the animals keep going all winter, while in the far North some den up for many months. Trappers must use their judgment what to trap first, depending somewhat upon the number of trappers in their section. The above is meant for the trapper who is stationed for a full season at the same place. Of course the trapper who is moving, often takes any and all animals he can if the fur is prime. CHAPTER XIX. MYSTERIOUSLY SPRUNG TRAPS. In determining the length of time to have a trap set depends largely upon how many other traps you have in the vicinity and what success you are having with them. It may be that a trap will remain at a den for two weeks unsprung and during the next two weeks catch two or three animals. Other traps may be sprung occasionally and not contain game, but if the trapper has followed instructions as previously given there should be little difficulty in catching each and every animal that comes after the bait. The trap should have the animal the first time it attempts to steal the bait, but of course it cannot be expected to every time. A good trapper will get the animal, however, before it fools with the bait many times. If, on visiting a trap, you find the bait gone, replace it and set the trap as before. The chances are that on the next visit of the animal it will get caught. Should, on the second visit, the bait be gone and the trap unsprung, the chances are that the animal is still in the den and is stealing the bait from within, without stepping over the trap. In this case, either place the bait on the outside of trap or not use any bait for a few nights. The animal will most likely soon venture out, if you quit feeding it, and will get caught. [Illustration: BAIT STEALER--BIRD.] The ideas advanced by some that animals spring traps after turning them over, with their noses or paws, is all nonsense. It may be possible that they do step over the trap and knock it off with their body, thus not getting caught. Such cases are rare, however. You have no doubt visited your trap and found a few hairs in it. On such occasions it was probably knocked off by the body of the animal. It may be possible that animals have turned traps over in their endeavors to get bait with their nose or paw, but you can rest assured that they did not know by so doing that it lessened the chance of getting caught. If you can induce an animal to come and get the bait there is no doubt but that you will catch your game sooner or later. In regard to traps being sprung, it is possible they are set too easy, and go off of their own accord, after the trapper has left them. Again they may work too hard, not going off easy enough. All these things the trapper should guard against. If the trap has been properly set there will be no trouble from the source just named, and traps once set the trapper should keep away from, as far as possible when making his rounds, unless they are sprung, the bait gone or contain game. Should traps be sprung morning after morning without catching the animal it is possible that if you move the trap, or better still leave the one as before and set another, you will be rewarded. Sometimes an animal will manage to get bait without getting caught. At other times it may get bait without knocking off the trap. At such times the bait is too near the trap most likely, the animal reaching it without stepping over the trap, or if the trap has not been properly set the animal may be going around the trap. Just how long a trap should be left at one place if not bothered is hard to say as so many things bear upon the question; if the weather is cold and few animals moving they should be left much longer than if good trapping weather. If the den has been a good one other years, that is, if you have caught game there, then leave longer than if you never caught anything there. If other traps are making catches near, leave as long as you are trapping there unless you find a much better looking den near and have no trap with you, then take this one. [Illustration: NORTHERN TRAPPER WITH PACK BASKET.] When traps are sprung and pulled back into the den as far as the chain will allow them to go, the chances are that the animals is still in the den. On the other hand, if the trap is dragged to the outside the game is liable to have gone away. In either case it will likely be around again in a few nights, as having once got a meal it will not be slow to make another visit. If the animal was caught and only escaped after prolonged struggles is may not return for some time and possibly not at all. Yet when a trap is set and fastened as directed, few animals when once caught escape. Here is where proper fastening comes into use; if the trap had a fairly good hold on the animal and the trap was staked solid the game might have escaped but would be so badly injured and frightened that it might never return. [Illustration: SOME NORTHERN FURS.] When fastened properly to a bush or light drag, the game rarely escapes even though the trap has only a toe hold, unless the trapper is days in making the rounds. Should an animal escape when only slightly injured it is apt to soon return. In many cases where game has escaped after once being caught it is not the fault of the trap but of the trapper. Should the bone in the animal's leg be broken and after days of endeavoring the animal frees itself there should be no blame attached to the trap, the fault is with the trapper--he should have visited the trap sooner. Many trappers believe that animals become so sharp that they will turn traps over. This we hardly believe. At the same time trappers have set traps upside down and caught the animals. This, perhaps, is accounted for from the fact that the animal in reaching for bait would turn the trap. It is usually the case that animals will go about getting bait in a certain manner and the changing of location of trap may be the means of making a catch. Some years ago when trapping mink, I visited a certain deadfall that was "down" each morning and the bait eaten. The trap was reset and rebaited each time for perhaps a week, even after making the pen smaller and the trap easier to go off, it continued to be down and bait gone. By this time I was anxious, and taking a No. 1 steel trap I carefully set it on the inside of the pen, covered it well and rebaited the deadfall. On my round the next morning neither the trap nor bait were disturbed. The second morning the deadfall was down and in the steel trap was a small mink--the smallest I ever caught. This accounted for the animal being able to get inside the pen and eat the bait. It was so small that when the log fell its body was entirely inside the fall. I hardly think that small mink, which was less than a year old, knew that it would get caught unless it was inside the fall, but its size was such that it could easily get out of danger, and each time it ate the bait it was in the same position on the inside. CHAPTER XX. GOOD DENS. Some trappers as soon as they have caught one animal remove their trap thinking that there is no longer any use to leave it at that den. While this may sometime hold good in case of large game, such as bear, panther, etc., it does not with most animals; in fact, there are certain dens where trappers each season take from two to five or even more animals. In the case of the larger game even they seem to scent your bait and two bears and occasionally more have been caught at the same place within a few days. The fact, as a rule, that you have caught one animal in a den, should not cause you to remove your trap. The more animals caught at the same den the better. There is a reason why certain dens are the favorite homes of animals. It may be because they are dry and warm, that there is a nice bed of leaves, etc. At any rate, trappers know that certain dens are valuable--that each season there are animals living there--it making no difference how many have been caught the previous winter. At such dens it will pay to leave your traps all the season, that is, if you have other traps that are catching game in the vicinity. Of course it would not pay to leave one trap set if you did not have others within a short distance. As a rule where there is one good den of this kind there are others in the vicinity, so that you do not want to remove from that certain section. [Illustration: NEBRASKA TRAPPER'S ONE NIGHT CATCH.] It often happens that two trappers trap during the season on the same ground, one in the fall and the other later in the season. The second one has often taken more game than the first in the same length of time. Both were considered good trappers and of equal experience. This only goes to show that you never know when all the game is caught; in fact, it never is, for if such was the case there would be nothing left to catch another season, yet when another season arrives the game is apparently about as numerous as ever. This shows that good dens should be looked up by trappers, if in new trapping grounds to them, before the season opens. The best time to look for signs is in the fall, yet many a good den has been discovered by tracking animals in the snow to their burrow. These extra good dens are usually located on high grounds, at least not in swamps or very low land. It is true, however, that on low land and along sinks and damp places there is good trapping early in the season, but as a rule animals hunt higher and drier sections before the extreme cold weather comes. This being true the best dens are most always found on high and dry ground. Another proof of this is the fact that when large numbers of skunk are dug out of a den it is nearly always on high and dry land. [Illustration: NIGHT'S CATCH BY COLORADO TRAPPER.] That there are many excellent dens along rocky bluffs, sandy hill sides, and other like places, the experienced trapper knows. He also knows that along the low land in early fall is good trapping. Mink and coon are, of course, to be caught along streams at all times. It is not necessary to state even to the amateur if muskrat, beaver and otter are what the trapper is after, that along streams is the only place to make a success. Days spent early in the season looking up dens where hairs, bones, feathers, dung, etc., are to be seen, are days well spent, for many times has a trapper set traps at dens where within a few hundred yards were many better ones, but not being acquainted with the locality, he overlooked these until a snow came. Then he tracked an animal which led him to the dens, otherwise he perhaps would not have discovered them at all. Keep your eye open at all times for good dens. That a large number of animals were caught at a certain den last winter is evidence that that certain den is just the kind of a burrow they want. It may be that you caught all the animals that lived there the winter before, but others have been raised since. These on their wanders for food have found the den and have found, like their relatives of the winter before, that it was just what they wished, hence they, too, have returned for the winter. At any rate, a den that is good one season is worth more to the professional trapper than one that has never before showed signs. Or in other words, if he has only one trap left and discovers a new den apparently as good as the one where the winter before he made such good catches, you may rest assured that he will set his trap at the old den. It is possible that not a single animal will be caught this season at the den where such good catches were made last season, but this is an exception rather than the rule. Old trappers will tell you that they caught so many animals at this den in a certain season, so many the next, etc. Perhaps more skunk have been caught at one den in a single season than any other animal. The catching of ten or twelve at a place is no uncommon occurrence in a season. There are a few cases on record where trappers have caught as high as fifteen, and one instance that we know of, where seventeen were caught at one den from November to March 10th. This was certainly a remarkable catch. [Illustration: BOTH TRAPPERS--FATHER AND DAUGHTER.] Old trappers will also tell you that signs are what you should look for at all times. These are not only found at dens, but by watching everywhere; signs found in the woods often cause the trapper to hunt for dens which are often close by. Good dens are not at all hard to tell by the experienced trapper, and if you are a young trapper and can induce some experienced trapper to let you make the rounds with him or pay him to spend a day or two with you, it will be to your advantage. During the summer months when you are running around through the fields and woods fishing and hunting and having a good time, then is the time to start the foundation for the coming season's trapping. Always be on the lookout for signs and learn to read Nature's writings. Then when the trapping season opens, you will know exactly where to set your traps and you will be far ahead of the other fellow that has waited till the season opens before looking over the grounds. I am glad to see an awakening of the trapper for the protection of fur-bearing animals during the summer months when the fur is unprime; also, the protection of the animal dens. In the June number of H-T-T, writes an Iowa trapper, I called trappers' attention to Johnny Dig-em-out and his destructive method of trapping, and I think every trapper that has trapped in a thickly settled country will bear me out when I say he has lots to do with the disappearance of the fur-bearing animals. I will cite you to the buffalo for instance; years ago the plains were covered with them, but after the hide hunters had gotten in their work for a few years the buffalo was a thing of the past. So, brother, let us take heed before it is too late, or the time will soon come when trapping in the older settled parts of the country will be a very unprofitable business. Ten years ago in this part of the country, skunk were very plentiful; it was a very poor farm indeed that did not contain at least one skunk den, but now they are about as scarce a fur-bearer as we have. The Dig-em-outs will ask, "Does it pay to trap skunk when you find a den?" I say "Yes." Eight or ten years ago I tracked a skunk into a den. I trapped three skunks in as many nights from that den, and since then I have probably taken twenty-five from the same place, and the den is in good condition yet, and each winter I know where to go to get skunk. Brother, did it pay to leave that den? Some say it is too slow work to trap out a skunk den; I will tell you a quick way that I have tried with success. Build three or four pens near the den, put a bait in each pen and a trap at the entrance of each. I have caught as high as three in a night from one den, that way. Now trappers, let us strive the coming season, to protect the homes of our fur-bearers, so we can enjoy the pleasures and profits of trapping in the years to come. Let us take the fellow that digs out the dens aside and give him a little good advice and show him where he is working against his own good. Many of them are nice fellows, but simply a little thoughtless about the future of these animals. CHAPTER XXI. THE PROPER BAIT. While baiting traps is not necessary when trapping at dens, yet the trapper who baits his traps will catch more game than if the traps were not baited. To show where a baited trap has the advantage, we will suppose that an animal passes a den where a trap is set but not baited. It is just as a notion takes the animal--it may pay a visit to the den and go in, and again it may not. If a trap is baited the chances are that if the animal passes within a few feet, it will reach the bait. Bait, whether bird, fish, chicken, beef offals or rabbit, should be fresh for most animals. When trapping at dens the bait should be stuck on a short stick, so as to keep it off the ground, and placed back in the den, beyond the trap some eighteen inches or two feet. Should the bait be gone morning after morning and the trap unsprung, your game is pretty sure to be still in the den and living off your bait. In this case it will be a good idea to change and place the bait on the outside. If the animal is getting the bait from within, you are pretty sure to make a catch within a few nights. [Illustration: PART OF CONNECTICUT TRAPPER'S CATCH.] If trapping in the woods for coon or along streams, where they travel, a piece of bait nailed to a tree, some two feet from the ground, and a trap set directly under it is not a bad set. For mink, bait can be suspended from a branch, tied by a string, to within say two feet of the ground. To set a trap directly beneath the bait if properly done and near where these animals travel, is a good way to take them. The methods used by some trappers of placing bait on the pan of the trap should never be employed. An animal in reaching for the bait will spring the trap with its nose, and unless the trap is a very large one, not get caught. The correct place to put bait is where an animal in reaching for it, will be apt to get one of its fore feet in the trap. The way to do this can be told by a little study before setting the trap. If the animal you are trapping is a small one the bait should not be placed so far beyond the trap as for a larger one. Should you find the bait gone when visiting your traps, replace it at once and see that your trap is all right. In nine cases out of ten, the animal will be around again in a night or two for another meal. Persevere and you will get your game sooner or later. Seeing that your traps are kept properly baited is an important item; also, keeping bait as fresh as possible. After the bait has been at a trap for a week if it has not been molested, it is best to replace with something fresh. Do not throw the old bait away, either hang it up, out of reach of animals or carry it away from the den. If you have plenty of fresh bait, it will pay to replace oftener than once a week. If you have a large quantity of fresh bait and have more than you can use to advantage, on your traps, it can be made use of, by cutting into small pieces and testing a number of dens. By this we mean putting a small piece of bait at dens you think are good or show some sign of game, but at which you have no traps. In a few days, visit these dens again and at all where the bait is gone, rebait and set a trap. This is a very good method and has helped many a trapper to increase his catch. Most trappers do not take into consideration the keen scent of the animal they hope to victimize. To know how to set a trap properly is far from all in the line of success. To know your "critter" at every turn he may make and to entice him from his wonted way by means that challenges his cunning through his appetite and yet overcome that suspicion of place and the circumstances of immediate surroundings is the real acme of trappers' art. To place a bait anywhere above the trap is well enough for an animal of less cunning than a fox. But to challenge that cunning in a fox, better way is to bury the bait. The proper way to go about it is to make a trail by dragging through the brush or thicket a hare, squirrel or bird, and at the proper distances along this blind trail, strew the feathers of some bird, or make a bed for your bait, no trap being set, until you "take the sign" of one of your varmints. Notice well the approaches to your intended "set." To be sure of your game, you must notice the "run" of more than one animal at a given place but the buried bait must be adhered to thruout your whole line. A bait, to my experience is more attractive when it is out of sight but so placed that your critter must work to reach it, in common phrase "root hog, or die." By this means the cunning of your victim is cast aside in its endeavor. Much depends on the patience of the trapper and his real handiwork. Where a set of this kind is made or contemplated, the presence of a few feathers are the prime requisites. Make it appear that a carnival of flesh has taken place and that the spared remnants lie buried just beneath. Drawing on your game in this belief for some time before making a set, is the proper caper. [Illustration: EASTERN TRAPPER'S CATCH.] If you can procure an ancient egg you have the tidbit for any varmint that may hit your track. You perhaps have heard much about the so-called "scents" or oils. They in a way are good to disguise the dreaded human odor, but may well be dispensed with and some are entirely out of place. Time will obliterate any and all human odor, providing you use your implements with tact and good judgment, your bait will keep and it will draw better a day or two after the first set. I never could teach any one much unless he went along the line with me. Trapping is a profession and not every one is by nature adapted for it, but some take to it as natural as a duck to water. I get three or four dead chickens and start out. I place them along the bank and usually tie them to some small tree so that the head will about reach the ground. I never build a pen around them. I wait until something get to eating them, and then I take a trap and place it directly in front of where it has been eaten, and use more traps if necessary. I have caught as many as three skunks around one chicken,--have caught more that way than any way I have tried. Brother trappers try my plan and be convinced. The entrails of muskrat, rabbit, chicken or duck will make far better bait than the animal or bird itself. In very cold weather I use the oil of wild duck which I save in the fall, but even in using the baits I speak of I invariably dig up the ground, unless it is a water set or a swamp set on some log. In cold weather, or in fact during the entire trapping season, fur-bearing animals are searching for something to eat and consequently the trap that is baited is more liable to catch than one that is not. Fresh rabbit is an excellent bait for most animals. CHAPTER XXII. SCENT AND DECOYS. It is claimed by trappers that some methods are good while others are not. I have bought nearly all of the methods put on the market and find that all are good if properly used, says a well known trapper. Experience has taught me that you can catch any kind of an animal with decoy. Experience has also taught me that you can catch any kind of an animal without decoy. My belief is that there is one decoy that is of great value, especially in the running season, and it is that of the famous beaver castor. Few animals can pass it without investigating. You can, however, use all the decoys put together, and if you do not set the trap properly you might as well set traps on top of a straw stack, back of some barn, to catch a fox, and you will get him just as quick. But if your trap is set somewhere near his haunts, on a knoll or under vines, at a hollow stump, tree or hole, and baited with a good piece of fresh bait, you will catch just as many if not more in the fall, than you will with the decoy. [Illustration: CAUGHT WHERE SCENT IS MUCH USED.] In winter and spring I prefer decoy, although I have caught a good many foxes without it. During winter and spring, the main thing is to know just how and where to set the trap. The best way to find this out is to study the animal you wish to catch, then go after him. A fox is almost as easy to catch as a skunk if you conceal your trap, chain and all, and leave things as you found them around the trap. It is well to buy some good methods, for they will give you a good idea of your work and help you get a start. Should you try them and fail the first time, try again. Keep right at trying and after a while you will get to catching foxes. There is no man that can use another man's methods as well as the discovered himself; at least, not until he learns them and finds out how to use them. I care not how plainly the one selling his method explains it to others, it takes practice before the best catches can be made. * * * About scents, some may be good, but most of them are worthless. I sent to an old trapper for mink scent and it came in a plain tin can, I used it in every way I could and mink would turn and go around it, so I stopped using it and took to the old Scotch scent. Here is the recipe for making it: Take two dozen minnows three inches long, put in two quart cans filled with water and seal. Let stand one month in warm place, then put on bait for mink or skunk. I use no scent for mink in water sets. If a mink is hungry, writes an Iowa trapper, and finds bait that has been left for him, he will pay no attention to human scent, while if he is not hungry, he will not take the bait, be it ever so fresh. A mink will sometimes make a trail in the fresh snow by passing several times over the same route and then never use that trail again. I have also known otter to do the same. I caught two mink last winter, in a ditch, setting my trap in the water. The first night I caught a medium-sized mink and the third night I caught a small one. I believe that I would have caught every mink that went up that ditch if it had not froze up, and snowed so much during the time, that I could not keep my traps properly set. If a person sets out a line of traps in this country while there is snow on the ground, he is simply going to a great deal of trouble to give them to some thief. In trapping mink I watch for signs and when I locate a mink I consider it mine and it generally is. If you bait a trap where you may think it is a good place to catch a mink, it often happens that you may make a good many trips to your trap and not succeed. You may say to yourself that it is human scent that keeps them away, when perhaps there has not been a mink near your trap. My advice to young trappers is not to set your traps where a mink may go, but set it where you know he is going, and you will find it no trick to catch mink. [Illustration: YOUNG TRAPPERS DISCUSSING SCENT.] In writing about "Mistakes of Trappers" an Alleghany Mountain trapper of fifty years' experience says: The average trapper makes a mistake in listening to some one's ideas about scents for trapping an animal, instead of going to the forests, the fields and the streams and there learning its nature, its habits and ways, and its favorite food. He also makes a mistake by spending much time in looking after scents, rubber gloves to handle traps with, and wooden pinchers to handle bait with, instead of spending his time in learning the right way and the right place to set his trap. For one little slip and the game is gone, if the trap is not properly set. We make mistakes in thinking that the fox is more sly in some states than in others. Not long ago I received a letter from a friend in Maine asking if I did not think that the fox was harder to trap in some states than others, Now the states in which I have trapped are rather limited, but I have trapped in Wisconsin, Michigan and Pennsylvania, mostly Pennsylvania. I have also trapped in one or two other states and wherever I found the fox, I found the same sly animal and in order to trap it successfully it was necessary to comply with the natural conditions. [Illustration: TEACHING THE BOY ART OF TRAPPING.] The worst mistake of all mistakes is made by the one who uses poison to kill foxes with. Let me tell you of an instance that came under my observation four years ago in the southern part of this county. My road was over the divide between the waters of the Alleghany and Susquehanna. About five miles of the road lay over a mountain that was thickly wooded, with no settlers. While crossing this mountain I saw the carcasses of four foxes lying in the road. On making inquiries I learned that a man living in the neighborhood was making a practice each winter of driving over the roads in that section and putting out poisoned meat to kill foxes. I chanced to meet this man not long ago and I said, "Charley, what luck did you have trapping last winter?" His reply was, "Not much, only two foxes. Old Shaw dogged them out of the country." (Referring to a man who hunted with dogs.) I said, "Charley, don't you think that poison business had something to do with it?" He replied, "Oh, h--l, there will be foxes after I am dead." This man calls himself a trapper and is quite an extensive fur buyer. * * * For fox decoy, get five or six musk glands from rats in the springtime; put enough trout or angle worms with them to make a pint, cork them tight and leave in the sun thru the summer, and add the essence from one skunk (squeeze out the essence, don't put in the bag). I have never seen a better decoy and I have used many. You can use either one alone. I have caught many foxes with trout oil alone. Remember the bait and scent is no good whatever as long as there remains a trace of human odor; the whole secret is, _Be Careful_. The beaver castors or bark sacks and the oil stones are found near the vent in four sacks in both male and female. In taking them out, cut clear around them, and take all out together with as little meat as possible. The bark sacks contain a yellow substance. To get the contents, tie a string around the hole in the sacks and rub them between the hands until soft, then cut them open and squeeze the contents into a glass jar or bottle. To get the oil from the oil stone, cut the end off and squeeze it. Keep separate and mix as directed: 1st. Take the castor of one beaver, add 20 drops oil of cinnamon, 10 drops oil Anise, and "wine" of beaver to make the bait thick like mush. 2nd. Take the castor sacks of one beaver, add 7 drops of oil sassafras, 7 drops Anise, 10 drops oil from the oil stone. 3rd. Take the castor sacks of one beaver, add 10 drops of Jamaica rum, 5 drops oil of Anise, 5 drops oil cloves, 5 drops oil sassafras, 5 drops oil Rhodium. 4th. Take the castor sacks of one beaver, add 10 drops oil from the oil stones, and beaver's urine enough to make the bait like mush. * * * For beaver bait, get six castors off of beavers, one nutmeg, 12 cloves, 30 grains or cinnamon and mix up with a little whiskey to make in a paste or like mixed mustard. Put in a bottle and cork. In a few days it will get strong, then use as a bait on pan of trap. You catch no foxes if there is any human scent around, says an Eastern trapper. I will tell you how I set a trap for fox in a brook of running water. Have your trap free from rust (beeswax is good to prevent rust on a trap); have on a pair of water-proof boots, put the bait on a rock about two feet from shore, and set trap on a rock three inches from shore. Cover trap about one inch with moss; have it rise above water, and place a rock for reynard to step on before he steps onto the trap rock. Put a few drops of scent on the bait, of the right kind, and be sure the trap is under water; handle bait and moss with sharp stick. Now I am sure you would catch no fox if you worked from the bank. Always walk in water when going to trap. I will give a pointer on using decoys or scent for making trails, writes a Western trapper. Take a piece of sponge, run stout string thru it, pour on your medicine and then place the sponge in the hollow of the sole of your rubber boot, bring the ends of the string up over the instep, cross them and tie on the back side of the boot and it will make a trail that a mink or coon will follow a mile or more. [Illustration: TRAPPER'S HOME IN COLORADO.] The slyer animals, such as the fox and mink, soon learn to associate all fancy smells with danger, and then most scents act as warning instead of a lure, writes an Ohio trapper. For mink bait I think a fresh muskrat carcass is about the best of anything, because muskrat is their common food and therefore they are not nearly as liable to be suspicious of it as of some strange scent, such as amber oil, anise oil, oil of cinnamon or oil of lavender, one or more of which is nearly always used in combination scents. I generally take a hen carcass, smear it with the musk of a muskrat, and use it for a drag, as it will make a trail that a mink is pretty sure to follow to the trap which should be set in a hole near an old stump or log if such a hole can be found, and then covered with fine dry dirt, rotten wood or what is better than either, the feathers from the chicken carcass which has been used as a drag. I find it a better way to cut the bait into small pieces and use several pieces with each trap, but if only one piece is used it is best to stake it fast. If an animal only has to make one trip into the enclosure to get all the bait he will not be as apt to be taken as if he made several trips, which he is pretty sure to do if the bait is cut into small pieces and scattered around in the enclosure. There seems to be quite a difference of opinion among trappers as to the "attractive" value of Scents and Decoys. Some praise them, while others consider them of little value. In our years of experience as Editor of the H-T-T we have read thousands of trappers' letters from all parts of America, which in addition to personal observation when on the trapping line, enables us to say that "Scents" and "Decoys," if rightly made, prepared and used are of value. There is no question but that the sexual organs of the female secured "when in heat" and preserved in alcohol is a great lure for the males of that specie. CHAPTER XXIII. HUMAN SCENT AND SIGN. There is a great deal said just now about the human scent theory, writes an Illinois trapper. Some claim that you can catch no animal if there is any human scent around, and they hardly take time to set their traps properly for fear of leaving scent. I always considered that the most important thing in setting traps was to cover them properly, and to disturb things as little as possible. When your traps are set everything should be as natural as before. By that I mean that when you are trapping for the shrewdest game, such as fox, mink, otter, wolves, etc. For other animals such as skunk and muskrat, you need not use such caution, for they will blunder into a trap no matter how carelessly it is set. Still it is always best to cover your signs properly for you can never know what animal may come along. If your traps are carefully covered you are as liable to get a valuable pelt as a low priced one. Use care in setting; study well the nature and habits of the game you are trapping, and you will be successful. Never begin trapping until the fur is prime for one prime skin is worth more than five or six poor ones. [Illustration: A FEW DAYS CATCH.] Among trappers there is a variety of opinion as to the different kind of baits to use, and also as to the different ways to avoid the smell of iron or steel traps. Some boil their traps in willow bark; others dip their traps in melted tallow or beeswax. I have had a fox get into my snowshoe tracks and follow a long ways because it was better traveling. Now that shows he was not afraid of human scent writes a Vermont trapper. Now about iron. How often does a fox go through a wire fence or go near an old sugar house where there are iron grates. That shows he is not afraid of scent of iron. Once there was an old trapper here, and the young men wanted him to show them how to set a fox trap, and he told them he would, so he got them out to show them how, and this is what he told them. "Remove all suspicion and lay a great temptation." Well there it is. Now in order to remove all suspicion you must remove all things that are not natural. A man's tracks, and where he has been digging around with a spade or with his hands are not natural around a spring, are they? No. Well then, there is where the human scent question comes in. By instinct he is shown that man is his enemy, and when a man has pawed the bait over he uses his sense and knows that danger is there, for it is not natural. Now I have a question at hand; in one place he is not afraid, and around the trap he is afraid. Now, how does he know when to be afraid and when not? I think because when he sees a piece of bait in a new place it is not natural. Once last winter I knew where there was a dead horse and I used to go by it, and one day my brother was with me, and of course he knew that I could get a fox there, so to please him I set a trap, and not another fox came near. Well, I smoked that trap, boiled it in hemlock and then smeared it in tallow, but the fox knew and never came within ten feet of it again, when they were coming every night before. When I went by there before I set the trap I left as much scent as after, and how could he tell when there was a foot of snow blown there by the wind after I set my trap? Now they don't appear to be afraid of human scent or iron in some places and around a trap they are, so now why should they know where to be shy? Well, because it may be in an unnatural place, but what tells him it is in an unnatural place unless it is instinct or good sharp sense. As for scent, I know that rotten eggs and onions are natural, although the matrix of the female fox in the running season is very good scent; also skunk or muskrat scent or decayed fish, as it gives out a strong smell. [Illustration: THE INSIDE OF NORTHERN TRAPPER'S CABIN.] One word to the novice fox trapper. You must make things look and smell natural around the spring, and put before them the food which God has provided for them, and you will have success. Place the trap in the mud of the spring, and a sod on the pan of the trap. Use one that has not been handled by the hand of a human being. I will give some facts on human scent and human signs in South Carolina. Now I have not trapped "ever since the Civil War"; I have never trapped "all kinds of fur bearers that inhabit the Rocky Mountains", but have trapped every fur-bearing animal of upper Carolina from muskrat to otter, writes an experienced trapper. The mink and fox are the animals most trappers referred to, we have no foxes here to catch, therefore I am unable to say anything about Reynard. Mink in the Carolinas are not afraid of human scent any more than any other animals, but they are afraid of human signs in an unnatural place. It is a common thing to find mink tracks in my path where I visit my traps every day, they are made late in the afternoon. I have set my traps almost at night and have had a mink in them next morning. I used no scent or bait, and mink are very scarce here, too. My favorite set is in cane brakes and runways, using no bait. When I first began to trap, mink were not so scarce as they are now, but there are a few left yet. Not many years ago nearly every night I would have a muskrat's hide badly torn and sometimes the rat barbarously murdered and half eaten up. One writer says, take bait and scent and set a trap properly, then go a little farther on and set a trap without either bait or scent, and see which trap you catch a fox in first. * * * Now we notice that this writer brings in the bait every time. We are very much in favor of bait, and make bait one of our most essential points in trapping the fox. This writer says that those "no scent" men are the ones that say fox are afraid of human scent. For our part we do not claim anything of the kind; on the contrary, we claim that it is the signs that we make that the fox is shy of. I see there are a great many talking about mink not being afraid of railroad irons and barb wire fences writes a Louisiana trapper. Well, I guess they are not, but some of them are afraid of human scent under certain conditions, while under some other conditions they are not. Find a place where they are liable to come, and tramp and tread around just like an unexperienced trapper would do, taking an old rusty or new trap, handling with naked hands and set either concealed or naked, stick a chunk of meat up over it on a stick, and then remove sticks and stones making a disturbance. This will make mink afraid of human scent in that place. A great many are afraid of a bait stuck up on a stick if there is human scent around it, so I think it is a combination of these; namely, disturbances, human scent and the unnatural place to find food that scares them away. Yet they are not all that way by any means. Now let some of these fellows who think animals are not afraid of human scent try to catch an otter that has been caught before and got away, and they will think differently. I caught one last winter, that had his front leg off within an inch of the shoulder. I also caught a coon that had both front legs off high up, and strange to say this coon was fat and in good condition. He wasn't a very large one, and his teeth were badly worn off. He must have looked funny walking around on his hind feet like a bear, that is the way he walked for I could tell by the tracks. I see a great deal of discussion about mink being afraid of human scent writes a prairie trapper. I think there is a difference between mink concerning this: some mink are afraid and others are not. Last winter I caught a mink in a trap but he got away before I got there, and that mink after getting loose, followed the tracks I had made the morning before for about a quarter of a mile up the river before he turned in close to the bank. Now he didn't seem to be afraid of human scent. Again I have walked up to a mink path, carefully set and covered my trap, and then carefully walked away in my old tracks, but never a mink would I get, nor would the mink even go along that path any more. I have even walked up to a path when I had no traps with me and then walked away, and altho the path had been used every day before, it was not used again for about nine or ten days. I once set a trap at the bottom of a muskrat slide without covering, and although I had walked all around there and my trap was not covered, I got a mink. I wish to say that mink are not afraid of human scent and in proof will tell a little experience I had with a mink while trapping for muskrat, writes a Massachusetts trapper. One night I came to one of my traps which contained a muskrat that was partly eaten. I knew it was the work of a mink. Going on up the stream a short distance I had a mink, and I allowed that this mink would steal no more muskrats, but on investigating I discovered that this mink was coming down stream, while the one that had eaten the muskrat was going up, and after all I had not caught the thief. Next night the same trap contained a muskrat partly eaten and I determined to catch the mink. I took the rat out of the trap and fixed for Mr. Mink by setting a second trap about three feet from the first one. I then started to look at other traps and was not gone more than an hour, and on returning to these traps I found that I had already caught the mink, and it was a big one and very dark. If this mink had been afraid of human scent he would not have returned. In regard to human scent it does seem to me that after a man has trapped for a number of years he ought to know something about it, writes a trapper of the Great Lake region. I do positively know that human scent will drive most animals away. I have been a great lover of taking the otter. Brother trappers, how many of you that have trapped the otter, but what have found out that he can tell that you have been there if you are not very careful, and he is not very much sharper than mink or fisher. I do think that all animals can scent a human being. I have caught almost all kinds of fur-bearing animals this side of the Rockies, and I don't know it all yet, but I do know the nature of all the game I trapped, and that we must all know to make trapping pay. In regard to scents, will say that undoubtedly the most taking scent for male fur-bearing animals is that taken from the female during the mating season. Yet there are other things that will attract them sometimes. I believe there are times when the female mink can be trapped more easily with the blind set, in fact at least one-half the mink I ever caught were taken in that manner, without any muskrat meat. I believe that a party may have and use all the scents, baits and methods in existence but without some knowledge of the animal sought, and also a little practicable common sense, and knowledge of setting traps he will meet with indifferent success. Trappers are divided as to their views on "Human Scent and Sign". Some of the old and experienced ones think there is nothing to either for as they say they catch the shrewdest animals without any trouble. This is true but the trapper of years of experience knows how to set his traps without leaving "sign." There is no question but that the shrewdest animals "look" with suspicion upon "sign" or anything out of the ordinary especially at their den or places where they often frequent. [Illustration: COYOTE TRAPPING ON THE CATTLE RANCHES.] The hunter knows that deer, bear, fox and other animals rely upon their sense of smell as one of their ways to evade them. Is it not as reasonable that they smell a trapper when on his rounds? Of course after the trapper has made the set and gone, his scent will gradually leave and the "sign" is probably the cause of the animal keeping away, should it continue to do so. That human scent is quite noticeable to animals is proven from the fact that bloodhounds can follow a man's trail or scent even tho it has been made hours before. Yet after a day or so the scent is lost and the best bloodhound cannot follow it. Do not the same conditions apply to the scent left by the trapper when setting his traps for wolves, foxes, mink, otter, beaver and other keen scented and shrewd animals? It surely does, and after a few days, at the farthest, the "human scent" is all gone. This being true, then it must be the "sign" that keeps the animal away. Again, it may be that the animal has had no occasion to return. Where the trapper has just set traps for foxes or wolves and these animals visit them within a few hours they perhaps are aware that a person has been about as both "scent" and "sign" may be there. To overcome "human scent" and "sign" the trapper must leave no "sign" and as for "human scent" it will leave in a short time. In visiting the traps do not go near unless disturbed. CHAPTER XXIV. HINTS ON FALL TRAPPING. Before the readers of the H-T-T receive the November issue the death sentence will have been passed and executed upon many a luck-less fur-bearer whose hides will be "on the fence," for in many states trapping can be done at any time, more is the pity, writes a Michigan trapper and buyer. In Michigan no trapping is allowed until November 1st, which is plenty soon enough. Last season I saw many hundreds of skunk, coon and mink and also opossum skins that had been taken in October and were only trash. It was a worthless, wasteful slaughter. Muskrats are the only animals that may, with reason, be taken during the first half of October and yet it is better to wait until general collections are good. I will first ask the amateur if he uses the precaution to stake his rat and mink traps at water sets with bushes instead of stakes. They do not attract the attention of hunters and other stragglers and especially boys as does the new whittled wood of a stake; sometimes it is necessary to go still farther than this and cut a short stake and shove it entirely out of sight under water or mud. [Illustration: EASTERN MINK--NOVEMBER CAUGHT.] When you find where a rat is working slightly in many places along a bank and you do not know just where to place your trap, dig a little place in the bank at the water's edge and up above it and set your trap in the entrance under the water a half inch. This will attract the rat and you will most likely get him. It helps to pin down a rat's leg or other small portion of the carcass in the excavation just mentioned. Rats will not eat the meat, but it is sure to draw them into the trap; and then by baiting with rat flesh you will often get a mink. After you have caught a rat at feeding signs or in any other inconspicuous place and you do not get more after two nights, it is well to move your trap to a new place. I generally trap three nights on one stretch of ground and then take up all except now and then one occupying the most favored positions; the remaining traps will catch the stragglers and the traps you remove and reset will be on guard to a purpose. Be careful and do not dry your furs by the fire. I saw many lots of rats last fall and into the winter that would break like glass, the skins had been made so brittle by the fire-drying process. It makes the pelt side look dark and unprime as well. In setting for mink, follow water setting as long as possible and set under over-hanging roots and banks where the tracks are seen or where a log lies up so as to permit the mink's passing under and, in short, wherever the game is most apt to pass thru or under as is the mink's habit. Where there is no timber and the banks are low, then the main dependence is on making a trench as described and pinning down a portion of muskrat. [Illustration: MUSKRAT HOUSE.] I will also say that I have found rat houses a capital place to catch mink. Both coon and mink visit rat houses that are nearest to shore; knowing this, after you have caught off the rats, dig a hole in the side of the house and throw in a portion of a muskrat. Set jour trap at entrance covered with water or thin mud and if there is a mink or coon that visits the house you will get him if things don't go contrary, the trap fail to get hold or some other ill luck occur. When a coon is expected a long hardwood stake should be used. I have had a number blunder into rat traps, chew the soft popple or willow stake all to pieces and go off with the trap. And they have never returned one yet. A word more on the mink question. When I find a place that mink are most sure to pass thru or under, I do not use bait. Especially if the mink is old and cunning and has been trapped, or one that has been nipped by a trap and become "bait shy." For these I make blind sets only. My trap and chain is under water and also my stake. The trap is barely covered by water or mud and an old leaf or two that is watersoaked is laid on the trap. If I think there is a chance for the mink to avoid the trap, I lean up an old chunk or dead stick against the bank with the lower end just beyond the trap next to deep water. It is plain to be seen that if he goes behind that prop he will hear something drop. I have caught many a mink in this manner that have eluded all the trappers in my neighborhood. Several years ago an old trapper and myself fought a friendly contest in our endeavor to catch a sly old dog mink. He traveled on a creek which was a mere thread. My competitor was a strong believer in bait and before a week had passed he had tried muskrat, fish, birds and frogs. The mink passed nightly but ignored all these offerings, the main reason being that a meadow near by teemed with mice. Calling the mink a "bad one," he invited me to try my hand. He had about a dozen baited traps set. I took one good No. 1 Newhouse and selecting a place where the bank was undermined and the mink's track could be seen on a shelf, I placed my trap next to the bank, placed the leaves of a long soaked weed over the trap which was barely submerged. I then took a large weed that was full of branches and thrust it in the bed of the stream, so close to the trap that the mink would be liable to pass between it and the bank. The next morning I met the old trapper coming back from his round. "Well, did you get 'im?" I asked. "No, but you did and I killed him for ye and he's a whalin' big one," he added rather dryly. His disappointment was but poorly disguised and like the "fox and grape fable" he comforted his chagrin by saying: "He probably blundered in, with so many traps set, how could he help it? I'd a ketched 'im in a night or two." I did not dispute this statement, but kept a deal of thinking. All thru November skunks will be visiting old dens looking up winter quarters to suit and wandering with their usual lawlessness. By placing traps in the entrance of these holes you will catch some of the striped gentry, but your catch will be vastly greater if you bait. Many skunks only look down a hole and do not enter, which they would do if you place a bait of muskrat, rabbit or chicken below the trap at each setting. The skunk is such a glutton that altho he may be gorged to repletion he will still try to encompass more if it is food to his liking. Quite a number of trappers wish to know how skunk catching can be done without odor. Boys, don't be afraid of the odor. Wear old clothes and discard them at the close of day. The perfume that the first skunk gives off when you dispatch him is an advantage to you. It draws others. So having caught one, keep your trap there. I have had a trap set at a den for a long time without its being disturbed, but as soon as I caught one several more got fast in quick succession. CHAPTER XXV. LAND TRAPPING. Following animals are trapped on land and in what is known as land sets: Wolf, marten, bear, weasel, mountain lion, badger, fisher, lynx, wild cat, civet, skunk, ring-tail cat, and opossum. Fox are largely trapped on land, but in some sections they are taken in water at bait sets; mink and coon are trapped on land as well as in the water. Wolves, being one of the shrewdest, methods for catching them will be described first. WOLVES AND COYOTES. Find an old trail that the coyotes use, plant your trap in as narrow a part of the trail as possible, fasten trap to a good toggle, bury the toggle to one side of the trail. Have a blanket while doing the work. Place all dirt on the blanket. After trap, chain and toggle are put in place and wool has been put under pan, cover all nicely with dirt from the blanket. The dirt should not be over one-fourth of an inch deep. Leave everything looking as it did before you began. Now have an old stick (not a fresh cut one) the size of your wrist and long enough to reach across the trail and lay it about eight inches from the trap and crosswise of the trail. A coyote won't step on the stick, but will step over it every time. Use caution and leave no human signs and you will get your coyote. This method is used successfully in Texas, says a wolf trapper of that state. The wolf is a pretty hard animal to trap, writes a Minnesota trapper. Whenever he gets near a bait he is always shy and that is because he can smell iron, but if you put a trap in his track and he comes along he will walk right in and get caught. That is because he thinks there is no danger in his own tracks. There are many times that he falls a victim to the trap that way. I will describe a set most trappers use here in the winter when there is snow on the ground. They take some horse manure and haul it out on some plowed field and make two heaps not very high and in one of them they put the bait and in the other the traps. Four traps are mostly used, secured to a log. Care must be taken not to cover the traps too much. The best bait, I think, is the entrails from a hog. Trappers for wolves should not use smaller than No. 3 traps. The No. 4 is known as the wolf trap and will be found suitable for all sections. If wolves have been feasting off the carcass of a sheep, calf or other animal, set your trap there. If you have plenty of traps a half dozen set within eighteen inches of the carcass and carefully covered up, should make a catch. The trap and fastening, a weight and clog, be it remembered, should be covered. If you dig up the ground in order to conceal the clog, have a basket or something along to put the earth in and carry away some distance. Everything must be left as natural as possible. Another method is to hang up a dead chicken and place a trap directly under it. Hang the fowl about three feet high. The secret, at least one of them, in trapping is to leave everything as natural as possible after setting your trap. Most animals will regard with suspicion if there is much change around their den. In the case of skunk it perhaps is not so particular, yet the trapper who carefully conceals his traps will be well repaid for so doing. Even when trapping for skunk you never know what animal may come along. Then to be ready, adopt the rule of always carefully covering your traps. We all admit that the fox and wolf are shy animals and are rather difficult to catch, yet they are frequently caught by trappers who are only trapping for opossum or skunk. These trappers, of course, had their traps carefully hidden. While fox and wolf are among the smartest animals, yet they can be caught, as the thousands of pelts sold annually is evidence. See to it, trappers, that every trap is set and covered properly and you will be rewarded some morning on visiting your trap by a fox or wolf if they are many in your section. [Illustration: WOLF CAUGHT AT BANK SET.] Now a word about trapping those cute little coyotes, writes a California trapper. The best way to catch anything that walks on four legs is to make a fool of them. Some people may think that is "hot air," but I know better. The best way to fool an old coyote is to take a fresh sheep skin and drag it, you riding on a horse, for a mile or so in the hills near where your man is in the habit of going, (now be sure you don't touch it with your hands) until you find an open hill not too high. Have a stake there before hand and your traps set. The traps should be left lying in the sheep pen for a week before setting. When you get to the stake, hang your pelt on it, so when the wind blows the pelt will move. Mr. Coyote will be sure to find the trail you have made and will follow it until it sees the pelt, and then he will walk around it for a night or so, but he will not get too near the first night or three or four nights, but he will try to pull the skin down and he will forget about the traps and everything else and will be taken in just like all the other suckers. My outfit consists of the following, writes a well known Western trapper: Sixty No. 3 Newhouse single spring otter traps (I find they will hold any wolf and are easier set than double spring traps), an axe, 60 stakes 16 or 18 inches long, 12 or 15 pounds of wool or cotton, wool preferred, 20 stakes 10 or 12 inches long, a piece of oil cloth or canvas about 3 feet square, a light wagon and team, a good rifle and four stag hounds. The hounds are trained so stay on the wagon until told to go, and will nearly always get a coyote when sent after him. In setting traps I choose a high knoll or a bare spot on the range--often the bed of a dry creek--where I see plenty of signs, and then proceed as follows: Stick one of the small stakes where I want the bait and from 20 to 24 inches from it lay a trap and stretch the chain straight back, drive stake through chain ring and drive down below the surface of the ground an inch or more. Then fix two more traps the same way at the opposite points of a triangle. Set your traps and place a good wad of wool under the pan so that rabbits and other small game will not spring it, and then proceed to bed the traps and chains, placing all the dirt on the canvas. Now place your bait (I always use live bait if weather is not too cold, but have had good success with dead bait). Lay an old dead hen or other fowl in the center and drive small stakes through it into the ground firmly; cover end of stake with wing or feathers of bait. Now step back and take dirt from the canvas and cover traps 1/2 or 5/8 inch deep; also cover your own tracks, and brush over all with a bush. If traps are well set it will be hard to tell where the traps lay. All dirt that is left on canvas should be taken away some distance and dropped. In using live bait proceed the same way with traps, only bait should be tied by the feet with a good stout cord and place a can of corn and one of water within reach of fowl, both cans to be set into the ground level with surface. Do not go nearer to traps than to see that they are not sprung and do not shoot or club game in the traps, but choke to death with a copper wire on the end of a pole; a good stout cord will answer the same purpose. Wipe all blood off traps before setting again and brush out your tracks as before, and above all, don't spit tobacco juice near your traps. After catching one wolf or coyote, do not use more bait, as the scent is strong enough to draw all that comes near. I do not use any patent decoy or scents, as I consider them useless for any game. The only scent I use is what I make myself, and then only use it from February to April. In the summer I gather up four or five bitch dogs and as fast as they come in heat I kill them and take the organs of generation and pickle them in wide mouth bottles with alcohol enough to cover. I sprinkle a few drops on a stone or bush, stick in center between traps, but use no other bait. This is also good for fox. The above method is the same as I learned it from an old Hudson Bay trapper, Pierre Deverany, who was born in 1817 and had trapped all through the British possessions and the Rocky Mountains, with whom I trapped for several years. LYNX, FISHER, WILD CAT. Here is the method for the capture of a lynx. Where lynx follow up trails, build a house around a tree, of brush, etc., leaving a small door fronting the trail. Cut a rabbit or bird and tie it to the tree in the house. Place a No. 4 or 14 Newhouse trap at the entrance, covering with cotton or wool and boughs. Fasten your trap chain to a clog; drag a rabbit up and down the trail past the house. For a fisher build a small house and use No. 1 1/2 Newhouse trap and bait with rabbit, bits of deer meat with the hair and skin left on is also a good bait. Use a sliding pole or heavy drag, as the fisher sometimes chews the drag to pieces. Wild cat are trapped about the same as lynx. There are a great many caught by making a cubby or enclosure where they cross or frequent in search of birds, rabbits, etc. The bait is placed back in the cubby and may be either bird, rabbit or fish. The No. 1 1/2 and No. 2 Newhouse are used principally, altho the Victor No. 3 and Oneida Jump No. 4 are both adapted to wild cat trapping. [Illustration: LYNX CAUGHT IN STEEL TRAP.] The methods given for catching wild cat, lynx and fisher can and are used by trappers for each of these animals. That is, the set described for wild cat can be used for fisher and lynx, the lynx set for fisher and wild cat and the fisher set for lynx and wild cat. In other words, a set for any of these animals is good for all three. MARTEN. To begin with, when trapping for marten, says an Oregon trapper, use only the best traps--No. 1 or 1 1/2 is plenty large enough--in fact, larger traps cannot be used conveniently, for the reason that when the ground is covered with deep snow and your traps are all fastened high up on trees you must set them with your hands. With nothing to rest your trap on except your knee and with fingers like icicles it will require all the strength in your left hand to mash together the spring of a good No. 1 1/2, while with the right you adjust the pan and latch. Do not fool away your time with a few traps, but of course just how many you can use depends on how thick game is. View out your prospective line during summer time. Some important essentials are: pick out a line in very heavy timber, preferably along some high ridge; work gradually up or down hill and avoid very steep places; a line free from underbrush is desirable unless snow gets deep enough to cover it all up; run your line as near straight as possible; avoid making sharp turns for your blazes will at times be very hard to see owing to snow on the bark of the trees and once off the line it may be hard to find. [Illustration: MARTEN CAUGHT IN SHELF SET.] Do not make camps too far apart, eight miles is far enough when the snow is soft and deep. Get your traps all strung out before snow comes and have everything ready so as to lighten your work when the time comes, for, even then, it will be hard enough. Now, in setting traps, you cannot pick out likely places--hollow trees, etc.--do not leave the line even for a few feet to set one in that hollow tree else the trap is apt to be forgotten and lost. Give every tree where a trap is left some mark to indicate its presence. Use wire staples to fasten traps to the trees and they should be fastened three or four feet above the ground. Set the trap or bend the spring around to fit the curve of the tree. Now drive a 12 penny nail in the tree an inch or so, place the trap so that the cross piece rests flat on the nail and drive two smaller ones between the spring and your trap rests same as if set on the ground. Nail small piece of bait (squirrel, rabbit, or bird is best) eight or ten inches above the trap. If you desire to shelter the trap, drive a couple of wooden pegs above the bait and lay on a piece of bark or some boughs--this is not necessary if traps are to be looked after regularly, for you can keep the snow brushed off. A large piece of bait is not necessary, but in rebaiting do not remove the old bait, just nail up another. Sometimes I have a half dozen baits by each trap. It is well to try each trap occasionally to see if it will spring with just the right pressure. If the bait is scarce, set the traps any way and you will soon have enough birds and squirrels. [Illustration: SHELF SET AND FASTENING.] In visiting the line, always make your pack as light as possible, four or five pounds of bait, a hatchet, a few nails and staples and a small Stevens 22 cal. pistol is all you will be apt to need for one hundred traps. If you are a trapper by nature, you will know where to put the traps, close together and where there is a probability of making a catch. Some places I put a trap every fifty yards and some places one-half mile apart. Keep your traps freshly baited and do something with each trap every three or four days, if nothing more than to rub a piece of bacon rind or rabbit entrails from the top of the snow to the bait. A drag is good at times and in some places. Scent is good if bait is frozen. WHITE WEASEL. When trapping weasel, writes a Northern trapper, I set my traps near small streams or in swamps, old ditches, beneath old roots and under shelving banks, near running water, and sometimes they may be caught in woodchuck holes. The white weasel and all other weasel are regular dummies, going headlong into a trap, even if they are in plain view. You don't need to cover up your trap at all unless you want to, as the weasel will walk right in to get the bait and click bang and you have your weasel hard and fast. The best bait for weasel is rabbit heads, chicken heads and squirrels. The same sets will also catch mink, but the traps must be covered in that case unless you are making blind sets. I have caught a good many weasel in my mink sets and then again, I have caught them in old muskrat holes or dens along the banks of small streams and also near river banks in deserted rat dens. [Illustration: SQUIRREL CAUGHT ON STUMP.] White weasel or ermine are found in Canada and the New England States as well as all other states bordering on Canada, but rarely farther south. These animals, like all of the weasel kind, are active in their search for food and are easily attracted to bait. They are the smallest of the animals now being sought after by American trappers for their fur. The No. 0 is used in taking this animal, altho many trappers prefer the No. 1 and 1 1/2 as they catch high and the trapper usually finds the weasel dead on his arrival. MINK. My father was a successful mink trapper but only trapped when they became bothersome says an experienced trapper. He made mostly dry sets. He would look carefully at a hole in bank of stream or pond, then cut out a place for the trap, drive a stake in bottom of the trap bed, coil trap chain around it and set trap on top, then cover with finely cut grass, a big leaf or writing paper and lastly with the material he took off the top trap bed. Then he cleared all extra dirt away and put the bait in the edge of the hole or under the edge of a stick or stone, if there was one near the hole. I went with him once and I said, "Some trappers stick the bait on a stick." He looked at me and said, "You young goose, did you ever know a mink to eat part of a muskrat and hang the rest on a stick?" He used bird, muskrat and fish for bait. If bird, he tore some feathers out and made it appear as if some mink had dragged the bait there and hid it. For a mink that is not hungry, I find an old muskrat den or a runway through a drift pile is a good place. The great trouble with these two last sets is, the rabbits are liable to get into the trap instead of the mink. There are a good many ways to catch mink, and there are mink that will evade a good many well laid plans for their capture. My most successful plan for catching mink is this: I get a hollow log--it needn't be a long one--and if it is open at both ends I close up one end, then a little back of that I put my bait. Now at the other end if the entrance is not slanting so that the mink would run into it easily, I make it so. I then put the trap inside, about a foot from the entrance. The mink will run into the log because he smells the bait, or simply because it is the nature of the beast to make the run of every hollow log he comes to. Finding the other end closed he will have to come back and he is sure to be caught either going or coming. Trailing bait along the ground and up to the back of the log makes the results surer, as mink are great on the scent. About mink. One man said mink would not take anything dead unless he was very hungry. Now Brother Trappers, you all know a mink will take anything he finds dead and drag it into a hole if he can and when you find where a mink has dragged something into a hole that is a never failing set for if he is not in the hole when you find it he will sure come back to it. RACCOON. Hollow trees in swamps are the favorite denning places of the raccoon, writes an Eastern trapper of years of experience, but in some sections he is found nearly as often in holes among ledges. If there is a rocky hill or mountain side on your line, inspect it thoroughly. The occupied dens may easily be told by the trodden appearance of the ground about the entrance and an occasional tuft of hair on the projecting edges of the stone. Here are the places for your traps. Set your traps just outside the entrance, cover well with leaves and rotten wood, and fasten to a clog. We say outside the entrance, for if the trap be placed at a point where the animal is obliged to assume a crouching posture, it will be sprung by the creature's belly, and you will find your trap empty save for a fringe of hair. Even if the dens show no signs of recent occupation, a few traps can hardly be misplaced, for the raccoon, like every other animal, frequently goes on foraging trips long distances from his actual home, taking up temporary quarters in places like those above described. [Illustration: RACCOON CAUGHT IN ONEIDA JUMP.] Whenever there is a brook or creek in the vicinity of good raccoon ground, look along it carefully for signs. The raccoon follows the streams almost as persistently as the mink in quest of frogs, fish or clams, and his track may be easily found along the muddy borders, the print of the hind foot strikingly resembling that of a baby's bare foot. He is a far less skillful fisher than the mink, usually confining himself to such unwary swimmers as venture up into the shallow water near the bank. He seldom if ever I believe, goes into deep water. If you find evidence that a raccoon is patrolling a stream, place a trap without bait at the end of every log affording a crossing place. The raccoon seldom wades or swims when he can find dry footing. If you wish to trap the raccoon by baiting, you will find nothing that he likes better than an old salt fish skin that has been made odorous by being well smoked. It is not a bad idea to do the smoking near where you are to set the trap. Build up a little stick fire in the woods, hold the fish skin impaled on a green stick, over it until it is thoroughly heated and smoked through, and an odor will be created that will pervade the woods for rods around. And of course if this scent reaches the nostrils of any near-by ringtail that is sleeping away the day, he will lose no time after nightfall in tracing out the source of the appetizing smell, and endeavoring to make a supper off his favorite food. Mice, squirrel, frogs and chicken heads are all good baits, and they are equally good for mink. Most trappers prefer the No. 1 1/2 Newhouse for raccoon although some use the No. 2 double spring. The Oneida Jump No. 2 and 2 1/2 are also good coon traps as is the H. & N. No. 2. The Stop Thief No. 3 1/2 is also used for coon. FOXES. Now I will tell you how foxes can be caught on land when the ground is frozen, writes a New England trapper. Take a large bait, entrails or anything that a fox will eat, and put it in some field where the foxes travel; put out with this bait three bags of buckwheat chaff. Don't set any traps until foxes begin to eat bait and walk on chaff. Then take a No. 2 Newhouse trap, smoke it over burning green fir boughs, and smear it with equal parts of oil of amber and beeswax; also, smear the chain and use leather mitts to set trap with, for it is no use setting unless you do. Bury the trap about a foot from the bait, and cover it with chaff. Make everything level and natural. When you catch a fox, take him out with mitts on and set again if you haven't a clean trap to put in its place. Always set a clean trap if possible. [Illustration: RED FOX CAUGHT AT DRY LAND SET.] My way of catching foxes, writes a Georgia trapper is as follows: I get a lot of dry dust, put it in the hen house and let it stay until I get ready to make my sets; then I take what I can carry handily in a sack to where the foxes "use", dig a hole deep enough for my trap, place a piece of burnt bacon in a hole, cover it up with the dust, burn more bacon, letting the grease drop on and around the dust. I fix a good many of these places but I do not set my traps the first trip. The next trip I carry my traps with me. If the foxes have found my bait they will dig it out. I then set my trap in the bottom of the hole, driving a stake down in the hole to fasten the trap to. Cover the trap chain and all with dust. I do not put new bait in the hole, but burn more bacon on top. Try this, brother trappers, and watch results. Do not set traps where the bait has not been disturbed. Carry away all fresh dirt and handle your traps with gloves. In water trapping, form a natural surface over your traps and you will get furs. I see different ways to catch the fox. They are all right but no person can tell another and guarantee success. The man or boy who sets right will get the fur but careless ones will not. I am going to tell amateurs and boys the secret of an old time trapper. He is alive yet and I guess had a few traps set (altho over eighty years old.) He told me the secret and said at that time he had never told any one but me. First put out offal of butchering such as beef head; pick out a good place where foxes travel; at the same time, singe the fur on a rabbit or two and put near where you want to set trap; commence baiting early and go there often. Go past close to where you want to set a trap; don't tramp around much but go on thru, not leaving the end of your trail there; renewing bait and singed rabbit fur as needed. When ready to set traps, boil them in ashes. Then after drying, fasten traps to bottom of a barrel and burn slowly a lot of rabbit fur under them; handle as little as possible. Set carefully and catch your fox if you can and you can if you are careful enough. He said he caught fifteen in one place that way in one winter. Fasten trap to drag so he can go away and not spoil set. My best method is to set my trap in an old log road or path where there is no traveling done. We should set the trap level with the ground. The trap should be a No. 2 Newhouse which is the best fox trap made. OPOSSUM. The opossum is not a cunning animal and takes bait readily. It is found in the Southern and Central States principally. This animal cannot live in the extreme north as they die from the severe weather. They are caught principally in No. 1 Newhouse traps, at dens or places they frequent in search of food. Almost any fresh meat is good bait: rabbit, squirrel, bird, chicken, etc. [Illustration: OPOSSUM CAUGHT IN NO. 1 NEWHOUSE.] The trap can be baited when used at den but this is not necessary. Along their trails and in thickets they visit a piece of bait suspended a foot or so above the ground and trap under, carefully covered, will catch the opossum. They are also caught by building a pen of stakes, or chunks and stones placing bait in the back part and setting trap in front also at hollow logs where they frequently live. No. 1 Newhouse trap is used a great deal for this animal, although the No. 1 Victor will hold them; No. 2 Oneida Jump, or No. 2 Tree Trap, are proper sizes to catch this animal. The Tree Trap can be used to advantage in catching opossum as this trap is so made that it can be nailed to a tree or stump and baited. BADGER. The badger is a strong animal for its size, and also slow in its movements. The No. 2 is as small a trap as trappers generally use. The traps are set at the entrance to their dens, carefully covered and should be fastened to a moveable clog. In setting for badger the trapper should carefully remove enough earth to bed the trap level. A piece of paper or long grass is then carefully placed on trap, and this covered lightly with the same material removed in making the excavation. This set is apt to reward the trapper. If care is taken in making this set a fox may be caught, as they sometimes frequent dens used by badger. SKUNK. A Skunk is one of the easiest animals, whose fur is valuable that there is to trap. This animal is one of the first to become prime in the fall. Likewise it sheds early in the spring. When the weather becomes severe they den up, coming out only on the warmer nights. In the North they are seldom out after real winter begins, while in the South, they seek food more or less throughout the winter. The greatest number are trapped at their dens which can be easily told by the long tail hairs found in and near the mouth of den. These hairs may be either white or black, but are usually both--one end white and the other black. These hairs are from three to five inches in length. [Illustration: BLACK SKUNK IN NO. 1 1/2 VICTOR.] The dens can also be told by their droppings or manure which is usually found a few feet to one side of the den. Skunk "droppings" can be told by observing closely as it contains parts of bugs, grass-hoppers, etc., the skunk being very fond of these. At such dens place your trap which should be a No. 1 Newhouse, No. 1 1/2 Victor, or No. 2 Jump. While catches may be made without any covering it is best to secret the trap carefully for a fox might happen along, or if near water, a mink. The best place to put the trap is just at the entrance of den so that an animal in coming out will get caught also one going near to the den, but not entering as they often do. Remove the earth sufficient to bed the trap so that after it is covered the covering will be on a level with the surroundings. Make a covering with whatever you removed. If there is grass in mouth of den, cover with grass, if leaves, cover with leaves, etc. Another good set is to find where skunk are feeding, digging for insects, or their trails leading from one den to another, and make a cubby, placing bait in it, and setting trap. Bait should be rabbit, squirrel, chicken, bird, or in fact, almost any kind of meat. [Illustration: BAITED AND CAUGHT AT CUBBY SET.] CIVET. Civet or civet cats are caught much the same way as skunk. This is the little spotted animal often called pole cat, and smaller than the skunk. Skunks have a spot on the head and two stripes while the civet has several stripes and these sometimes run across the body instead of along the back from head to tail as on the skunk. This animal is caught much the same as the skunk, but being much smaller does not require as strong a trap and the No. 1 of most any make will usually hold this animal. Bait the same as for skunk. RING TAIL CAT. The Ring Tail cat or Basarisk is found principally in Texas, although there are some in California, Oregon and Washington. They can be trapped by baiting with insects, frogs or mice. The No. 1 Newhouse, or No. 1 1/2 Victor, or No. 2 Oneida Jump are correct sizes for this animal. The traps can be set about as for skunk or may be placed on logs and baited or the bait can be nailed to a tree that they frequent, the trap placed beneath and carefully covered. BEAR. Bear are caught after finding a place that they visit in search of food, by building a "cubby", made by driving old dry stakes in the ground so as to form a V-shaped pen. Then cover all except the entrance with green brush. This should be three feet high, about two wide, and about three or four feet long. If a rock or old log is laying where the cubby is to be built it can be used for one side. The "cubby" must be built strong or the bear is apt to tear it down and secure the bait without getting caught. The bait can be a piece of dead horse, hog, sheep, or most any animal, and the more it stinks, the better. Fish is also good bait. Stake the bait back in the cubby, and set the trap at the entrance. Cover carefully. The trap should be fastened to a clog weighing thirty pounds or more. This clog should be several feet long and if a few knots are left on so much the better. The Nos. 5, 15, and 150, are all adapted for black bear, while the No. 6 is especially designed for grizzly bear. It is the largest trap made. [Illustration: THERE TO STAY--IN A NEWHOUSE.] In setting bear traps the Newhouse champ, described elsewhere, is much used. It is not very safe for a lone trapper in the forest to undertake the setting of a powerful steel trap without clamps. MOUNTAIN LION. Mountain lion are powerful animals yet they are successfully caught in No. 4 1/2 Newhouse traps. [Illustration: MOUNTAIN LION SECURELY CAUGHT.] If you find where mountain lions have killed an animal and left part of it there is the place to set a trap for they are almost sure to return in a night or two. This animal is also frequently caught by setting a trap where deer or other game has been killed. The chances are good if there is a lion near it will smell the blood and be attracted to the spot as many hunters know that have killed game, dressed and left it until the next day, to find on returning that a lion had been there and helped itself. In setting for this animal the trap should be fastened to a clog--never solid--as they are quite strong. CHAPTER XXVI. WATER TRAPPING. Here is where the steel trap reveals its superiority over all other traps, for the homemade ones cannot be used for water sets. Strictly speaking all the "water animals" that are valuable for fur are the otter, beaver and muskrat, although large numbers of both coon and mink are caught at water sets, as they frequent the streams, ponds and lakes, a great deal in search of food. In the New England states, as well as some other sections, foxes are caught in water sets mostly at springs. They are generally trapped this way in the fall and early winter before freezing weather. BEAVER. The beaver, as I know him, is a very shy and cunning animal, always on guard against danger, which makes it pretty hard to trap, unless the trapper thoroughly knows his ways and habits. My experience has been wholly confined to the Rocky Mountains of British Columbia and State of Washington, writes a trapper of experience. The beaver lives along streams or lakes. On streams he builds dams, thus making a reservoir or lake. Sometimes he builds a dam at the outlet of a natural lake, thus raising the height of the water. After he has prepared his dam and built his home, he commences to gather food, which consists of branches of trees, bushes, and even small trees themselves. He always chooses tender, green ones. These he puts in the bottom of the lake or stream in his hut or lodge. If he be disturbed at any time he will stop work for several days and live off the boughs already gathered and sunken, and it is almost impossible to get him until he commences to gather again. He usually does his work among young sprouts which grow along the bank of his lake or stream. Sometimes he will go a short ways up the stream and float the boughs down to his dam or hut, and then sink them to the bottom, so when the ice gets thick he has sufficient food sunk in the water to last him. [Illustration: BEAVER, TRAP AND TRAPPER.] There are several different ways to trap him, but I only know of two or three, and will attempt to give them. The first thing is a No. 3 or 4 Newhouse trap with a long chain and big ring. Then the best way is to take some bait, (described elsewhere), cut some small twigs, one for each trap, and having found the dam of a family of beavers, put on a pair of rubber boots, or remove your boots, and wade up stream along the shore, or go in a boat to where they have been at work gathering the sprouts. Be very careful, and don't step out of the water on the land so they can see your tracks or scent you, for should his suspicion become aroused by any human smell the beaver will stay in his home for several days, thus making it tedious work to trap him. When you have a place selected where the bank is steep, fasten your trap chain to a strong stake beneath the water. Then fasten a heavy rock to your trap and dig a flat place in the bank a few inches beneath the water, placing your trap thereon. Then dip the twig into the "madcin" and stick the upper end in the ground, just out of the water, and leaning over the trap. Now your trap is ready. The beaver comes out of his hut as it grows dark and starts toward the ground where he has his feeding place. As he swims along up the stream, his nose comes in contact with a familiar smell, and he will swim right up to the twig to investigate. As his foot touches the ground the trap springs and he at once plunges for deep water. The stone rolls down to the bottom and pulls him under and he drowns in a short time. He makes no noise to scare the rest, and before he has time to gnaw off his foot he is drowned. In this way you can catch the whole family. Another way is to cut a hole in the top of dam and set the trap just below the top of water just under the hole. Just as soon as he comes out his eyes tell him his dam needs fixing. He goes at it at once, and all the rest help him. He gets into the trap often before the eyes of the rest, and they will leave the place at once never to return. Another way is to cover the trap carefully in the path where the beaver goes from the water to his feeding grounds, but doing this it is liable to scare the rest of them entirely away. OTTER. The otter is a pretty hard animal to catch. When I set a trap in an otter hole, I cut a chunk of snow with an axe a short distance away and set over the hole, covering it all over with loose snow. That prevents it from freezing up for some time. The best time to catch otter is in March when the first thaw comes. I have kept traps set all winter for an otter and then got him in the spring. The trap should be set a little to one side of the hole in ten inches of water. I caught an otter once in an otter hole so deep that I had to put in an armful of cedar brush, so as to make it the right depth, and when he came to slide around there he got a surprise, writes a Colorado trapper. * * * To trap otter cut a log about 18 inches in diameter and about 7 or 8 feet in length, then cut half off five or six inches of one end of the log. Now float your log with the cut end down. Fasten your trap chain to the side of the log. Float your log to just below the point of a stream or a little above an otter slide. See that the log end on which the trap rests is below the water so as to give the otter a chance to climb onto the log to investigate the scent which should be "Oil of Anise" smeared on to a stick and set upright on the log. If you use good judgment in placing your log-float, you can count the "balls" on the otter's feet at every set. I find where the otter comes out of the water, writes an Arkansas trapper, to dung, or slide, as some term it, and I take a No. 4 steel trap and set it where he comes out of the water and about two inches under. Great care should be taken in setting a trap for an otter, not to go too close to the slides. Have a pair of rubber boots and wade in the stream along the edge to where the slide is. Set your trap so as to leave everything just as you found it, as near as possible; if handy, set from boat. No bait is required. [Illustration: LARGE OTTER CAUGHT IN NO. 3 NEWHOUSE.] Fasten your chain to a pole, say 6 or 8 feet long, leaving some limbs on one end to prevent ring of chain from coming off and wire the other end to a bush or something of that sort as far out in the water as you can so the otter can get into deep water and drown. Have a pole driven in the ground out in the water so the otter will get tangled around the pole. This will prevent him from getting loose, because he has no purchase to pull as he would have if out on the bank. I "hung up" three one night last fall. When I went to my traps I found one otter that measured 6 feet from tip of nose to tip of tail. I found an otter toe in one trap, another trap being taken off by an otter, as the chain pulled loose at the spring. I was fortunate in finding the otter that got away with the trap four days later, tangled up in some vines about two hundred yards from where he was caught; he measured 5 feet and 11 inches. MINK. An excellent way to catch mink is to take a fish, cut it in pieces and tie all of them except one or two onto a large stick and fasten it out about two feet from the shore in shallow water. Set your trap about half-way between the shore and the stick and have it fixed so that the covering will make a little mound above the water. Throw the other pieces of fish down on the shore and you will get every mink that comes along. Be sure that your trap is staked in as deep water as is possible, so they will not get away. In setting any trap it is a very good thing to have rubber boots and stand in the water while setting. Some trappers say it is foolishness because they are not afraid anyway. Well, I have caught mink in an uncovered trap that was in plain sight and then again I couldn't get them to come near with the trap under water. Some mink are more careful than others and if you set for the wisest ones you will be sure to get them all. I will give you a good mink set, writes a Minnesota trapper. Here is a trail along the edge of the water. Let us follow it until it takes to the water. In order to pass around a projection in the bank where the bank is so straight up that it is necessary for the animal to go into the edge of the water to pass around this obstruction, and in the edge of the water not more than two inches deep, level a place for the trap and press it down into the ground until the jaws are level with the surface, being careful to remove all mud from under the pan, giving it room for free action. Stake the chain back into the water full length and press it down into the mud. After doing this get a handful of dry dirt, pulverize it and let it fall gently over the trap, thoroughly covering it at least for a quarter of an inch, even and smooth in all places. Now about eight inches on each side of the trap place a small weed stalk an inch or two above the ground and directly over the path and if you will put a few spots of mud on it just where it crosses the path to give it the appearance of being rubbed against, you will catch every mink that runs this trail from either direction, and without bait or scent. MUSKRAT. When setting traps stake well out in the water, so that when the animal is caught he cannot get to land, and nine times out of ten when you visit the trap your game will be drowned. The trap should be in about three inches of water where rats frequent. If set 3 inches or deeper the trap is more apt to catch by the hind leg, which, being large, the bone is not broken so easily. For bait use white corn, apples, parsnips or turnips. [Illustration: MUSKRAT CAUGHT IN A DOUBLE JAW.] The idea advanced that the muskrat gnaws off his foot when caught is erroneous. There are times, however, when the trap has broken the bone in the leg and if the trap is a strong one, the animal frees himself by plunging about until the pressure of the jaws have cut thru the flesh. The flesh of the muskrat is not strong and when the jaws spring together, if they break the bone in the leg, which frequently happens, then the rat often frees himself before the arrival of the trapper. It is a good plan when making the round of your traps to carry a stout club with which to tap game over the head, killing it, should it be yet alive when you arrive. The entrance of the muskrat's den is usually under water, unless the streams are very low, then you can often find them. In the mouth of these dens is an excellent place to set traps, as game is passing in and out quite often and if traps are baited you are pretty sure to catch game in a day or two. Where rats have made a path from the water up the bank is another good place to set a trap. The trap should be set just at the edge of the water. It is a good idea to cover up your trap, even when trapping for muskrat, for with continued trapping they become sly and learn to shun traps. Along the bank of most all streams green grass can be secured and this placed over your traps will enable you to catch game that otherwise would shun your trap. The trap should be baited, but the covering up of trap and chain will greatly help in catching game. The earlier traps are visited in the morning the better, for should the game still be alive there will be less chance of it getting free. COON. Now just a word about trapping coon in water. Set trap in water and bait with fish. Now the right way to use fish is to cut it up in very small pieces, drop some on the ground and some in the water and when Mr. Coon comes along he will find that fish on the ground and then go to feeling in the water and the first thing he knows he is in the trap. * * * Here is my most successful set for coon. Find a log with one end out of water, and one end running into the water. Place a trap on the log an inch or so under water. Cover it with wet leaves all but the treadle. Then place a few grains of white corn on treadle pan. Mr. Coon will as sure put a foot down to investigate as he runs the log. FOX. I go around every fall in August and look for places to catch sly reynard, says an Eastern fox trapper. I look up all the warm springs back in the hills and dig them out and leave a stick or rail there for a clog. I leave it just where I want it, so that they will get used to it. About the middle of October I go and bait every place, using a piece of chicken or muskrat about as large as a butternut. I place it on a rock in the middle of the spring or about a foot from the bank and put a stone half-way between that and the bank just under water. Then I take a stone, the thinner the better. You can find enough of them around a ledge where the frost has scaled them off. I lay it on the rock that is just under the water so it will stick out of water. It ought to be 2 inches across each way. I use the scent of the skunk on the sole of my boots so as to kill the scent and handle the bait with a "knife and fork," never with my hands. It won't be long before the bait it gone when I am ready to set my traps, then I move the middle stone and put the thin one on the pan of the trap so it will just stick out of the water. Try this and you will get your fox. Scatter three or four drops of fish oil around trap. SPRING TRAPPING. When setting traps for beaver and otter in the early open water, writes a Canadian of experience, the greatest difficulty and annoyance the trapper has to contend against is the varying depths of the water caused by the melting of the snows during the day and the running down of the levels during the frosty nights. This, of course, applies more to rivers than to lakes, but as the rivers open so much earlier than the lakes it is on them the early trapping is prosecuted. It is most exasperating to visit one's trap in the morning and find by the signs that the beaver or otter had paid his visit and that the trap was out of order by being a couple of feet under water, or high and dry up the bank. To avoid this close observation of the working of the water must be taken note of by the trapper. Weather conditions is a factor to be reckoned with. A rainy night and a cold frosty one have, of course, different effects, and must be considered with all their bearings by the would-be successful trapper. The best time to make a set or final adjustment of one's trap is as late in the afternoon as possible. Then one sees how much the stream has risen since morning, and calculate by his judgment how much it will recede during the coming frosty night. Or if rain has set in or is imminent before morning, how much further the rise will be. [Illustration: A MORNING'S CATCH OF RATS.] With these daily and nightly variations of the water, of course, traps must be visited each morning and evening. It is therefore good policy at every early visit to make a level mark near each set, whereby in the evening when the trap is to be properly adjusted, the day's changes can be noticed with accuracy. Small streams, of course, fluctuate more than large rivers, the latter generally showing a steady increase in volume from the beginning of the break-up until the lake ice is all melted. There are many tributaries of large streams that one can easily jump across early in the morning, after a sharp frosty night, which are positively raging torrents at sundown. On streams with such wide variances in depth, trapping is almost impossible. At all events, a good deal rests on chance. One has to manage his trap with a large amount of guess work. Streams with a breadth of an acre or so move up and down with a greater degree of uniformity, and the trapper who pays close attention to the movements of the water and weather conditions can set his trap pretty accurately for business. A river such as I have mentioned last, whose feeders are a considerable distance up stream, generally falls a third of what it rose during the daytime. Thus, if you find that since morning the level has risen nine inches it will be safe to set your trap six inches under water. By this calculation there would be three inches over the jaws at the lowest ebb next morning, the night before being cold and dry. I have caught both otter and beaver in traps set on a half submerged log, a place which makes an ideal set on waters that are liable to vary in height, as the log moves with the change of height and the trap is always in order. Another good place for a trap is on a floating island when such can be found, but these favorable places are not always obtainable. A beaver or otter will be caught in deeper water in the spring than in the fall. In the spring they swim about with more vigor and consequently displace more water in front of their breasts, their feet thereby, setting off the pan in what would at other seasons be too deep water. A piece of castorum is the general lure used by most trappers for the animals I am treating of. In fact castorum is used for almost any animal. But a stronger "draw" for beaver or otter is a drop or two from the scent bag of the animal. The contents of this sac can be emptied into a small vial and carried about in the trapper's pocket to be used when required. A small twig dipped in this and stuck in the bank back of the trap will cause any otter or beaver swimming past to come straight for the trap, regardless of consequences. In setting a trap for these animals care must always be taken to douce all about the trap before leaving. This can be done from the canoe or boat by flipping water with the flat of the paddle. A difficulty in setting spring traps is the planting of a picket to hold the trap. The banks are generally frozen even for considerable distance under water, and driving a picket or stake is impossible. One good way to overcome this condition when procurable is to fasten the trap chain to a good sized flat stone. Have a wire from this to the shore tied to some willow or root, and if anything is caught, with the wire you can drag everything ashore. When stones are not to be procured a young spruce can be cut ten or twelve feet long of a size at the butt that the trap chain ring will pass over. Leave a good tuft of the head branches, removing all the rest down to the butt. The ring thus being assured of a clear run down to the tuft, the trap is set and the end of the pole made secure to the bank either by a piece of wire or by a cord. If the latter, care must be used to tie close down to the prong and the cord carefully covered with mud or something else to hide it from rabbits or other animals that would surely gnaw, thereby endangering the loss of your trap and animal. Trapping, like everything else, to make it a success, must have proper attention. A man who sets a trap haphazard and visits it only occasionally cannot expect to be very successful. SALT SET. I use both the bait and blind set; the water set I think is the best, that is, in bitter cold weather when the ice is thick. My way of making, I call it the ice set, writes an interested trapper, is to take a piece of oil cloth or an old buggy top cover will do, and put about 5 pounds of salt in same and sew it up, having it about 2 inches thick. Don't make it too solid, leave it loose enough so you can work the most of the salt around the edges to bed the trap in. Now puncture with a needle to let the fumes of salt through; cut a hole through the ice at edge of the water, scrape out hole to bed salt in; but first put a stone in the hole and bottom and side it up with stones to keep the mud from clogging the needle holes. Now you will wonder what the salt is for; simply to keep the ice from freezing the hole shut. I had nine of that kind of sets last winter and trapped 7 mink. The hole will never freeze shut. Always set trap under water. Last winter I told my better half that I had better take my traps out of the run where I trap, as I couldn't make a water set, because they froze up over night. She said, "Why don't you put salt around your traps?" That put me to thinking so I got an old piece of oil cloth and got her to make four bags for me on the sewing machine; I put a sack of salt, 5 pounds in each one, and used them as I have described. BAD WATERS. The marshy lands that are tributary to the Atlantic extend for hundreds of miles along the Maryland shore of Chesapeake Bay. These lands are sometimes entirely covered with a brackish water forced up by the tides from the sea, while at other times they are covered by the fresh water brought down by the flooded rivers from the higher lands of the back country. Upon these vast extents of boggy wastes large numbers of fur bearing animals, mostly muskrats are annually caught, and many trappers make a good living from the fur and the meat which as "Marsh Rabbit" is served at the Bon Ton restaurants of the neighboring cities. The water of these marshes varies much in its component parts at different places on the coast, caused by the varying quality of the streams which flow through them. This is plainly shown by its effect upon the traps used by the trappers of the different localities. While in some places the springs will stand apparently as well as in fresh water streams, in others they break very badly. [Illustration: THE BLACK WATER MARSH.] Formerly at one point known as the "Black Water" region the trappers often lost nearly one-half their springs in a few days trapping, owing to the action of this peculiar water. Just what the cause of this action is has not yet been fully determined. CHAPTER XXVII. WHEN TO TRAP. The proper season to begin trapping is when cold weather comes. The old saying that fur is good any month that has an "R" in does not hold good except in the North. Even there September is too early to begin, yet muskrat and skunk are worth something as well as other furs. In the spring April is the last month with an "R." In most sections muskrat, bear, beaver, badger and otter are good all thru April, but other animals began shedding weeks before. The rule for trappers to follow is to put off trapping in the fall until nights are frosty and the ground freezes. Generally speaking in Canada and the more Northern States trappers can begin about November 1 and should cease March 1, with the exception of water animals, bear and badger, which may be trapped a month later. In the Central and Southern States trappers should not begin so early and should leave off in the spring from one to four weeks sooner--depending upon how far South they are located. At the interior Hudson Bay posts, where their word is law, October 25 is appointed to begin and May 25th to quit hunting and trapping with the exception of bear, which are considered prime up to June 10. Remember that the above dates are for the interior or Northern H. B. Posts, which are located hundreds of miles north of the boundary between the United States and Canada. The skunk is the first animal to become prime, then the coon, marten, fisher, mink and fox, but the latter does not become strictly prime until after a few days of snow, says an old Maine trapper. Rats and beaver are late in priming up as well as otter and mink, and tho the mink is not strictly a land animal, it becomes prime about with the later land animals. The bear, which is strictly a land animal, is not in good fur until snow comes and not strictly prime until February or March. * * * With the first frosts and cool days many trappers begin setting and baiting their traps. That it is easier to catch certain kinds of fur-bearing animals early in the season is known to most trappers and for this reason trapping in most localities is done too early in the season. [Illustration: JUST AFTER THE SEASON OPENS.] Some years ago when trapping was done even earlier than now, we examined mink skins that were classed as No. 4 and worth 10 or 15 cents, that, had they been allowed to live a few weeks longer, their hides would have been No. 1 and worth, according to locality, from $1.50 to $3.50 each. This early trapping is a loss to the trapper if they will only pause and think. There are only so many animals in a locality to be caught each winter and why catch them before their fur is prime? In the latitude of Southern Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, etc., skunk caught in the month of October are graded back from one to three grades (and even sometimes into trash), where if they were not caught until November 15th how different would be the classification. The same is true of opossum, mink, muskrat, coon, fox, etc. * * * Skunk are one of the animals that become prime first each fall. The date that they become prime depends much on the weather. Fifteen years ago, when trapping in Southern Ohio, the writer has sold skunk at winter prices caught as early as October 16, while other seasons those caught the 7th of November, or three weeks later, blued and were graded back. Am glad to say that years ago I learned not to put out traps until November. That the weather has much to do with the priming of furs and pelts there is no question. If the fall is colder than usual the furs will become prime sooner, while if the freezing weather is later the pelts will be later in "priming up." In the sections where weasel turn white (then called ermine by many), trappers have a good guide. When they become white they are prime and so are most other land animals. In fact, some are fairly good a week or two before. When a pelt is put on the stretcher and becomes blue in a few days it is far from prime and will grade no better than No. 2. If the pelt turns black the chances are that the pelt will grade No. 3 or 4. In the case of mink, when dark spots only appear on the pelt, it is not quite prime. Trappers and hunters should remember that no pelt is prime or No. 1 when it turns the least blue. Opossum skins seldom turn blue even if caught early--most other skins do. CHAPTER XXVIII. SOME DEEP WATER SETS. When the rivers and lakes are fast bound with the grip of winter, it is not always convenient to find a suitable place to set a beaver or otter trap under the ice, says Martin Hunter in the H-T-T. The shore line may drop away into too deep water to set at the bank, or, it may be uneven rocks which preclude the possibility of making a safe and sure set. When such conditions confront the trapper, it is good to know how to set a trap in deep water. It was a Mic-Mac Indian who showed me how and on several occasions I have found the knowledge very useful and profitable. In fact, more than once had I not known this, the conditions were such that it would have been utterly impossible for me to have set in the usual way. In after years, during my sojourn amongst Montagnais, Algonquins and Ojbway Indians, I never came across any trapper of these tribes who knew how to set a trap in deep water. For beaver especially, what better place than in the proximity of their lodge? And what more successful time than in January or February, when their winter supply of wood has become sodden and slimy from months of submersion. Then cut an opening in the ice, off from the lodge entrance, and introduce a birch or popple sapling into the hole, cover the opening up with snow and come back in a couple of days, chisel about the protruding sticks and pull them out. Oh! where are they? You will find only the stumps in your hand. The beaver has come and cut the succulent young trees off close to the under surface of the ice and towed them away to his lodge. Now, if you could only set a trap there and place more flesh food you would most likely get that beaver, but the water is deep. Your baiting hole is away from the shore thirty or forty feet and you measure the depth and find six or seven feet of water. Again you scratch your head and are sore perplexed. But, my fellow trappers, it is right here where I step in and show you the way to overcome the difficulty. Had I not caught beaver under such conditions I would not presume to teach others, but I have trapped them this way and always with success. And as for otter, setting in deep water is much surer than at an opening in a dam or other place which is likely to freeze up and put the trap out of order. Now if you will follow me I will describe a "deep water set" in as clear a way as possible, so that any ordinary trapper ought to be able to use it successfully. Cut a trench in the ice thru to clear water, fourteen to eighteen inches broad by four feet long; clear this hole free from any floating particles of ice, cut (dry if possible) a young spruce or tamarac, twelve to fifteen feet long. Have it three or four inches in diameter at the butt end, branch it off from end to end and rub off with axe blade all loose bark. Introduce the small end into the water obliquely, shoving it down in the mud or sand of the bottom, with the butt end resting on the ice at one end of the opening. If the pole is too long to get the proper angle, take it out and cut off the surplus. This dry pole is to set the trap on and has to be at the proper incline so that when the beaver is swimming while cutting the bait sticks, he sets off the trap. When the pole is in the proper position, mark with your axe or chisel about twelve or fifteen inches under the level of the water. Now take out the pole and hew a flat surface, at the spot previously marked, about a foot long. Slant your pole sideways and drive in the corner of your axe half an inch under the hewed flat surface, drive the axe until the pole is almost split in twain. If the opening wants to close back too tight, introduce a small sliver of wood. Now set your No. 4 trap; run the ring up the pole above where the trap is to rest and secure it there with a piece of wire or a small staple. Force the spear part of the bottom of the trap into the split, chuck up to the main bottom part that engages the ends of the jaw. The trap is now in place. [Illustration: DEEP WATER SET TRAP FASTENING.] When there is a muddy or sandy bottom, the better way is to allow enough length of pole to bury a foot or so into the bottom. This will hold the pole secure and prevent rolling. Now take two nice, young, juicy popple or young birch, branch them off clear to the small end and have them six to nine feet long; put them in small end first and place one on each side of trap, five inches from it and about the same above. These pieces of food wood can be kept in proper place by packing the butt ends down on the solid ice and putting snow and water on top. If it is at all cold it will get solid in a few moments. Next process is to cut fifteen or twenty young spruce trees a couple of inches in diameter and about five feet long; place these straight up and down outside the popple wood. This will form a fence at each side with spaces four inches apart. Right up at the end where all your work centers, a few dry branches can be forced in and down to prevent the animal from cutting away the food from the back. With a little practice you can have all this fixed to a nicety. The beaver entering from the lower slope of the wood and swimming up to gnaw the sticks close to the ice, sets off the trap and in his struggles he pulls it clear from the cleft and in a few moments is drowned. After all is in shape the opening in the ice is dusted over with snow and left to freeze. In visiting the trap at the end of two or three days, it is only necessary to chisel a very small hole to see if the trap or bait are displaced. This can be readily ascertained by lying flat on the ice, partly cover your head with your coat or blanket and with your face close to the hole all objects in a few moments will become clear. For otter set, the trap pole is made in the same way, but instead of popple or birch, a small fish is used for bait. Skewer it from the dorsal fin thru to the stomach and suspend it above and back of the trap at the proper distance. As it appears in its natural position in the water and the skewer is hardly visible, an otter swimming past takes it for a live fish and in dashing for his meal gets caught. I have found this set very successful in creeks and small rivers, even in setting out from the shore. Otters, like mink, have their feeding grounds on lakes and connecting rivers and are sure to skirt the shores in swimming down or up stream. If the stream is very broad it will be as well to have a trap on each shore and thus enhance the certainty of getting his fur. The best fish for an otter set is white fish or trout a pound and a half to two pounds. By changing the bait once a week your trap can be kept set all winter without getting out of order. [Illustration: SKINNING A BOB CAT.] Back of this article I mentioned "chisel." A chisel is almost a necessity to a trapper, especially if the ice is thick. With only an axe the trapper gets splashed all over and when this freezes he is in a most uncomfortable state. A good strong ice chisel can be had in the ordinary one and a half-inch carpenter's mortising chisel. Have a hole drilled thru both sides of the socket about three-quarters of an inch from the rim, carry a stout screw in your pocket and the chisel in your bag or bundle. When necessary to use the chisel for ice trenching, cut a dry sound young sapling, six feet long, take off most of the bark and point the end the required length and shape off the socket by knocking the end of the handle against a nearby tree or rock. The chisel becomes firmly fixed. Now introduce the screw into one of the holes and with your axe bang it clear thru and out on the other side. The screw used for this purpose should be one and three-quarters inches long. When finished with your chisel, if not likely to be required again at that place, it may be chopped off the handle and at your first fire the socket part can be placed in hot ashes or close to the blaze until the wood stump is so charred that it will readily scrape out, securing the screw for another time. Ice chisels are indispensable to any one trapping beaver, otter or mink, and no Indian would consider his outfit complete without one. I have seen them made out of the prong of a deer antler. This was before the imported article was introduced into the far back country. The horn was sharpened to a cutting edge at the business end and the shank lashed to the handle with deer skin thongs. CHAPTER XXIX. SKINNING AND STRETCHING. Much importance should be attached to the skinning and stretching of all kinds of skins so as to command the highest commercial value. The fisher, otter, foxes, lynx, marten, mink, ermine, civet, cats and skunk should be cased, that is, taken off whole. Commence with the knife in the center of one hind foot and slit up the inside of the leg, up to and around the vent and down the other leg in a like manner. Cut around the vent, taking care not to cut the lumps or glands in which the musk of certain animals is secreted, then strip the skin from the bone of the tail with the aid of a split stick gripped firmly in the hand while the thumb of the other hand presses against the animal's back just above. Make no other slits in the skin except in the case of the skunk and otter, whose tails require to be split, spread, and tacked on a board. Turn the skin back over the body, leaving the pelt side out and the fur side inward, and by cutting a few ligaments, it will peel off very readily. Care should be taken to cut closely around the nose, ears and lips, so as not to tear the skin. Have a board made about the size and shape of the three-board stretcher, only not split in halves. This board is to put the skin over in order to hold it better while removing particles of fat and flesh which adheres to it while skinning, which can be done with a blunt-edged knife, by scraping the skin from the tail down toward the nose--the direction in which the hair roots grow--never scrape up the other way or you will injure the fiber of the skin, and care should be taken not to scrape too hard, for if the skin fiber is injured its value is decreased. [Illustration: SINGLE AND THREE BOARD STRETCHER.] Now, having been thoroughly "fleshed," as the above process is called, the skin is ready for stretching, which is done by inserting the two halves of the three-board stretcher and drawing the skin over the boards to its fullest extent, with the back on one side and the belly on the other, and tacking it fast by driving in a small nail an inch or so from each side of the tail near the edges of the skin; also, in like manner the other side. Now insert the wedge and drive it between the halves almost its entire length. Care should be taken, however, to not stretch the skin so much as to make the fur appear thin and thus injure its value. Now put a nail in the root of the tail and fasten it to the wedge; also, draw up all slack parts and fasten. Care should be taken to have both sides of the skin of equal length, which can be done by lapping the leg flippers over each other. Now draw up the under lip and fasten, and pull the nose down until it meets the lip and tack it fast, and then the skin is ready to hang away to cure. Do not dry skins at a fire or in the sun, or in smoke. It often burns them when they will not dress and are of no value. Dry in a well-covered shed or tent where there is a free circulation of air, and never use any preparation, such as alum and salt, as it only injures them for market. Never stretch the noses out long, as some trappers are inclined to do, but treat them as above described, and they will command better values. Fur buyers are inclined to class long-nosed skins as "southern" and pay a small price for them, as Southern skins are much lighter in fur than those of the North. The badger, beaver, bear, raccoon and wolf must always be skinned "open;" that is, ripped up the belly from vent to chin after the following manner: Cut across the hind legs as if to be "cased" and then rip up the belly. The skin can then be removed by flaying as in skinning a beef. * * * Another experienced trapper says: The animals which should be skinned open are bear, beaver, raccoon, badger, timber wolf and wolverines. The way to do this is to rip the skin open from the point of the lower jaw, in a straight line, to the vent. Then rip it open on the back of the hind legs, and the inside of the front legs, and peel the skin carefully off the body. Beaver, however, should not have the front legs split open and the tail, having no fur, is of course cut off. If the skin is a fine one, and especially in the case of bear, the feet should not be cut off, but should be skinned, leaving the claws on. I would also advise saving the skull, and the proper way to clean it is to scrape the flesh off with a knife. When the animal is skinned, roll the skin up with the fur side out and put it in your pack. See that there are no burrs or lumps of mud in the fur, before you do any fleshing. My way of fleshing furs--there may be better ways--is to draw the skin over a smooth board, made for the purpose and scraping, or peeling, with a blunt edged knife. Commence at the tail, and scrape towards the head, otherwise you may injure the fibre of the hide. Over the back and shoulders of most animals is a thin layer of flesh. This should be removed, and when done, there should be nothing remaining but the skin and fur. Raccoon and muskrat are easily fleshed by pinching the flesh between the edge of the knife and the thumb. For stretching boards, I prefer a three board stretcher, but a plain board will answer. For muskrats, use a single board. Open skins are best stretched in frames or hoops, but it is all right to stretch them on the wall on the inside of a building. The boards shown in the cut are, to my notion, the proper shapes, and I would advise making a good supply of them before the season commences. [Illustration: SOME STRETCHING PATTERNS.] To use these three board stretchers, insert the two halves of the board in the skin, draw the skin down and fasten the hind legs, with tacks, to the edges of the boards. This stretches the hide long. Then insert the wedge between the two boards, which will stretch the skin out to its fullest extent, and give it the proper shape. Finish by fastening with tacks, pulling the nose over the point of the board, and drawing the skin of the lower jaw up against the nose. Hang the furs in a cool, dry place and as soon as they are dry, remove them from the boards. Fox skins should be turned with the fur side out, after removing from the board. In using the hoop stretcher, the hide is laced inside the hoop, with twine, the skin of the coon being stretched square and the beaver round. All other furs should be stretched so as not to draw them out of their natural shape. If the weather is warm and the furs are likely to taint, salt them. A salted skin is better than a tainted one. Put salt in the tail, and punch a hole in the end of the tail, with a pointed wire, to let the water drain out, or split the tail up about one-half inch from tip. The skin of the bear is, perhaps, more likely to spoil than any other, and the ears especially, are likely to taint and slip the fur. To prevent this, slit the ears open on the inside, skin them back almost to the edge and fill them with salt, also salt the base of the ears, on the flesh side of the hide. * * * In stretching, says a North Dakota trapper, we use a one board stretcher as follows: Put on the fur after you have fleshed it, the four feet on one side and the tail on the other. Tack down the hind feet and the tail, then take a piece of board about 1 x 1/4 inches (this would be about the correct size for a mink) rounded off except on one side. Put it below the fur on the side where the feet are, tie the front feet. When you are going to take off the fur, pull out the small board and the fur will come off easy. [Illustration: DAKOTA TRAPPER'S METHOD.] A contrivance which I have found useful in skinning is made of a piece of stiff wire 18 inches long. Bend this at the middle until it has the shape of V with the ends about 8 inches apart. Bend up an inch at each end to form a hook and when skinning, after cutting around the hind feet, hook into the large tendons, hang on a nail or over limb, etc., and go ahead with both hands. The wire must be nearly as large as a slate pencil and will work all right from foxes down to mink. Trappers will find this a great help in skinning animals after they have become cold. Young trappers should use this simple device as they will be less liable to cut holes in the skin. It pays to be careful in skinning animals properly as well as to stretch them correctly, for both add to their market value. [Illustration: HOLDER FOR SKINNING.] How many trappers save the skulls of their larger game? All the skulls of bear, puma or mountain lion, wolves, foxes and sometimes those of lynx and wild cat are of ready sale if they contain good sets of teeth. Several parties buy these skulls for cash. To prepare them the bulk of the flesh should be removed and the brain and eyes also. Probably the easiest way to accomplish this is to boil the skull with flesh on in an old pot until the meat begins to get tender. Then, while hot, it may easily be cut away, and by enlarging the hole at the back of the skull the brain may be scooped out. They should be watched carefully as if boiled too long the teeth drop out, bones separate and render the skull worthless. It is safe, but more tedious to clean them with a sharp knife without boiling. The dealers pay from 50c for a bear skull to 15c for a fox, tho taxidermists and furriers often pay much more. The British Columbia Government pays bounties upon the skulls, only I think this is a good idea as the skins are not mutilated and depreciated by scalping, punching or cutting as usual. Save a few good skulls and add dollars to the value of your catch. * * * Take two pieces of No. 9 fence wire about 30 inches long, writes an Ohio coon hunter and trapper, file one end sharp, then commence at each hind foot and punch the wire thru close to the edge as in sewing, taking stitches an inch or so long until you get to the front foot, then pull the hide along the wire just far enough so the top and bottom will stretch out to make it square, or a few inches longer than the width is better. [Illustration: WIRE COON METHOD.] Put 3 or 4 nails in each side, then commence at the top and tack all but the head, then pull the bottom down even with the sides, not tacking the head, which lets it draw down into the hide, then tack the head. This is an easy and good way to handle coon skins making them nearly square when stretched. Many inexperienced trappers stretch coon skins too long and draw out the head and neck. This can be avoided by following instructions given here. Coon can be cased but most dealers prefer to have them stretched open. * * * Get a lot of steel wire, says a Missouri trapper who uses old umbrella wires, the round solid ones. Sharpen one end, take your coon skin and run one wire up each side and one across each end. In putting these wires in do it like the old woman knits, that is, wrap the hide around the wire and stick it thru about every inch. Now cut six small twigs, make them the proper length and notch the ends, and you will soon have your hide stretched expert trapper style. [Illustration: WIRE AND TWIG COON METHOD.] The advantage of this is you can carry stretchers enough for twenty-five skins in one hand and don't have to hunt up a barn door and box of tacks and hammer every time you want to stretch one. You can stretch in one-fourth the time it would take to tack up on a board, and you will have it in first class style the first time and not have to pull out a tack here and stretch a little more there. * * * I have always used the whole board (not split into two pieces and a wedged shape piece as some do), writes a Massachusetts trapper, and made as follows: For mink I use a 3/8 inch board about 40 inches in length, 4 inches wide at the large end, tapering to about 2 1/2 inches at the small end with the edges planed down from near the middle of the board to the edge, leaving a thin edge and sandpapered down smooth. I make the board of this length for the reason that it sometimes happens that a mink may have laid in a trap for several days before being taken out, and if under water it is not always easy to determine the exact length of time it has been in the trap, and there may be a possibility that if put on the board to dry that having laid so long it will taint before it will get thoroughly dry. I have seen them in a case of this kind where several and perhaps nearly all the hairs on the end of the tail would shed or pull out thereby damaging the skin to a greater or less extent. Now when I get a mink in this condition after pulling on the board and tacking all around, I split the tail open after which I lay it open and tack all around the same way you would with an otter skin. By employing this means you will often save the loss of the tail by thus tainting and a corresponding loss on the value of the skin. The value of the mink skin is in no way damaged by this process. Some dealers prefer to have all the skins they buy cured in this manner. For stretching the muskrat skin I also use a board of the same thickness as for mink, about 20 inches in length, 6 1/2 or 7 inches at the large end with a slightly rounding taper to a width of about 3 inches at small end, the sides planed down to a thin edge the same as for the mink boards; in fact, I prefer the same manner of stretching all cased skins, using care not to have the boards so wide as to stretch the skins to a width much exceeding the natural width before it was placed over the board, but giving them all the strain they will stand with reason, lengthwise. If stretched too wide it tends to make the fur thinner and lessens the value of it. I usually pull the skins, especially muskrats, onto the boards far enough so that the smaller end will extend through the mouth of the skin for perhaps 1/2 inch, and when the skins are sufficiently dry to remove, all that is required is to take hold of them with a hand on either edge of the skin and give it a sharp tap on the small end, when the skin will come off at once. By stretching the skins on the boards with the back on one side, belly on the opposite side, they come off the boards looking smooth and uniform in width, and command a great deal better price than if thrown on in a haphazard way on a shingle or an inch hoard badly shaped, as a great many beginners do. I have seen some shameful work done in this respect. It is always necessary to remove all surplus grease and fat which can readily be done immediately after the skin is stretched, otherwise they will heat, sweat and mold to a certain extent after they are removed from the boards, which injures both the appearance and sale of them. It is well to look after all these little details. These descriptions are given with the desire to help some of the beginners. If they will start in by using a little care in stretching and having pride in their work they will find the business both more pleasant and profitable. * * * If convenient when going into camp, writes an old successful trapper who has pursued the fur bearers in many states, you should take several stretching boards for your different kinds of fur with you. If not, you can generally find a tree that will split good and you can split some out. It is usually hard to find widths that are long and straight enough to bend so as to form a good shaped stretcher. You should always aim to stretch and cure furs you catch in the best manner. In skinning you should rip the animal straight from one heel across to the other and close to the roots of the tail on the under side. Work the skin loose around the bone at the base until you can grasp the bone of the tail with the first two fingers of the right hand while you place the bone between the first two fingers of the left hand. Then, by pulling you will draw the entire bone from the tail which you should always do. Sometimes when the animal has been dead for some time the bone will not readily draw from the tail. In this case cut a stick the size of your finger about eight inches long. Cut it away in the center until it will readily bend so that the two ends will come together. Then cut a notch in each part of stick just large enough to let the bone of the tail in and squeeze it out. It is necessary to whittle one side of the stick at the notch so as to form a square shoulder. You should have about three sizes of stretching boards for mink and fox. For mink they should be from 4 1/2 inches down to 3 inches and for fox from 6 1/4 inches down to 5 inches wide, and in length the fox boards may be four feet long, and the mink boards three feet long. The boards should taper slightly down to within 8 inches of the end for fox, and then rounded up to a round point. The mink boards should be rounded at 4 or 5 inches from this point. You will vary the shape of the board in proportion to the width. Stretching boards should not be more than 3/8 inch thick. A belly strip the length or nearly the length of the boards 1 1/4 inches at the wide end, tapering to a point at the other end and about 1/4 to 3/8 inch thick. Have the boards smooth and even on the edges. Other stretching boards should be made in proportion to the size and shape of the animal whose skin is to be stretched. You should not fail to remove all the fat and flesh from the skin immediately after the skin is on the board. If a skin is wet when taken from the animal it should be drawn lightly on a board until the fur is quite dry. Then turn the skin flesh side out and stretch. * * * Beginning at the left, dimensions and skins stretched on the various boards are given: No. 1. Mink board, length 28 inches and 4 wide. No. 2. Mink board, length 28 inches and 3 1/2 wide. No. 3. Weasel board length 20 inches and 2 1/2 wide. No. 4. Muskrat board, length 21 inches and 6 inches wide. No. 5. Opossum board, (small), length 20 inches and 6 1/2 inches wide. No. 6. Skunk or opossum, (medium), length 28 inches and 7 inches wide. No. 7. Skunk and opossum, (large), length 28 inches and 8 inches wide. [Illustration: SIZE OF STRETCHING BOARDS.] Old and experienced hunters and trappers know about the shape and size to make the various stretching boards for the fur bearers, but for the guidance of beginners and those who are careless about stretching pelts, the above description is especially meant. Trappers in Southern sections will no doubt find the boards as described here too large for most of their skunk. In the Northeast the mink boards will also be too large, but for this section (Ohio), they are about correct. The general shape of the boards can be seen from the illustration. * * * One of the best ways, writes a Minnesota trapper, to take off the skin of an animal is by cutting the skin around the hind legs or feet, and then slitting the skin down inside the hind legs to the body joining the two slits between the hind legs, then remove the skin on the tail by pushing up the thumb nail, or a thin flat piece of wood against the bone of the tail and draw off the skin. Now commence to draw the body of the animal through the slit already made without enlarging it, drawing the skin over itself, the fur side within. When the forefeet are reached, cut the skin away from them at the wrists, and then skin over the head until the mouth is reached when the skin should be finally removed at the lips. One thing to be borne in mind when stretching a skin to dry, is that it must be drawn tight; another, that it must be stretched in a place where neither the heat of a fire or that of the sun will reach it too strongly, and it should not be washed. Large skins may be nailed on a wall of a shed or barn. The board stretcher should be made of some thin material. Prepare a board of bass wood or some other light material, two feet three inches long, three inches and a half wide at one end, and two inches and an eighth at the other, and three-eighths of an inch thick. Chamfer it from the center to the sides almost to an edge. Round and chamfer the small end about an inch upon the sides. Split the board through the center with a knife or saw, finally prepare a wedge of the same length and thickness, one inch wide at the large end, and taper to a blunt point. This is a stretcher suitable for a mink, or a marten. Two large sizes with similar proportions are required for the large animals, the largest size suitable for the full grown otter and wolf, should be five feet and a half long, seven inches wide at the large end when fully spread by the wedge, and six inches at the small end. An intermediate size is required for the fisher, raccoon, fox and some other animals, the proportions of which can be easily figured out. These stretchers require that the skin of the animal should not be ripped through the belly, but should be stripped off whole. Peel the skin from the body by drawing it over itself, leaving the fur inward. In this condition the skin should be drawn on to the split board (with the back on one side and the belly on the other), to its utmost length, and fastened with tacks, and then the wedge should be driven between the two halves. Finally, make all fast by a tack at the root of the tail, and another on the opposite side. The skin is then stretched to its utmost capacity and it may be hung away to dry. * * * Not alone the skulls of the larger animals, but the skulls of any game, the skeleton of any bird, or fish, has a ready market, provided such specimens are properly cleaned, and in perfect condition. However, the hunter or trapper must bear in mind the fact that it is the perfect specimen that is in demand, and that a bruise on the bone literally spoils it for the curator. If you will look carefully at any skull, you will notice that some of the bones are very thin and frail, almost like a spider web. These fine bones must be preserved if they are to be of any value to the Comparative Anatomist, and boiling or scraping simply ruins them. So much for the explanation. Now the method of cleaning, is by "rotting" rather than scraping or boiling. Take the skull (or whole head) and fix it solid in some can or jar, then fill it, or cover with water and put away for three or four weeks. At the end of that time, pour off the water and the bulk of the flesh will go too. Fill in with clear water again, and repeat as often as necessary. I have found that twice will do the work, and leave the bone in good condition. There is a market for most animal skulls, if not damaged, and it may pay to preserve all. In the Hunter-Trader-Trapper, published at Columbus, Ohio, usually will be found advertisements of parties who buy them. * * * I have never had much luck with two-piece stretchers, but use thin board stretchers in one piece with a "sword stick" on each side to fully stretch and admit the air to both sides of the skin. This cures the skin faster and better than when only one side is exposed to the air, says a Maryland trapper. [Illustration: POLE STRETCHERS.] When off from home, I use stretchers made from saplings, as boards suitable are not to be had everywhere, and cannot be bothered with when going light. To make these, cut osier, willow or hickory switches, straight and thick as the finger, about four feet long; cut two short pieces for rats 4 and 6 inches long and carefully bending the long piece. Nail these in with a small wire nail at each end. A handful of shingle or lath nails and a clump of osier sprouts will make a full outfit of stretchers for a temporary camp. * * * I know it is as much value in stretching your furs and preparing them for market as it is in trapping, writes a trapper. If you have no boards, go to your grocer or dry goods store and you can get all the boxes you want for 5 or 10 cents apiece. They must not be over 3/8 of an inch thick; if they are, plane them down smooth on both sides. I make what I call the two piece stretcher with a wedge for muskrats. Take a board 20 inches long, 3/8 inch thick, 6 inches wide large end, 2 1/2 inches small end. Taper back 5 inches from small end. Now take block plane and chaffer off each side an inch or more up and round it off. Round and chaffer small end the same, almost to an edge. Now draw a line thru the center of the board and saw it thru. Make a wedge the same length and thickness, 3/8 of an inch wide and tapering down to 1/10 of an inch. If a large skin, push it in between the halves. Bore a hole in large end and hang up in a cool ventilated place to dry. After three days pull out wedge, and your fur will slip right off without tearing. If the boards should warp over, tack a strip across the large end. The mink stretchers are made on the same plan. A board the same thickness, 30 inches long, 3 1/2 inches wide, taper down 2 1/8 small end round chaffer. For large mink insert wedge made one inch wide. Taper down to 2/8. For skunk and coon they are also good, only they are made on a larger scale. Now a word about casing. Pull your hide on so the back is on one side and the belly on the other. Pull nose over small end 1/2 inch. Put two tacks on each side, now pull down tight to large end and put two tacks each side, lay board on bench and take an old case knife, scrape off all meat and fat and be careful not to scrape too thin, so as not to cut the fibre of the skin. After you have scraped the flesh off, insert the wedge and your skin will be tight. Do not stretch your hide so it will make your fur look thin. * * * This is my way of stretching coon hide; use four-penny nails and use either the inside or outside of some old building, inside is the best. Drive the first nail thru nose. This holds the hide for starting. Pull each forward leg up (not out) on a level with nose and about seven or eight inches from nose according to size of the coon. Drive next nail at root of tail, and pull down, moderately tight. Now pull each hind leg out about one inch wider than the fore legs and a little below the tail nail. Now use a nail every inch and pull the hide up between the forward legs and nose, until it comes straight across. Next, treat the bottom of the hide the same as the top. Use plenty of nails. To finish down the sides, drive a nail first on one side and then on the other until finished. You will find when done that the hide is nearly square with no legs sticking out the sides and no notches in the skin. CHAPTER XXX. HANDLING AND GRADING. MINK should be cased fur side in and stretched on boards for several days or until dry. SKUNK should be cased fur side in and stretched on boards for several days. The white stripe cut out blackened, etc., reduces the value. RACCOON should be stretched open (ripped up the belly) and nailed on boards or the inside of a building. Some dealers allow as much for coon cased, from any section, while others prefer that only Southern coon be cased. FOXES of the various kinds should be cased and put on boards fur side in for a few days, or until dry. As the pelt is thin they soon dry, when they must be taken off and should be turned fur side out. In shipping see that they are not packed against furs flesh side out. LYNX should be cased and after drying properly are turned fur side out, same as foxes. OTTER are cased and stretched fur side in. The pelt being thick and heavy, takes several days to dry properly. They are shipped flesh side out. Sea otter are handled the same as fox, lynx and marten, that is, fur side out. BEAVER are split but stretched round and should be left in the hoop or stretcher for several days. BEAR should be handled open and stretched carefully. In skinning be careful and leave nose, claws and ears on the hide. WOLVES can be handled same as bear, also wolverine. FISHER should be cased and stretched flesh side out, but may be sent to market same as foxes or fur out. MARTEN should be stretched and dried on boards, fur side in, but turned as soon as dried. OPOSSUM are stretched on boards fur side in and are left in that condition after removing the boards. Cut the tails off when skinning--they have no value. MUSKRAT should be stretched fur side in and a few days on the boards is sufficient. They are left as taken off, that is, fur side in. Cut the tails off when skinning--they are worthless. WEASEL should be cased, fur side in. The pelts are thin and soon dry. Leave fur side in after taking off boards. BADGER are split and should be nailed to the inside of a building to dry. CIVET CAT should be cased and stretched on boards fur side in. When dry remove boards and leave fur side in. RING TAIL CATS should be cased and after removing boards are generally left fur side in for market. WILD CAT are cased and stretched on boards. They may be turned fur out or left as taken from the stretchers, fur side in. HOUSE CAT are cased and stretched on boards fur side in. They are sent to market usually fur side in. RABBITS are cased fur in and, as the pelt is thin, soon dry. They are shipped fur side in. PANTHER are treated much the same as bear. Care should be taken in skinning to leave claws, ears, nose, etc., on the skin for mounting purposes. * * * My experience has been that the house which makes only four grades of prime goods is the house that you will receive the largest checks from for your collection, writes a Michigan collector of 50 years' experience. So many grades quoted makes it possible for a firm to successfully squelch you a little every time you ship and yet you can have no reasonable excuse to complain for when you ship, you know that in some houses there is a grade for nearly every skin you send. So I, for one, would rather risk the fewer grades. A trapper from Wisconsin says: For sample, say mink are worth from 25 cents to $3.00. There would be 275 prices between the extremes. Now if he is a fur buyer I certainly pity the trappers that would have to take those 275 different prices for their mink. A man should be able to know the difference between grades No. 1, 2, 3 and 4, and when he does he is then able to give a fair and honest price for every skin he buys. If he doesn't know the difference then, he had better get a job clerking in a hotel or sawing wood. * * * Many have requested that the difference in the various grades of skins be explained and for their benefit, as well as others of little experience, the following may prove instructive. Raw furs are assorted into four grades, viz: No. 1, No. 2, No. 3 and No. 4. With the exception of skunk and muskrat most houses subdivide the No. 1 skins into large, medium and small. In addition to this many firms quote a range of prices about as follows: Mink, Northern New York, large $6.00 to $8.00. Would it not be more satisfactory to quote one price only? It is generally known that Minnesota mink are large. From that state a No. 1 medium mink is as large as a No. 1 large from Maine, where mink are rather small. But as the dealers on their price lists quote the various states and sections, why not quote one price only as follows: MINK, NORTHERN NEW YORK, NO. 1. Large, Medium, Small, No. 2, No. 3, No. 4, $7.00. $5.00. $3.00. $1.50. $0.75. $0.20. These figures, of course, are only given for illustration and are not meant to show value. Furs from the various parts of North America have their peculiar characteristics and it is easy for the man of experience to tell in what part of the country a pelt was caught. It may be shipped by a collector hundreds of miles from where caught, but if there are many in the collection the expert will soon detect it. This knowledge, however, only comes with years of experience. Prime skins are those caught during cold weather and the pelt after drying a few days is bright and healthy appearing. Unprime skins are those that turn blue or black after being stretched for a time. Usually the darker the pelt the poorer the fur. If only slightly blued the pelt may go back only one grade, while if black it is apt to be no better than No. 3 or No. 4 and may be trash of no value. Springy skins, as the name indicates, are those taken toward the last of the season or in the spring and tho often prime pelted, have begun to shed. The beginner is often deceived, for he thinks if the pelt is prime, the fur is. Foxes and other animals are often "rubbed" toward spring, which of course lessens their value. A No. 1 skin must be not only average in size but free from cuts, etc. No unprime skin will grade better than No. 2. Skunk, to be No. 1 or black, must be prime in pelt, fair size and stripe not extending beyond the shoulders. The day that only "star black" were taken for No. 1 passed, for most trappers and shippers know better now. A No. 2, or short striped skunk, is prime and the stripes, if narrow, may extend nearly to the tail. A small No. 1 or a blued No. 1 is graded No. 2. A No. 3 or long stripe has two stripes extending the entire length, but there must be as much black between the stripes as either of the white stripes. In some of the states, such as Minnesota, Iowa, the Dakotas, etc., skunk are large and are nearly all striped the same--long narrow stripes--but owing to their size they are worth about the same as the eastern short stripe or No. 2. A No. 4, broad or white skunk, is prime but has two broad stripes extending down the back. Most dealers class skunk as No. 4 if either white stripe contains more white than there is black between the two stripes. All unprime skunk are graded down to No. 2, 3 and 4 according to depth of fur and stripe. A No. 1 skunk in stripe, but blue, becomes a No. 2, or if badly blued No. 3 or 4; a No. 2 skunk in stripe but blue becomes a No. 3; a No. 3 in stripe but blue, a No. 4; a No. 4 in stripe but blue generally goes into trash. In fact, if badly blued, any of the grades may be thrown to trash. Muskrat are assorted into four grades--spring, winter, fall and kitts. Spring rats are known as No. 1; winter, No. 2; fall, No. 3; Kitts, No. 4. No. 1 or spring rats are those taken in March and April. The pelt is then of a reddish color and is entirely free from dark spots. A few spring rats may be caught earlier than March, but so long as they show dark spots they are not No. 1. No. 2, or winter rats, are pretty well furred, but there are dark streaks and spots in the hide usually on the back. No. 3 or fall are not full furred and the pelt is far from prime. The dark streaks show much more than later in the season. No. 4, or kitts, are only partly grown or if larger are badly damaged. Opossum is the only animal that may have a "prime" pelt but an "unprime" coat of fur. This makes opossum rather difficult to assort unless turned fur side out. If opossum have been properly skinned and stretched they will, when unprime, show a dark blue spot on the under side at the throat. The plainer this spot the poorer the fur. Good unprime skins are No. 2; poor unprime skins, No. 3; the very poor and stagey, no fur, are No. 4, generally known as trash and of no value. The other fur-bearers, such as mink, otter, beaver, fox, wolves, lynx, wild cat, fisher, raccoon, bear, badger, civet cat, weasel, etc., are graded much the same that is, all skins to be No. 1 must be caught in season, when the fur is prime, at which time the "pelt" is healthy appearing--never blue or black--must be of average size, correctly skinned, handled and free of cuts or shot holes. Skins may be unprime from several causes, viz: caught too early, improperly handled, under size, etc. Unprime skins are graded No. 2, 3 and 4 according to how inferior they are. The fairly well furred unprime skins are graded No. 2; the low furred unprime skins are thrown to No. 3; the poorly furred are thrown to No. 4, while low stagey skins go to trash. Some skins altho prime are so small that they grade No. 3. This, however, is the exception rather than the rule. Usually if prime, the under size will only put the skin down one grade. * * * I have bought some for a number of years, writes a collector, and know that some trappers are like some farmers, they want as much money for a bushel of dirty wheat as their neighbor gets for a bushel of clean wheat. I have had skunk and opossum hides offered me that had a pound or two of tainted fat on them, and skins that were taken out of season, for which they expect to get No. 1 prices. There are some who stretch their skins in the shape of an oblong triangle and leave flesh enough on to make their dinner. Stretch your hides as near the shape of the animal as possible; don't try to make a muskrat hide as long as a mink, or a mink as wide as a muskrat. Catch in season, flesh carefully, stretch in good shape, always take bone out of tails, keep in an airy building until dry and then you will not have to grumble so much at the buyer in regard to prices. CHAPTER XXXI. FROM ANIMAL TO MARKET. Under this title, says an experienced Western trapper, I shall endeavor to show my brother trappers how to handle pelts: As soon as I get in from my traps (I use a team and wagon), I feed team, dogs and self, then I proceed to skin the game in the usual manner; when game is all skinned I put on my fleshing suit, made of rubber cloth like that buggy curtains are made of, get out my fleshing boards, of which I have three sizes--large, medium and small--for each kind of cased skins except rat, which I flesh with thumb and knife. The fleshing boards are like Fig. 1 on enclosed diagram, made of 1 inch pine free from knots and dressed on both sides, 3 feet 6 inches long, and for skunk 3/4 in. and 10 in. wide, tapered up to a blunt point, edges rounded and sandpapered smooth. These boards can be made of other sizes so as to fit larger or smaller pelts of other kind. [Illustration: FLESHING BOARD.] For a flesher I have tried nearly everything imaginable, dull knives, hardwood scrapers, etc., but have abandoned them all for the hatchet. I use an old lath hatchet head and use it tolerably sharp; I proceed as follows: Put pelt on board but do not fasten, grip lower edge with left hand, pull down hard, place point of board against breast and use hatchet with right, pushing down and holding hatchet nearly flat; use plenty of elbow grease; as fast as you get a strip cleaned off turn hide a little but do not flesh on edge of board. It may not work good at first and you may cut one or two hides, but you will soon get the knack. [Illustration: STRETCHING FRAME.] If possible take a bitch skunk for the first as they flesh easier, and be sure there are no burrs or chunks of mud in the fur, or you will cut a hole the size of the burr. Now for the stretchers. In Fig. 2 is what I use; it is something of my own invention, and there is no patent on it. It is made of any wood that will split straight, and the dimensions are as follows: Pieces are 4 ft. long by 1 3/8 in. dressed smooth; pieces are 1 1/2 X 3/8 in.; will say for large skunks here they would be 10 in. and 4 1/2 in. To frame you must soak or steam the long pieces; mitre the ends and fasten with 3d finishing nails clinched. Then place in position 1 in. from ends and fasten with two 6d finishing nails; place in position and pull up to 8 in. from nose and fasten: now chamfer off edges and sandpaper smooth. I like this stretcher, as it airs both sides of pelt and will dry them in half the time. Fig 3 shows manner of fastening pelt; on belly side it can be drawn down and fastened to tail pieces with sack needle and twine; it is made of two or more poles fastened in the shape of a hoop. In shipping furs, bale tight; do not ship loose in sack; place mink and rat inside of skunk and other fur, and always place the toughest pelts on outside. By bailing tight you will avoid crinkling and they will not look mussy and will bring from 5 to 10 per cent. more. Now, brother trappers, fleshing pelts, as I understand it, is not merely taking the fat off, but in going deeper and taking the flesh clean from the pelt so that if skunk, the stripe will show clear the full length and reducing the weight by half. On February 2nd I shipped 15 skunk, all large; the lot only weighed 9 pounds including sack. [Illustration: SKIN ON STRETCHER.] When stretching skunk and otter skins, if the weather is warm, split the tails, open and tack flat. Split open half way all others that have fur tails. Open pelts can be stretched in hoops made of one or more poles an inch or so in diameter, and sewed in with a sack needle and heavy twine. In stretching do not get the pelt so wide that the fur looks thin, or so long and narrow that it looks as if a horse had been hitched to each end. Keep the natural shape of the animal as much as possible, dry in a cool, airy place inside, or on the north side of a building and away from fire. Baling--here is where the expert trapper shows his craft, and in baling you will see him wipe off all surplus fat and dirt and place the heavy pelts on the outside of his pack. The lighter furs, such as mink, marten, cat, etc., will be placed inside of the skins that are heavier. For instance: From four to eight rats or mink, inside of a fox or skunk. He will place the head of one to the tail of another, the tails folded in. He now ties a cord tightly around each end, placing them on a square of burlap, and with sack needle and twine draws up the sides as tight as he can; then he folds in the ends and sews up snug. Furs thus packed reach the market in good shape, and not such as they would if crammed promiscuously into a sack. [Illustration: HOOP STRETCHER.] In conclusion, boys, let me suggest a maxim or two for your guidance: "Prime caught and well handled furs always bring top prices." "Take pride in your catch, no matter how small." While the heading of this chapter is "From Animal to Market" it is well when shipping to request the dealer to grade and send value. If satisfactory, write to send on check. If not satisfactory, have dealer return furs. When shipping furs under these conditions see that no green skins are sent--only properly cured ones. While some dealers offer to pay expressage both ways we hardly think this fair and if no deal is made the dealer should pay the expressage one way and the shipper the other. The Hunter-Trader-Trapper, published at Columbus, Ohio, in the interests of hunters, trappers and dealers in raw furs contains a great deal of information that will be of value along the line of shipping furs as well as trapping methods, etc. CHAPTER XXXII. MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION. How to Tan Skins. I give below several successful receipts for tanning skins and furs of all kinds, but if you have never tanned skins before I would advise you to make your first attempt on some skin of small value, writes an old hunter and trapper. Remove all flesh from a skin before putting thru the tanning process by laying it over what is called a fleshing beam and scraping with a dull knife; the fleshing beam is nothing more than a beam with edges rounded and a log peeled of the bark will answer the purpose very well. First remove the hair from the hide by putting in 5 gallons of water, 2 gallons of slacked lime, 2 quarts of wood ashes and 3 ounces of soda. After the hair has become loose, try soaking in this mixture, remove it by scraping it off with a stick (be careful not to let it get on the hands, as it is very irritating to the skin). This receipt can be altered according to the number of hides you have to tan. The amount given here is enough for 2 or 3 hides (such as goat, dog and animals of that size.) Next draw the lime from the skin by putting it in a bath composed of 5 gallons of water, 2 quarts of wheat bran, 4 ounces of acetic acid and 1/2 pound of salt. Finally put the skins in a mixture of 5 gallons of water, 1 pound of salt, 1 1/2 pounds of gambia, and 5 ounces of acetic acid. Leave the skins in each process about three days, take them out often and pull and work them. When you think the skin is done, take it and put it on a stretcher like a coon stretcher, but of course altered to fit the skin you are tanning; stretch the skin tight but not too tight and put in the sun; at intervals of half an hour apply with a brush or rag mixtures number three until the skin will soak up no more. Do this about three times and then put the skin in the shade or some cool place where there is a free circulation of air to dry. Lastly, when dry, oil flesh side of the skin lightly. This leather if tanned right is the best you can get, but the objections is that a trapper in the woods does not always have a drug store near to purchase the tanning material which is rather expensive, so I will give a few cheap methods also. The way the Indians tan skins in the woods is to take the brains of the animal and rub the flesh side of the skin with them until it is rubbed in good; they then let them dry, working and pulling them until thoroughly dry. To tan mole, squirrel and such skins, draw the skin over a corn cob or board and place it in the sun, then apply sweet oil every 24 hours. After doing this about five times rub over with fine alum. To tan for lashes, first remove hair, then put in 1 1/2 handfuls of alum and 3 handfuls of salt in 2 gallons of water; this leather is all right until it gets wet, then it is ruined. To tan for furs, rub flesh side of the skin with two parts saltpeter and one part alum, roll and let it dry, then work soft. To dry the hair side of skins, take two parts wheat bran and one part clean sand, heat it and rub it in the hair side of skin till dry. To tan light deer skins and such skins as sheep, dog, etc., put in three quarts of rain water, one ounce of sulphuric acid and a handful of salt; put in the skin, stir around for about five minutes, take it out and work dry, then it can be smoked and is ready for use. I think that by following the above directions closely you can tan any skin that can be tanned. Camps and How To Build Them. The trapper who spends the entire trapping season far from civilization must know how to make a comfortable camp or he is likely to pay dearly for his lack of knowledge. Especially is this the case if his trapping is done in the far North where the winters are long and severe. [Illustration: THE HOME SHANTY.] The trapper should have one good "home shanty" to be used as a base of supplies for storing furs, etc. He should also have small camps located along his lines at convenient distances so that he can spend the night with some comfort if he has gone too far to return to the home camp. The home camp is generally a substantial log shack. It should be located in a sheltered spot, if possible, on some little knoll or slightly elevated spot of ground and as close to good fire wood and good drinking water as possible. The proper size of camp depends on the number of persons in the party. A shanty 10 x 12 feet inside is large enough for two persons. If it is larger it will be harder to keep warm. For a camp of this size the logs should be cut 12 and 14 feet long so as to allow for the notching of the corners. Of course the logs should be straight and they should be as near the same thickness as possible. Having selected a spot for the camp and cleaned away the brush, etc., commence by laying two of the 14 foot logs parallel with each other and about ten feet apart. Cut notches in the ends of these logs, cutting down about half the thickness of the logs and lay two of the 12 foot logs in the notches. The next step is the floor which should be made of straight poles about five or six inches thick and 11 or 12 feet long. They should be fitted down solidly on the two long logs and may be flattened on top with an axe, or with an adz after the camp is finished. Then fit in two more 14 foot logs which will hold the floor poles down solid. The door frame or boxing should be cut off square at the ends and butted up against the door frame and held there by driving spikes thru the frame into the logs. Use all the large logs on one side so as to be ready for the roof. The simplest, as well as one of the best, kind of roofs is made of poles, chinked with moss and covered with tar paper or birch bark. The bark roof is the most lasting but requires more work. The door may be made of split cedar, or, if cedar is not to be found, it may be hewn out of almost any kind of wood. For windows, a couple of small panes of glass may be fitted in openings, cut between the logs, and all the cracks should be chinked with moss to make it warm. There are a number of good stoves in the market, but I prefer to make my own stoves. A good stove may be made of sheet iron by bending it so as to form the top and two sides, riveting an end in behind and hinging a door in front. It has no bottom, being set in a box of earth, but be sure that there is enough dirt or it will burn thru into the floor. Holes should be cut in top for pipe and cooking pots and strips of hoop iron should be riveted on inside to stiffen top. For stopping camps along the trap lines, the Indian tepee or wigwam is as good as any. They may be made of birch bark or tar paper and if they are covered thickly with boughs and banked with snow it will only require a small fire to keep them warm. If you are fortunate enough to possess a rabbit skin blanket such as are made by the Chippewa Indians you will not need to keep a fire at night. Trappers Shelter. I noticed under the head of Short Letters in January number of H-T-T where one Bacellus of New York wishes to know something more about camps in the woods, or how to keep dry and warm in cold and wet weather, writes a Michigan trapper. This is how I build a camp along a trapper's trail: [Illustration: A LINE SHANTY.] I cut the logs about 9 feet long, cut them small enough so one man would be able to handle them. If cut from dry cedar or other light wood, they can be of good size. I lay the logs up on three sides until the walls are about 5 1/2 feet high, then I procure two stakes about 8 or 9 feet long with a crotch on one end; the other end I sharpen so it can be driven in the ground outside the open end of the camp. There are also two shorter stakes placed inside of the camp just opposite the outside ones and tied together at top with a withe, wire or piece of rope--these stakes are intended to hold the ends of the logs together, and also act as a support for the roof, which is made shanty fashion. I next place a pole about 5 inches thick by 10 feet long across from one crotched stake to the other. Now from the back wall to the top hole I place scoops made out of split logs hollowed out with axe. They are placed split side up and another scoop placed over the first two. Short pieces of logs are put in under the last outside scoops and every crack is mossed up tight, and a bunk placed across the end about a foot from the ground, and fire built in the center of open side. By placing 2 crotched stakes in the ground like the first pair about 5 feet from them, and placing a pole across the tops and then two short brace pieces between these two top poles. After this, straight poles ten feet long, about what one man can handle, are taken and placed all around the outside or open end of camp. This prevents the smoke from whirling 'round the camp, and it goes up straight. END OF STEEL TRAPS 
45690	----	JACK, THE YOUNG TRAPPER _By the same Author_ JACK THE YOUNG COWBOY JACK THE YOUNG TRAPPER JACK THE YOUNG CANOEMAN JACK THE YOUNG EXPLORER JACK IN THE ROCKIES JACK AMONG THE INDIANS JACK THE YOUNG RANCHMAN PAWNEE HERO STORIES AND FOLK TALES BLACKFOOT LODGE TALES THE STORY OF THE INDIAN THE INDIANS OF TO-DAY THE PUNISHMENT OF THE STINGY AMERICAN DUCK SHOOTING AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING TRAILS OF THE PATHFINDERS [Illustration: "WE'VE GOT A BEAVER, I RECKON."--_Page 171._] JACK THE YOUNG TRAPPER _An Eastern Boy's Fur Hunting in the Rocky Mountains_ BY GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL Author of "Jack the Young Ranchman," "Jack Among the Indians," "Jack in the Rockies," "Jack the Young Canoeman," "Pawnee Hero Stories," "Blackfoot Lodge Tales," "The Story of the Indian," "The Indian of To-day," etc. ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER KING STONE [Illustration] NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY Twelfth Printing, January 22, 1936 _Printed in the United States of America_ FOREWORD A century ago the western half of the American Continent was unknown. Vast herds of buffalo and antelope swarmed over its rolling plains; elk and deer fed along its rivers; wild sheep and white goats clambered over its rocky heights; bears prowled through its forests; beavers built their dams and houses along every stream. Occasionally a group of Indians passed over the plains or threaded the defiles of the mountain ranges. A few years later the white man began to penetrate this wilderness. Beaver were growing scarcer, and men were forced to go further for them. So the trapper entered these unknown fastnesses and began his work. He followed up stream after stream, sought out remote valleys, crossed deserts. With rifle in one hand and trap in the other, he endured every hardship and exposed himself to every danger. He swam rivers, climbed mountains, fought Indians, and risked life in his struggle for fur. They were men of firm courage and stern resolution, those trappers of the early days. About their life and their work there is a romance and a charm that appeal powerfully to the imagination. Jack Danvers was fortunate in that the man who taught him some of the secrets of that now forgotten life was one who had borne a part in the work of subduing the wild west, and in laying the foundations upon which its present civilization is built. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A COUNCIL OF WAR 1 II. A PLEASANT SPRING RIDE 9 III. AN EXPEDITION FOR FUR 18 IV. MAKING READY FOR THE TRIP 27 V. THE START FOR NORTH PARK 37 VI. TO LARAMIE AND NORTH PARK 48 VII. A TALK ABOUT BEAVER 60 VIII. THE WATER FOWLS' SUMMER HOME 73 IX. A TROUBLESOME GRIZZLY 83 X. A BIG BEAVER MEADOW 95 XI. INDIAN BEAVER LORE 113 XII. PROSPECTING FOR FUR 126 XIII. A LION'S LEAP 140 XIV. SETTING FOR BEAVER 155 XV. THEY SKIN BEAVER 170 XVI. OFF FOR NEW TRAPPING GROUND 191 XVII. TRAPPING THE MINK 209 XVIII. THE ENGLISH PILGRIMS 228 XIX. THE FIRST BIGHORN 246 XX. DANGER FROM THE UTES 264 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "WE'VE GOT A BEAVER, I RECKON" _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE TWO BOB-CATS PULLING AND TEARING AT SOME SMALL THING ON THE GROUND 106 A BEAVER APPEARED WITH A LONG STICK, WHICH HE PLACED WITH OTHERS ON THE ROOF 130 A BEAR, SITTING ON HER HAUNCHES, WAS LOOKING ALMOST DIRECTLY AT THEM 186 CHAPTER I A COUNCIL OF WAR "Well, Jack," said Mr. Sturgis, "I am glad to see you back again." "Indeed, Uncle George, you can bet I am glad to get back," replied Jack. "I tell you it just made my heart rise up to ride over the prairie to-day; it seemed to me that I never smelt anything so good as the odor of the sage, and the little birds that kept getting up out of the road and flying ahead of the team and alighting again, seemed like old friends. Then we saw some antelope and a coyote or two. I tell you it was bully. It seemed mighty good, too, to see Hugh after all these months." "Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "it is good to get you back, and I hope you will have a good summer. Have you thought of what you want to do?" Jack shook his head. "No," he said, "I have not; it is good enough to be back. As soon as this storm is over I want to go out and take a ride and see the country again." "Oh, this snow won't last long, though it's a pretty rough night now. Where were you on the road when it began to snow?" asked Mr. Sturgis. "We were just about half through the Little Basin," said his nephew. "Hugh had been looking at the sky for quite a little while back, and said that it was going to snow. We drove pretty fast from the Troublesome until we got into the Big Basin; the snow didn't get very deep until about three or four miles back from here. From there on we had pretty slow driving." "Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "suppose you go out and see if you can find Hugh, and ask him if he will come in here and sit with us for a little while; I want to talk with you both." "All right," replied Jack, and he disappeared in the direction of the ranch kitchen. It was about the middle of the month of May, and Jack Danvers, after a winter of hard work at school in the East, had come out by the Union Pacific Railroad to spend the summer at his uncle's ranch. His old friend, Hugh Johnson, had met him at the railroad station with a team of horses hitched to a spring-wagon, and the greater part of the drive of forty miles out to the ranch had been made in record time. Then it had begun to snow and blow furiously, and the last few miles of the distance had been passed over much more slowly. In these high altitudes in the Rocky Mountains, snowstorms are common in May and June; yet, though the snow may fall deep at such times, it lies on the ground for but a short time. Jack and his uncle had been talking after supper in the comfortable sitting room of the ranch; a fire of dry aspen logs burned merrily in the large, open fireplace, and their cheerful crackling contrasted pleasantly with the howling of the wind without. As Mr. Sturgis sat filling his pipe in front of the fire, he looked back over the years which had elapsed since he first began to take an active, vivid interest in this nephew of his. He remembered him as a small, pale, shrunken slip of a boy, who spent all his time curled up in a chair, devouring books; a boy seemingly without vitality and without any special interest in life. He remembered how the boy woke up and became alert when he had first spoken to him of the possibility of a trip to the West. How the little fellow had wondered at and enjoyed all the different incidents of life on a cow ranch; and how Hugh Johnson had taken to him, and instructed him in the lore of the prairies and mountains, in which Hugh was so well versed; and how year after year the boy had grown and strengthened, until now he was a young fellow of great promise. Within a few years the boy had changed from a child to something very like a man. While he was going over these years in his mind, Mr. Sturgis heard steps in the passage without, and then Jack's voice, and a moment later the door opened and Hugh Johnson and Jack stepped into the room. "Sit down, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, "and fill your pipe; I want to talk with you. You sit down, too, Jack. We have matters to discuss which will be interesting to both of you, I think. It was pretty hard hauling this afternoon, wasn't it?" he continued, addressing Hugh. "Well, yes, Mr. Sturgis, it was so"; said the old man. "The snow finally got so deep that I would not force the horses. They are strong, and are willing, and they might have trotted, but we wasn't trying to catch a train, and they balled up pretty well in this wet snow, and I was afraid that they might slip and strain something. I reckon I told you that I had shod both of them, didn't I, when you said that you wanted me to go in for Jack?" "No," said Mr. Sturgis, "I don't remember that you did, but it was a good thing to shoe them; the roads between here and town are cruel on horses' feet, and, while one trip won't wear down a team's feet, still, they have work to do all summer, and there is so much gravel in this soil that their feet would be bound to get tender before summer is over." "Well," replied Hugh, "that's just the way I think. A pair of shoes in front will last them pretty nearly all summer, and when they are shod we know they won't get tender." While he had been talking, Hugh had whittled himself some tobacco, ground it fine between the palms of his hands, filled his pipe and lit it, and now he sat comfortably by the blaze, with his head encircled by a smoke wreath. "Well, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, "I asked you to come in here so that we could talk about what you and Jack are going to do this summer." "Well," said Hugh, "that's for you to say, I reckon. I'm working for you--at least I'm supposed to be working for you, but it seems to me that for the last three or four years I haven't been doing much work, because I've been off playing with Jack every summer. Lord, son," he continued with a smile, "what great travelers you and me are getting to be! First we went up to the Blackfeet and played with them a season; that's when you counted your first coup; and then we went up with them another year, and came down south through the mountains and saw all them hot springs in that country, that they used to call Coulter's Hell, in old times; and then last year we went out to the big water in the west and paddled around in the salt water and got fish. You and me surely have got to be great travelers." "Well, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, "I guess we will have to think up something for this year. Of course, you and Jack could sit around and look after the stock, just as the rest of us do here on the ranch, but I believe it would be better for you to go off and make a trip by yourselves. What do you think?" "Well, Mr. Sturgis," said Hugh, "it really would be pleasant to go off and make a long trip, and there's lots of good country left yet that Jack has not seen, but I don't think I get exactly what you mean. If you will speak a little plainer I will understand better." "It is like this, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis; "Jack is out here for the summer, and I want him to have a good time, and to see as much as he can of what there is in this country. It is all beginning to change here so fast that I am afraid the first thing we know the country will be full of people, and every time you want to ride off in some direction you will have to turn out for a wire fence, or you will get lost because there are so many roads running over the prairie. Where do you suppose you could take Jack this summer so as to give him a good time? Of course, I don't want you to take any chances, or to go where there is any danger, but, then, I know you won't do that, so I needn't speak about it." For some moments Hugh sat silently puffing at his pipe and staring into the fireplace, while Jack, on his left hand, watched his face with absorbed interest, wondering what he would say. Presently he raised his head, and turning to Mr. Sturgis, said, "Well, Mr. Sturgis, there's a mighty nice trip to be made in the high mountains down to the southward. It's a country where there's no possible danger that I can see, though, as you know, it's only a little while ago that the Utes wiped out Major Thornburgh's command. Now everything is peaceable, and likely to remain so, I reckon." "Where do you mean, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, "down in the Parks of Colorado?" "Yes, sir, that's what I mean. It's a great hunting ground down there still, and besides that, it is a fur country. I have been through there many times, and I never saw any place in the southern country where beaver were so plenty; besides that, as you know, it is up in the high mountains and the fur is good till midsummer. If you all think well of it, Jack and I could go down there and spend a couple of months trapping beaver, and if we have good luck, we might make quite a stake. We wouldn't need to carry much in the way of grub, for the country is full of game, and there are even some bison down there, though it ain't likely that we would get to see any of them. I don't know of any prettier mountains, or where you can live better than you can down there; deer, elk, antelope, sheep, trout, and birds, till you can't rest. That seems to me about the nicest trip one could make without going off far; what do you say to it?" "That sounds good to me, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis. "What do you think about it, Jack?" "Why," said Jack, "it sounds awful good to me. I never thought of making a trip this year. I just thought that I was to come out here and loaf around the ranch, and hunt, and help with the stock." "No," said Mr. Sturgis, "I think it is better for you to be off in the mountains by yourselves, and if Hugh's plan suits you, it suits me, and you can say that it can be carried out." "Splendid!" exclaimed Jack. "But, Hugh," Mr. Sturgis went on, "what's the shortest way to get there; and how would you go?" "Well," said Hugh, "if we should go, I'd say the best way to do would be to take two or three pack horses and start from here with them. Of course, you can drive a wagon all the way down there, through North and Middle and South Park, but I wouldn't want to take a wagon if I could help it. If you wanted to go up in the mountains, why, you'd have to come back to that wagon. You can't make any cut-offs, or short side trips; you've always got to get back to your wagon again. I say, take some pack animals, and then you will be perfectly foot-loose, and can go where you want to and as far as you want to. If I should go that way, I would start from here, go down the Muddy, cross the Medicine Bow, follow up Rock Creek, and cross over to the Laramie, and follow up the Laramie until I got into North Park. From there, it's plain sailing, either through the valley or among the mountains. Son, here, is a good packer, and with a simple outfit like that we can make good time." "Then, when you get into the high mountains," said Mr. Sturgis, "you think you can get some beaver, do you?" "Yes," assented Hugh, "unless things have changed there almightily within a few years. The last time I came through there, I was looking for beaver sign and it seemed to me that all the streams up the mountains were full of beaver, and, as I say, up there in that high country they hold their coats well, and you can trap them until July or August. Indeed, I have known of men that trapped right on through the whole summer, but I don't think it's a good thing to do." "Is there any other fur there?" said Mr. Sturgis. "Not much else," answered Hugh. "Of course, there are some marten, and now and then a wolverine or two, but you can't get them until the snow comes. Mink are not worth much, and otter are so few that you might as well count them out of the question, too; but there are some bears; in fact there should be a good many bears, and their coats are good until July; but if we are going to trap, beaver are what we would have to depend upon. Maybe we might catch a bear or two in a dead fall, but I wouldn't bother to take along one of those big steel traps on the chance of getting one or two hides with it. Those traps are not worth bothering with if you have a long way to go. They are all right to set around the ranch, if you think you need a bear hide, or if you have got a wagon to drive around in, but I have no use for them on a pack. I have heard lately that some of these pilgrims that come from the East and are stuck on getting bears, put out baits and set traps near them, but I never could see any fun in that sort of thing. If you want to hunt bears, why, hunt them, and prove that you are more cunning and skillful than they are. It's no fun to set a trap, and then when a bear gets into it to crawl up and shoot it. It is some fun to get the best of the shyest and wildest animal that goes on four legs, but I don't see where the fun comes in in trapping them, and then crawling up on them and killing them. It's too much like chopping a chicken's head off--and that wouldn't be very much fun for any of us." "I agree with you, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis; "but you know there are all sorts of people back East, just as there are all sorts of people here, and some of those men who come out to hunt, take back great stories about the bears that they have trapped, and about the danger that they were in when they killed the bear. Of course, that does not seem to us very honest, but there are braggarts all over the world." "That's so, Mr. Sturgis," said Hugh. "I guess the frauds are not confined to any one part of the country; you find them 'most everywhere." "So you do, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, as he knocked out his pipe against the stones of the fireplace. "Well," he went on, "about the trip that you and Jack are going to make. Let's think it over for a day or two, and if it still seems good to you, the sooner you start the better." "Very well," said Hugh. "The sooner we get started the better the fur will be, and the longer it will last. We'll chew on it for a day or two, son, and see what we can make out of it." So saying, Hugh rose from his seat, knocked out his pipe, and saying good-night to Mr. Sturgis, disappeared down the passage. Before long Jack and his uncle went to bed--Jack to dream of the glories of the trip, and the beaver he was to trap. CHAPTER II A PLEASANT SPRING RIDE When Jack arose the next morning and looked out of the window on the little valley below the house, and upon the side of the mountain, he saw the ground covered with snow, which glistened in the brilliant sunshine. It did not take him long to get into his clothes, and he rushed through the house and out the kitchen door and down toward the corral. Over the hills beyond the barn a number of horses were galloping, with streaming manes and tails, and behind them was Joe, zig-zagging back and forth, occasionally snapping forward the end of his trailing rope to hurry up the laggards. It was a good sight--one that Jack had not seen for a couple of years--and he ran on down toward the corral, but suddenly a thought struck him, and he stopped, turned, and started back to the house. When he burst into the kitchen again, he said, "Oh, Mrs. Carter, please give me a couple of lumps of sugar for Pawnee; I want to see if the old horse will know me, and whether he does or not, I want to be friends with him." He ran back into the sitting room and got the old whistle which he had taught his horse to obey, and put it in his pocket. Seizing the sugar which Mrs. Carter had put on the table, he hurried down to the corral. When he got there, the horses for the day's riding were being caught up, and he entered. He had long ago lost the old fear that he had had as a little fellow, that the frightened horses would run over and trample him. Stepping out into the middle of the corral, he looked at the bunch of twenty or thirty horses which stood there sleepily, as long as they were undisturbed, but were quick enough to move about and try to dodge the rope when it was thrown at them. By this time the men had caught all their horses, and Joe walked over to the gate, ready to open it as soon as Jack had caught his. Jack called to him, "Say! wait a minute, Joe; I want to try an experiment;" and he put the whistle to his lips and blew the old call that he had been accustomed to use for Pawnee. The horse was standing partly hidden by two or three others, but the moment the whistle blew he raised his head, and turned and looked at Jack. Jack stood perfectly still for a moment or two, and then blew the whistle once more, and the horse stepped forward over toward Jack, with his head up, his ears thrust forward, and an expression of great interest on his countenance. Again Jack blew the whistle, and this time he reached out his hand toward the horse, which again took three or four steps and stopped only a few feet from Jack, reaching out his nose to Jack's hand, as if trying to smell it. Jack put his hand into his pocket and laid a lump of sugar in his palm, and whistled once more, and the horse stepped forward and took the sugar, and as he crunched it in his teeth, stepped forward again, so that his head was close to Jack's shoulder. Jack patted him very gently, and then slipped the rope over his neck and knotted it and began to rub the horse's head and ears. Gradually--as it seemed to Jack--the horse's memory awakened, and after a few moments Jack felt quite confident that Pawnee recognized him and was glad to see him. The horse rubbed his head vigorously against Jack's shoulder, and seemed to enjoy being petted. As their old friendship seemed to be resumed, Jack called to Joe to open the gate, and after he had done so the horses walked out. Some of them had already shed their winter coats, but on others the long hair hung down three or four inches below their necks and bellies. The dust and dirt of the corral was full of shed hair, and great wads of it were lying about everywhere. Just as Jack started out with Pawnee, to take him to the barn, Hugh passed by and said, "Does he know you, son?" "I really think he does, Hugh," said Jack. "At first he didn't, though he remembered the whistle, and recognized the sugar when I held it out to him, but now I believe he knows who I am. It's pretty hard on him to have to remember me, for I expect I have changed more or less in appearance every year, and you know it's two years now since I have seen the old horse." "Yes," said Hugh; "I don't wonder that he was a little slow to know you, but after all, a horse has a long memory, and inside of twenty-four hours it will all come back to him. I reckon that to-morrow he will likely come right up to you in the corral or on the prairie." "He's fat and in fine condition, isn't he, Hugh? He looks to me to be in the bulliest kind of order for a trip." "Lord, yes," said Hugh, "he's fat enough, for I don't think he has done anything for two years. Your uncle would not let him be ridden last year, he was so much afraid that something might happen to him. I shouldn't be a little bit surprised if he would kick and crowhop quite a little when you first get on him. I don't believe he would really pitch, but he's likely to pretend to. He looks fatter than he really is, though of course he's fat enough," the old man went on, "but that long winter coat of his makes him look as round as a ball." "Yes," assented Jack, "it does, of course; and what tremendous coats these horses get in this country, don't they?" "Yes," said Hugh, "they have to; for, as you know, it is fearful cold here in winter, and, of course, the horses are out on the range all the time and they've got to do something to keep themselves warm, so they grow these long coats. Look at this now!" and walking up to Pawnee he put his hand under his brisket, and pulling a little from side to side took off a great patch of hair and held it out to Jack so that he could look at it. There were seen the roots of the long hairs sticking up through a sort of fur or down, such as may be seen next to the skin of an elk or a deer when it is shedding its winter coat. "There," said Hugh, "do you see that fur that grows next to the skin? Most animals in this cold climate develop that during the winter, and you can see that it's almost like the fur on the otter, the beaver, or the muskrat. It must keep out the cold in great shape." "I declare," said Jack, "I never saw that on a horse before. I did see it once on an elk that we killed in the spring; I think it was the first year I came out here, when I hunted with John Munroe. I have seen this same kind of fur on a St. Bernard dog, too; the animals that the monks keep up on the tops of the mountains in Switzerland, away up above timber line, and that they use in winter to look for people who get lost in the snow in the mountains. They have just that kind of double coat, with long hair on the outside and a sort of fur underneath, next to the skin." "Yes," said Hugh, "I guess all animals that live in cold climates get that same kind of coat." While he was speaking, the horn blew, and Jack took Pawnee to the barn and tied him up, and then he and Hugh went in to breakfast. "Well, Jack," said Mr. Sturgis, as they sat at the table, "have you and Hugh had a consultation yet over what you are going to do?" "Not yet, Uncle George," said Jack; "but I guess we will during the day, and we will be able to tell you to-night what our decision is." "This snow will melt right away, and the grass has started enough for you to go off on your trip any time now," said Mr. Sturgis. "And I suppose," said Jack, "if we are going off, the sooner we get started the better. Isn't that so, Hugh?" "I reckon it is, son; and if we're going to try to get any fur of any kind, the sooner we start the better the fur will be. It won't be long now before the animals begin to shed. Of course, a bear hide is good till well into June, and the higher up the animal lives, the longer the coat stays good. Why, in old times, we used to trap all through the summer, but, of course, if we caught fur low down on the prairie it did not bring us the price that prime pelts brought." "Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "make up your minds what you want to do, and report to me to-night." "All right, sir," said Hugh, and he and Jack went down toward the barn. "What are you going to do to-day, Hugh?" said Jack. "Why," said Hugh, "Mrs. Carter said that they were all out of fresh meat, and I thought I'd go off and see if I could kill a buck antelope. That's about all that's fit to kill now. Of course, we might go up on the mountain and hunt around, and perhaps find a mountain sheep, but I don't go much on sheep meat at this time of the year." "Why, how's that, Hugh? I thought sheep meat was the best meat there was, except, perhaps, buffalo meat." "Ever eat any in spring time?" said Hugh. "No, of course I never did. I guess you've always been with me when I've eaten sheep meat, and you and I have never killed a sheep in the spring." "Well," said Hugh, "if you kill a sheep now you'll find its meat tastes and smells so strong of garlic that perhaps you'd not care to eat it. I've eaten a good many queer things, but I'd never eat sheep meat in the spring; that is, for choice." "Why is that, Hugh?" said Jack. "I'll tell you," replied Hugh. "About the first green thing that springs up in these mountains is the wild leek, and the sheep, hungering for something green, hunt this up and eat it whenever they find it. The result is, that they taste of it, strong. Didn't you ever hear of that before?" "No, indeed," replied Jack; "that's news to me. I do believe, though, that once in a while when I have been in the country in the spring the milk of the cows has tasted of garlic or onions, and they told me it was because they had been eating the wild leek." "That's straight enough," replied Hugh. "I have drunk cow's milk in spring, out in this country, that tasted strong of sage. Now, you know well enough, without my telling you, that the meat of the sage hen tastes strong of sage, because they feed on it all the time, and didn't Mr. Fannin tell us last year that the hogs and chickens that fed on the dead salmon could not be eaten because they were so fishy? It seems to me he did." "It seems to me he did, too, Hugh. I believe you're right about that." "Well," said Hugh, "I guess that's common enough. I've tasted beef and buffalo both that tasted mighty strong of garlic." "Why, yes, Hugh, I remember now, you told me all about this last year. You told me about it at the same time that Mr. Fannin told us about the hogs and chickens which could not be eaten on account of having fed on the dead salmon. I had forgotten all about it." "Yes, son, I thought we had talked it over before." "Well, Hugh, you explain a good many things to me, and I am afraid I forget some of them." "Well, son, you can't remember everything. Let's go down and saddle our horses now." They went down to the barn and saddled up. Hugh's was a handsome young black horse, nervous and full of spirit, but with a good disposition, and Jack could not help admiring the quiet way in which Hugh walked up to and soothed the horse, talking to him and patting him in a friendly way that seemed to overcome the animal's fears. Pawnee flinched when the saddle blanket was put on, and again when the saddle struck his back, but Jack talked to him and petted him and he stood quietly while the saddle was being cinched. "It will be a good idea for you not to draw that cinch too tight at first, son," said Hugh, "and then to lead him around a little; if he wants to buck, let him buck with the saddle." This seemed good advice to Jack, and he led the horse out of the barn. Pawnee acted a little wild, and kept jumping when a stirrup knocked against his side, but he made no attempt to get rid of the saddle, though nervous about the noise that it made. "He's all right, Hugh," said Jack, "I'll leave him standing here while I run up and get my rifle and cartridge belt." He threw down the reins and the rope, and the horse stood quietly enough by Hugh until Jack returned. Then taking the rope off his neck, he tied it to the saddle, thrust his gun in the scabbard, and throwing the reins back over the horse's head, slowly and carefully mounted. Pawnee stood very quietly, but turned his head around as if curious to see what this weight was that he now felt on his back, and then at a touch of the spur moved off, and Hugh and Jack soon passed over the hill and out of sight of the ranch. As the day advanced the sun grew warmer and the field of snow was dazzling. "We ought to have blackened our faces before we started out," said Hugh. "This is just the kind of day to get a bad attack of snow blindness." "Yes," said Jack, "I can see that's so, but this snow isn't going to last the day out. See how many patches of bare ground are beginning to show, and how the water is running off into the ravines." "That's so," said Hugh. "If it were not for the way it's going it would be a good idea for us to tie our handkerchiefs across our noses. Anyhow, I don't want to get an attack of snow blindness; it's mighty painful, I can tell you, and every time you get it it makes your eyes weaker and more liable to another attack if you are out in the bright sunshine when the ground is covered with snow." "Were you ever snow blind?" asked Jack. "Yes," replied Hugh, "I've been snow blind, but I never had a real bad attack. I've been so that I couldn't see, and the way my eyes hurt was something awful, but it always passed off in a few days. I never had an attack like I've seen some men have, where they would be blind and suffering for weeks at a time." "Where are you going to look for that antelope, Hugh?" said Jack. "Why, I think we might go up toward the head of the Basin and then swing over onto the east side. It's warm over there, and a good many antelope coming back in spring get over there and stop for a while before they scatter out through the Basin. We're likely to see plenty of them this morning, and if we do, it does seem to me that we might as well kill a couple. If you and me are going on a trip pretty soon there won't be anybody here to kill meat for the ranch." "All right," said Jack, "I'd like first rate to kill an antelope again. It seems to me a long time since I've shot at one, and I'd like to find out whether I've forgotten how to shoot." "Well," said Hugh, "you're not likely to have forgotten how to shoot, but your gun may be a little strange to you after such a long rest." The two rode quietly along for some miles without seeing anything more than a few birds that rose from the brushy ravines which they passed, or an occasional coyote trotting over the whitened prairie on his way to some place to take his nap for the day. Down on the lake below could be seen many water fowl, and over it a great flock of these would rise and fly about in the air for a long time, and then alight again on the water. Sometimes the groups of birds formed a black spot in the sky, and then swinging out into long lines looked almost like the smoke of a locomotive carried off over the prairie. It was pleasant riding. Every moment it seemed to grow warmer and warmer, and the snow disappeared from the hills with startling rapidity. CHAPTER III AN EXPEDITION FOR FUR Hugh and Jack had ridden some miles across the Basin without seeing any game except a few distant antelope, for which they did not turn aside. The hills, as they grew more and more bare of snow, were already beginning to turn green with the new grass which showed among the sere and yellow tufts of last year's growth. The buds were swelling on the trees and bushes which grew in the ravines they crossed, but as yet no leaves had begun to appear. Yet, all over the prairie, on and under the bushes, were seen numbers of small birds, some of them migrants on their way to the north, others summer residents that were building or were about to build their nests. Now and then was heard the distant hooting of the sage grouse. After crossing the valley and climbing the hill on the other side of the Basin, they came out on a rolling table-land, from which the snow had almost disappeared, though here and there long lines of white were seen marking some ravine shaded from the direct rays of the sun. Over the plain before them were scattered many antelope, and Hugh said, "Now, son, watch out sharp, and let's get our meat as soon as we can, and get back." As they rode along, they approached the top of each hill carefully, Jack keeping a little behind Hugh, who rode up very slowly to the crest, and before showing anything more than the top of his head, scanned the country beyond. They had passed over one or two such rises, when Hugh slowly bent his head, turned his horse, and rode back toward Jack, saying, as he reached him, "There's a bunch of antelope just over the hill, and they may be just what we want; I saw the backs of two that were feeding; we better creep up there and see what they are, and remember, a dry doe, or even a yearling doe is likely to be better than a buck, and if you get a chance, kill one; I'll do the same." Dropping their horses' reins and loading their rifles, they returned to the hilltop. Hugh went slowly and carefully, bending lower and lower as he approached the crest, and finally dropped on his knees, and crept forward. At last he stopped and very slowly raised his bared head, for he had left his hat behind him, to take another look; then, with the same slow motion, he lowered his head, and turning, motioned Jack to come beside him. As Jack reached him, Hugh whispered, "There's a big buck off to the right that you can kill, and there's another buck right in front of me that I'll take after you've shot. Get ready now, and kill your animal." Cocking his rifle, Jack slowly raised his head, and in a moment saw the black horns of an antelope that was looking off over the prairie. He waited an instant, and then, as the animal lowered his head, he rose up a little higher, drew a careful bead on the spot that Hugh, years ago, had told him to shoot at--the little dark curl of hair just behind the foreleg--and fired. The antelope rushed away, and immediately a dozen others that had been still nearer to the hunters and out of sight, followed him. They ran part way up the next slope and then stopped nearly a hundred and fifty yards off, and as they did so, Hugh's rifle came to his shoulder and he fired. The animal that he had shot fell in his tracks, and the others rushed off over the hill. The hunters rose to their feet, and went back to the horses, picking up their hats on the way. When they were in the saddle, Jack said to Hugh, "Did you see anything of my buck?" "No," said Hugh, "I don't feel sure whether he fell into the ravine as they crossed, or whether he went on. I heard the ball strike him, though, and I reckon we'll find him presently." Riding over toward the animal that Hugh had shot, they crossed the ravine, and just as they were rising the hill, Hugh stopped his horse and said, "There's your buck," and pointed down the ravine where, seventy-five or eighty yards from them, the antelope was seen standing with his head down, evidently unable to go further. Jack pulled up his horse and looked at the animal, and said, "I don't know whether I had better give him another shot, or wait for him to die." "Well," said Hugh, "I reckon if I was you, I'd get off and shoot him again; he's hard hit, but sometimes one of those fellows will give you a chase of three or four miles if he gets frightened, even though he may have a mortal wound." "All right," said Jack, and he dismounted, and stepping back behind the horses, he shot from the shoulder, and the antelope fell over and was hidden in the brush of the ravine. It took but a short time to clean Hugh's buck and put it on the horse, and a few minutes later, Jack's was similarly tied on his horse. Both animals had fair heads, but Hugh had said, "It's not worth while to pack all this extra weight back to the ranch; we may as well cut it down as low as possible so they had removed the heads and necks and shanks, before tying the carcasses behind the saddles with the buckskin strings with which they were provided. While they were doing all this, the sky had become overcast and the wind had begun to blow up cold from the west. They mounted their horses and started back for the ranch, stopping at the first snowbank, where, in the moist snow they washed the blood from their hands. "Well," said Hugh, "this wind is blowing up right cold; if we had a sheltered place to sit down, I would like to smoke a pipe, but as we haven't, I reckon we better keep on across the valley until we find a lee over there where we can sit and smoke and talk." But by the time they had crossed the valley the sun had come out again, and Hugh said, "Now, son, if we keep poking right along and don't stop, we will get back to the ranch in time to get some dinner. I move that we do that, for I'm right wolfish." "Good enough," replied Jack, "that will suit me; we'll have all the afternoon to smoke and talk." They were yet half a mile from the ranch when they heard the dinner horn, but after they had hung up their meat, unsaddled their horses, and got into the house, they found the men were still at the table, and sat down with them. How good that first dinner did taste to Jack after his morning's ride! There was the last of some elk meat, killed the fall before by Hugh, potatoes, canned tomatoes, and lots of good bread, and plenty of milk and cream. Joe said to Jack, as he watched him eat, after he had finished his own meal, "Eat hearty, Jack; it's a mighty good thing to enjoy your victuals like you do!" "Well," said Jack, "I've enjoyed lots of good meals in my life, but it seems to me that this is the best I ever did eat, and this milk is splendid, too. I can drink a quart of it." "It's something you don't get often on a cow ranch in this country," said Joe. "'Pears like the more cows a man has, the less milk he gets; but I tell you it's a mighty good thing to have, and it helps out the eatin' wonderfully." "Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "it always seemed to me that it is worth while to have the best food there is going, just as far as you can afford it." "You had better drink all you can, son," said Hugh, "because if you and me are going off for a trip, to be gone two or three months, you won't see any milk for a mighty long time." Jack grinned as he replied, "Don't be afraid, Hugh. I'm going to fill myself just as full of the good things as I possibly can, and when I get where I can't have them, why, I will enjoy the things we can have just as much as I know how." "That's good philosophy, Jack," said his uncle; "stick to it; always get the best you possibly can, but never grumble if that best is pretty poor." Dinner over, Hugh and Jack adjourned to the bunk house, and there, sitting in its lee in the warm sunshine, they began to discuss their plans. "Now, Hugh," said Jack, "what do you think about our summer's trip? Tell me all you can, for I want to know what is coming. Of course whatever you say goes." "Well, son," said Hugh, "you have traveled and hunted and seen Indians, but there's one thing you have not done; you haven't done any trapping. It seems to me that it would not be a bad idea for you to learn something about that. I used to be a pretty fair trapper in my young days, and I reckon we can go down south here in the high mountains and perhaps get some fur; not much, but enough, maybe, to pay our expenses, and then we can come back here and turn it in to Mr. Sturgis as a sort of pay for our time and for the use of the horse flesh we have had." "That seems to me a bully idea, Hugh; it does seem a shame for me to come out here every year and take you away from the ranch for all summer, for I suppose that, of course, my uncle pays you right along?" "Sure he does," said Hugh. "He paid me my wages that season we spent up in the Blackfoot country, and again when we came down through the mountains, and again out in British Columbia, just the same as if I had been here hunting and wrangling horses for the ranch, working thirty days in every month. Of course, he does this on your account, he don't do it on my account; he does it because he is fond of you, and wants you to have a good time, and wants you to learn things about this Western country. I'm a kind of hired school teacher for you, and I tell you, Jack, I like the job, and I reckon you do, too. The reason I speak to you about it now is because you're older, and you ought to think about things more, and not just take the good things that come to you, like a hog under an acorn tree." "Of course, Hugh, I understand, and I'm glad that you speak to me like this about it; but what do you mean by 'a hog under an acorn tree'?" "Why don't you know that old saying about a hog going along and eating the acorns under an oak tree and never stopping to think where they come from, or who sends them? I expect it's just because he's a hog." "No," said Jack; "that's new to me." "Well," said Hugh, "I reckon it's a mighty good saying. To go back," he resumed; "now we can go down into the high mountains south of here on the other side of the range and trap, and maybe get a few beaver. Of course beaver ain't worth much now, but they are worth something. If we were out on the prairie down in the lower country it wouldn't be worth while to do it, because beaver fur gets poor early in the summer, but up in the mountains, where I think of going, fur is good all the year round--better in the early spring than it is late in the summer--but it's good enough all the time." "Well, Hugh," said Jack, "what particular place did you think of going to?" "I thought of North Park," said Hugh. "There are high mountains there, plenty of game and fish, and it used to be a great country for beaver. It's a good many years since I've been in there. It must be a dozen years or more. Last time I crossed through there I had been camping on Henry's Fork of Green River, along with Ike Edwards, old John Baker, Phil Maas, and Dick Sun. That was a good bunch of men; mighty few like them in the country now. They were all old-timers, and all had skin lodges and lived there with their women in the country near Bridger, and in winter moved into houses which they had on Henry's Fork. I reckon I'll have to tell you something about them some of these days, but now we'll stick to our trip. "North Park is high up, with mountains on both sides of it, mighty high mountains, too, and if there are any beaver living in that country, we will probably he able to find them. Beaver is about all the fur that's worth bothering with. There are not many marten, and if there were, the fur would not be good now. Of course, you may get a bear or so, and each bear would bring about seven or probably ten dollars, if we kill them before they begin to shed. Beaver is worth three or four dollars a pound. That would make a skin worth about five or six dollars--that is, a good skin. It's a good deal of a trick to skin a beaver and dry his pelt in good shape. It's one of them things, of course, that you have got to learn. "On the other hand, beaver trapping is mighty hard work, and you had better know it beforehand. You've got to be in the water more than half the time, and have to get your beaver back to camp and skin 'em, and by the time you have been running to your traps, getting your beaver, setting your traps, packing your catch to camp and skinning it, you will think you've done a mighty good day's work. All the same, son, you're pretty husky, and there's no reason why you should not do a full day's work, but I tell you one thing we had better do, because it will add a whole lot to our comfort--we had better get rubber boots for both, before we start out, so that we won't get any wetter than we have to get. I have had a touch of rheumatism in past years, and I don't want to get any more of it." "That seems bully, Hugh," said Jack. "I'm willing to work harder this year than ever before, and I'm bigger and stronger and better able to do work than I ever was before. I'll try to hold up my end just as well as I can." "Well," said Hugh, "it ain't like as if we were stone broke, and trying to make a raise to carry us through the winter. We needn't work any harder than we feel like, but when I tackle a job I like to make it a good one, and I reckon you feel that way, too." "Yes," said Jack, "that's the way I feel about it, for that is the way the people I think most of in the world have always talked to me." "That's good sound sense, my son," said Hugh. "Now tell me, Hugh, how do we go from here down into North Park?" "It's quite a ways," replied Hugh; "eight or ten days' march. We go from the ranch down the Muddy to the Medicine Bow, up that river quite a little way, and then cross over the divide to the Big Laramie and follow that up into the Park. That takes us pretty well on to Laramie City, and I guess we may as well go there anyhow, if we are going to get the rubber boots I spoke about." "In that case we ought to start just as soon as we possibly can, oughtn't we?" said Jack. "I understand that the sooner we get onto the trapping grounds the better the fur will be." "You're dead right," said Hugh, "and I'd rather start to-morrow than the day after." "Well," said Jack, "is there any reason why we should not start to-morrow?" "I don't know of any," said Hugh; "but your uncle is the doctor, and he'll have to tell us what to do." "Well," said Jack, "what's the matter with hunting him up and finding out?" "All right," said Hugh, "let's look for him." Mrs. Carter, when asked as to the whereabouts of Mr. Sturgis, said that the last she had seen of him he had started down toward the blacksmith's shop, and there, a little later, Hugh and Jack found him and Joe busy tinkering with some iron work needed for the horse rake. The two stood around and watched the blacksmithing for a time, and then Mr. Sturgis looked up with a twinkle in his eye, and said, "You two look like scouts that have come in to make a report; what is it?" "You tell him, Hugh," said Jack, and so Hugh reported the conversation which had taken place and the conclusion that they had reached. "Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "I don't know but you are right, but whether you start to-morrow or next week there is no reason why you should not get your stuff together and have it all ready to pack on the animals. If I were you, I would go and get out your pack riggings, select the horses you want to use, and get Mrs. Carter to put up your grub." "Hurrah!" said Jack, and he threw his hat up to the roof, and then felt much mortified when it fell into the forge bucket and he dipped it out all wet; he then rushed out of the shop toward the house, while Hugh followed more slowly, going to the store room to get out the pack saddles and their riggings. CHAPTER IV MAKING READY FOR THE TRIP A little later, when Jack came into the storeroom, he found three pack saddles and three blankets with various other pieces of the riggings strewn upon the floor. Lying by each saddle was its lash rope and cinch, its sling rope and the hackamore for the animal. A pile of saddle blankets rested in one corner of the room, from which those required for the trip would be selected. Hugh was rummaging in the storeroom, and presently came out carrying a piece of canvas and a small sack, from which he took a palm, a large sail needle with a crooked point, a piece of beeswax, and a ball of heavy thread. These he put on the floor, and then taking up the piece of canvas he cut from its side a long strip about fifteen inches wide. "What are you going to do, Hugh?" said Jack. "Well," said Hugh, "we're liable to have considerable climbing to do in the mountains, and while probably we won't have to make any long drives nor climb any very steep hills, yet we may want to do both. If we have anything of that sort to do, we want to keep the backs of our horses in good order. If our animals are carrying any loads these will have a tendency to slip off backward when the horse is going up hill, or to slip off forward when coming down hill. I believe we'll save ourselves and animals both, if we rig up breast bands, and breechings, too, on these saddles. Of course, one of them has a crupper already, but that does not amount to much. I believe we'd better do what I've said, and then we're pretty sure that the loads, if they are properly lashed, will stay put, and won't be giving us everlasting trouble." "How many packs do you intend to take, Hugh?" "Why," said Hugh, "I should think three will be a plenty; one to carry our beds, war sacks, and tent; one to carry our mess outfit and grub; and one to carry our fur, if we get any. The third horse will go light for part of the way, and then later we can use him to save the others. Of course, we could get along with two animals, but not so well, if we're going to bring anything back with us; and, of course, there's always a probability of that, though, on the other hand, we may not get anything at all." "Well," said Jack, "three packs aren't much to bother with, and we ought to be able to travel fast with them." "No," said Hugh, "three won't be much trouble, and we can get a good start every morning, if we want to." While they had been talking, Hugh had set a saddle upright on the floor and had run a rope in front of it about where the animal's breast would come, and then brought the rope back to the side of the saddle; measuring the canvas by this, he cut off three strips, and then doubling them over he took the palm and sail needle and with waxed thread stitched the two edges together so that he had a double thickness of canvas, six or eight inches wide and long enough to reach from one side of the saddle to the other, around the animal's breast. Similar bands were cut and sewed for breeching, and then Hugh pointed out to Jack where one difficulty lies in using such aids to travel. "You have got to have the breast band so low that it will press on the breast and not on the throat, otherwise you stop your animal's wind--choke him. Again, if you have it too low, and if it isn't held up by anything from above, it's likely to drop down to the animal's knees. Probably the best way for us to do is to run a string through one edge of the band, bring it up, and pass it over the horse's neck and down through the edge on the other side. There's less danger, of course, of the breeching slipping down, because it will catch on the animal's hocks. Still, I think I'll try and see if I can find a couple of cruppers for these other saddles, and then we can tie the supports for the breeching to the crupper band, midway of where it runs back from the saddle. Really, to make good breeching we ought to have it so that it can be shortened up or lengthened out, and so that it will fit any animal that the saddle is put on. I don't see how we can get along without straps and buckles, but as we haven't got any, we'll just put on a couple of snaps, two or three inches apart. I'll go ahead and sew the breeching and the breast straps on one side, anyhow, and after we get up the animals, we can fit them." "By the way, Hugh," said Jack, "how much grub will we want to take with us? I told Mrs. Carter that we would be gone for a couple of months; was that right?" "Yes," said Hugh, "we'll be gone a couple of months, anyhow, I should think, maybe more, but, of course, we expect to live mostly on what we kill. We'll need coffee, sugar, bacon, and flour, and baking powder, but it seems to me that it's not worth while for us to take much of that sort of thing from here. If we're going to stop in Laramie City, we can buy all that stuff there right on the railroad, and in that case, we only need to take from here a fifty-pound sack of flour, a little bacon, and a little coffee and sugar. Maybe Mrs. Carter would bake us bread enough to last us for a few days, and that would save us wrestling with frying-pan bread for a while. I reckon she would do it, if you asked her." "All right," replied Jack, "I'll ask her, and I bet she'll do it, too. She has always been mighty nice to me." "Yes," said Hugh, "she's a mighty nice woman." For a little while Hugh sat silent, busy with his work of sewing up the bands of canvas and attaching them to the saddles on the off side. Presently he said, "Look here, son, it 'pears to me you're not doing much work." "No," said Jack, "that's so, but I don't know enough to make those breast bands and breeching to help you, do I?" "No," said Hugh, "I had better do this part of the business myself, but don't you see these riggings have got to be fitted to the animals? Now, why don't you go out and saddle up and bring in the horse bunch, and then we'll pick out the animals we need for the trip." "All right," said Jack, "I'll go," and he started for the door. "And while you're about it," said Hugh, "stop up at the house and tell Mrs. Carter that we shan't want much grub. It may save her lifting down a lot of heavy flour sacks, and that's no work for a woman, anyhow." "Good!" said Jack, and he ran up to the house and explained to Mrs. Carter what Hugh had said. A little later he was in the saddle, and spurring Pawnee over the hills north of the ranch, looked for the horse bunch. He knew about where they would be found at this time of the day, and at this season of the year, and before long he rode over a hill and saw them scattered out before him over a level hay meadow on which the grass was just beginning to be green. In a few moments he had rounded them up and started them toward the corral, but without hurrying them, for in the bunch there were a number of little colts that were rather shaky on their spindly, crooked legs, and he did not want to hurry them. In fact, as they trotted along toward the ranch, he let several of the old mares and colts drop out by the way, trying only to keep the young horses headed for the ranch. Presently the bunch trotted over the last hill and down to the gate of the corral, and stopped. Jack rode around to one side, got off and dropped his reins, let down the bars, and then remounting rode behind the horses and drove them in. Then he hitched Pawnee to the fence, and went into the storeroom to report to Hugh. Hugh's job seemed to be over, though one end of each band of the breeching and the breast straps was still free from the saddle. "Well," said Jack, "you've worked pretty fast, Hugh, haven't you? I have the horses all in now, and if you'll come out and pick the ones you want, I'll catch them and tie them up, and we'll let the others go again." Hugh rose to his feet and went up to the corral, carrying with him the three hackamores that belonged to the saddles they had selected. He looked over the bunch very thoughtfully, and then said to Jack, "Catch that bay with the bald face and the white hind feet." Jack stepped into the corral and threw his rope, but the bald-faced bay dropped his head and crowded in among the other horses so the rope slid off. Coiling the rope again, Jack stepped forward to the bunch, and as the horses started to run around the corral he made a quick throw and caught the bay, and led it over to where Hugh stood. Then he put the hackamore on it and took it out to the gate and tied it to the fence. "Now catch the big dun," said Hugh, and in a few minutes Jack had him, and the hackamore was put on him. "Now," said Hugh, "take that heavy-set, iron-gray colt. He's only three, and don't know nothing, but he's gentle enough and it's time he learned. We'll let him be the third of the pack animals, and when he comes back he will be a good pack horse. "Now let the others out," said Hugh, after Jack had brought over the iron gray. "We'll put these horses in the hay corral to-night, and then when morning comes we'll know where they are; but first we've got to fit these saddles to them. Let's go down and bring up the blankets and the saddles and see how they go." One after the other the pack saddles were cinched on the horses, each one having a good roll of blankets under it. "These confounded horses are so fat now," said Hugh, "it's a hard matter to make the saddles stick on them anyway. It's a good deal like trying to cinch up a barrel; but they'll lose flesh after they've been on the road a little while, and luckily there's no load for them to carry just now. I'm putting on more blankets than I would if these horses were a little thinner. I hate to put too many blankets under a saddle. It's just as bad as not putting enough, and mighty likely to make a horse's back sore." "Now," said Hugh, after the saddles were all in place, "let's measure these bands, and then we'll mark them with a pencil and this afternoon or to-night I'll fix them up so that they'll be in shape to put on to-morrow morning." The work did not take long. The breast and breeching bands were brought around against each animal's breast and hips, and the place where they should be attached on the near side was marked with a pencil. After this was done, the saddles were taken off, the horses, with their hackamore shanks tied up, were turned into the hay corral, and Hugh and Jack went back to the storeroom. While Hugh continued his work on the saddles, Jack sat cross-legged on the floor watching him and asking many questions. "Are you going to take a tent with you, Hugh?" said Jack. "Yes, sir," said Hugh. "I can get along all right without a tent, when I know it ain't going to rain or snow, but when I know it's going to rain I am powerful partial to some kind of shelter. Of course, if we had a small lodge, and we were sure we could get lodge poles wherever we went, I'd prefer a lodge, but as we can't have just what we want, I'm going to have a tent. Your uncle has got the nicest kind of an A tent with jointed poles, and I expect he'll be willing to let us have it. At least, I'm going to ask him for it. I don't reckon it will be in use at all this summer. You must understand that up in the mountains, and especially at this season of the year, we're likely to have lots of rain, and maybe some snow, and certainly plenty of thunder storms. Now, of course, you can get along all right when it's wet, and you can cook in the rain and eat in the rain and eat wet grub, too, if you have to, but I've always found that a man was just a little bit better off and more comfortable if he kept dry, and I've found, too, that it doesn't take much more work to keep dry than it does to keep wet. These jointed poles are the greatest things out. When they are taken apart they are about three or four feet long; there are only six pieces. They lash first class, and make a good top pack. They give you a chance, too, to put up a tent wherever you are, and into the tent you can bring all the things you want to keep dry. 'Most always you can arrange things so that you can do your cooking under some sort of cover, and even if you do get a little damp you can dry off in front of the fire, go to bed dry, and sleep dry at night. Your saddles, your ropes, and your blankets all are kept dry, and that helps you a whole lot in getting away in good shape and season in the morning. It only takes a few minutes to put up a tent, but those few minutes and the extra work will be more than paid for some night When perhaps it snows hard, and you know that if your things were lying out in the weather it might take you half a day or all day to go around and dig them out of the snow, or in fact you might have to wait until the snow melted before you could find them again." "Well, Hugh, it seems to me it's a pretty good idea to take a tent, especially if we're likely to strike such weather as you tell of." "We're likely to, of course," said Hugh; "but that doesn't mean that we will. I've seen it perfectly fair up there in them mountains day after day and week after week, but then, again, I've seen it rain and snow for weeks at a time. Yes, we'd better take a tent by all means, unless it is going to be in the way." Hugh had finished his work on the pack saddles long before supper time, and the two went up to see what grub Mrs. Carter had laid out, carrying with them two rawhide panniers, which were to hang one on either side of a pack saddle, and in them they packed the grub and carried them back to the storeroom. The load was a light one, and Jack did not stagger under his share of it. After supper that night, Mr. Sturgis talked with Hugh and Jack and told them that he agreed with them that they had better start as soon as they could, and be gone as long as they liked. "You will be pretty close to the settlements all the time, I take it," he said to Hugh, "and if either of you feel like it, I should like to have a letter from you from time to time, telling me how you're getting along and what you are doing. Of course, I don't want to have you feel obliged to carry on a correspondence with me, but whenever you do get within reach of a postoffice let me hear from you that you are all right. I know you are both pretty well able to take care of yourselves, and I shan't do any worrying about you, but I have a curiosity to know what fur you find, and generally what you see down there in those high mountains. I have never been down there myself, and if I had the time I should like to go with you. I hear that there is some great fishing in those streams. To-morrow morning I will get out my trout rod and reel and some flies, and you had better take the outfit with you. You should be able to carry it so that it won't break, and very likely there will be a good many times when you can catch some fish. You won't suffer for things to eat, because there is plenty of game in those mountains down there. You will have a good time, and maybe you will catch beaver enough to make a coat apiece. Do you expect to see any Indians, Hugh?" he asked. "Why, yes, Mr. Sturgis, I reckon we will see some Utes, but they are all quiet now, since they killed their agent and had a fight with Thornburgh's command. I always had an idea that the truth of that business never came out, and that the Utes had a good deal more to stand than any of us know about, before they broke out the way they did. I lived down on the edge of their country once, for several years, and knew most of the Uinta Utes, and they were always good and kind people, and brave, too. You know they were always at war with the Pawnees, Sioux, and Cheyennes, and in fact with pretty much all the Plains people, and they generally managed to hold up their end pretty well, too." "Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "when can you get ready to start?" "Why, I reckon we can get off soon after day to-morrow morning, if you think best," said Hugh. "By all means," said Mr. Sturgis. "You haven't wasted any time, have you? Got everything ready?" "Yes," said Hugh, "everything. I was thinking that maybe we would not take much grub along with us; not more than enough to last for six or eight days, and then we could buy the supplies for the main trip at Laramie, if you think best." "That's a very good idea, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, "and you had better do it. I will give you an order on the store at Laramie for whatever you want, and you can travel light until you get there; then you will have to load up heavy, but there is a good road down into the Park, I hear, and perhaps you can cache a part of your supplies down there, after you get there." "I guess that's a good idea," said Hugh. "Maybe we'll do it." "Well," said Hugh, after a pause, "if it's all settled we start to-morrow morning, I reckon I'll say good-night and go to bed." Jack and his uncle sat a while longer in front of the fire talking, and then they went to bed. CHAPTER V THE START FOR NORTH PARK It was just gray dawn next morning when Jack awoke and tumbled out of bed. As he passed the corral on his way down to the bunk house, he saw Hugh moving about among the horses, and entering, found that the pack animals were all saddled. "Hello, son!" said Hugh, "I'm glad to see you stirring. We want to get our loads out, so that as soon as we've eaten breakfast we can pack up and go. You better roll up that bed of yours and bring it down here and put it with mine over there against the fence, and then we want to bring down the grub and the mess kit, and make up our packs." For a little time both were busy journeying to and fro between the house and the corral, carrying down loads of food, the small mess kit packed in a soap box, the ax, the hatchet, the Dutch oven, packages of ammunition, and their guns. Hugh showed Jack how to lash together the six pieces which made up the two uprights and the ridge pole of their small tent, and then with a number of pieces of canvas and some lengths of rope, Hugh began to make up the packs for the pack animals. "While I'm working at this, son," he said, "do you go up and put the saddles on the riding horses. Don't cinch them up, but just draw the latigos tight enough to hold the saddles in place, and have the bridles handy; and, by the way, you'd better get that coil of half-inch rope that's in the storeroom. We'll take all that along, for we may need picket ropes before we get back. Ropes are something that are awful easy lost on a trip." Jack got the rope, which he threw down with the other things over which Hugh was working, and then went up and saddled Pawnee and Hugh's black. He watered both horses, and then tied them in their stalls and left them munching their hay. When he returned to the corral, Hugh had apparently finished his work, but while they had three pack horses, there were only two loads piled up. Jack looked about for a third, and Hugh noticing this, said, "You see, son, we've got so little to pack that we may as well put it all on two horses and let the third one go without a load. You see, when we buy our grub at Laramie, we can stick a good part of it on him, and put more on the other horses as well. As it is now, neither of the loaded horses will have had more than half what he ought to carry." The call to breakfast came about this time, and after the meal was over all hands went down to the corral and stood around while Hugh and Jack packed their horses. A few moments later they had mounted, turned their pack train loose, and after shaking hands all around and saying good-by to Mr. Sturgis, they started down the valley. For some miles the ride was a familiar one to Jack, for he had passed over it a number of times on his hunting trips and on his way to the Powell ranch. He had nothing special to do except to keep the pack animals close up to Hugh and to prevent them from turning off and trying to return to the ranch. This they kept doing for the first few miles, and at last Jack quite lost patience with them and began to ride fast after them, chasing them back at a gallop so that at times they ran ahead of Hugh. After he had been doing this some little time, Hugh stopped and motioned to him to come up to him. When Jack had done so, Hugh said, "If I were you, son, I'd be more quiet with the horses. The more you run them, the harder they'll be to manage, and you're liable to wear out the horse you're riding if you keep charging up and down in this way. You can always handle a horse easier if you do it quietly than if you lose your temper. You know we've talked about that two or three times before, and I've told you that your way of getting mad at a horse did not go." Jack felt quite penitent when Hugh spoke to him in this way, and answered: "I know you are right, Hugh; I do get mad at these miserable horses. They seem to have no sense at all, and keep trying to turn around and go back." "Well, now," said Hugh, "I'll tell you. You say they have no sense. Perhaps they don't understand what we're trying to do and where we are trying to go. I'll go over there and sit down and smoke, and while I'm doing that it might be a good idea for you take each one of the horses off by itself and tell it where we are going to, and why we are going, and why he must not go back." For a moment Jack felt rather silly, and then he burst out laughing and said, "Hugh, you are the queerest chap I ever saw. I never met anybody that could make a fellow see so plainly what a fool he was making of himself. It's pretty silly to get angry at these horses because they don't want to leave their range; how could they be expected to know anything about going in one direction or another? I will try to keep my temper better, and handle the horses with better judgment." "Do so," said Hugh. "But now, I tell you what we can do. Suppose you lead for a while if you feel like it, and I'll follow and drive the horses. All you've got to do is to keep straight ahead down the valley, and along toward night we'll come to the mouth of the Muddy and camp there." "No, sir!" said Jack. "You go ahead and lead; there's where you belong, and I'll follow and drive the horses; it will give me a lesson in patience, and that is something that I need. You and the Indians we have hunted with have taught me to be patient in hunting, but I have not learned to be patient with horses." "All right," said Hugh, "I'll go ahead, or I'll come behind, just whichever you please; but if I'm to go ahead, you drive the horses with good sense." "I'll try," said Jack, and from that time on the horses, very largely owing to the way in which they were treated, went along much better. There was little that was interesting on the road for the greater part of the day. On either side of the stream stretched the wide sage plain of silvery green. Beyond this plain, to the right, rose the tall naked hills, almost blood red, while to the left, as far off, was a yellow, chalky bluff. Among the red hills Jack had several times been hunting deer and elk, and just beyond the chalky bluff was Bate's Hole, where Jack had killed his first mule deer. It was but a little after noon when Hugh stopped his horse, and when Jack had come close to him, said, "Son, there are some antelope over this next hill, and we need fresh meat; why not slip off your horse and go up to the top of the next hill and see if you can find a buck that you can kill." "All right," said Jack. He jumped from the saddle, threw down the reins and started for the crest of the ridge beyond. As he slowly and carefully advanced, he saw, not far ahead of him, a pair of small horns, which he knew must belong to a yearling buck antelope, and dropping on his knees, he crept forward until close to the ridge; then slowly raising his head, he saw but a short distance from him a fine young buck antelope looking across the valley and standing broadside on. Jack raised his gun and fired, and the antelope fell, while a half dozen others not seen before rushed into view from behind the hill and scampered off into the plain. The one that Jack had shot struggled to his feet and stood with lowered head, facing in the direction in which its comrades had gone. Jack threw his rifle to his shoulder again, intending to shoot once more, but the antelope looked as if it were badly wounded, and he did not think that it could run far. Turning about, he signaled Hugh to come on, saw him ride over to Pawnee, grasp the bridle reins and start towards him. Then Jack slowly walked over the crest and up to the antelope. There was, of course, a possibility that the animal might run, and Jack cocked his rifle and held it at a "ready," but the antelope, shot through the lungs, was breathing heavily and was in no condition to run away. Still, it kept its feet, and Jack was doubtful as to how to handle it. He certainly did not care to go in front of it and take it by the horns, and he did not like to put down his gun and attempt to stab it with his butcher knife. Finally he put down the gun close by the antelope, and stepped up behind it with drawn butcher knife, caught its hind leg and tried to hamstring it. It was not until then that he realized something of the strength of even so small an animal as this. It kicked and struggled, and Jack, while he managed to keep his hold of the leg, was shaken and twisted about in a way that greatly astonished him. He dared not let go, for fear the antelope would run away, but he had no idea as to how long the struggle would last. However, after a minute or two, which seemed to him like a very long time, the antelope's efforts grew weaker, and finally it fell over on its side. By the time Hugh had come up with the horses, Jack had cut the little buck's throat. "What was the matter?" said Hugh. "You seemed to be having quite an active time down here." "Active time!" said Jack, "I should say so! I had no idea that an animal as small as this antelope could shake me up as he did. I made a poor shot, for I hit him too high up, and from the way he breathed, I think I just cut the upper part of his lungs. I shall have to practice shooting if I am going to help keep the camp supplied with meat this summer." "Oh, don't you bother about practicing," Hugh said. "Two or three shots will get you back into your old way again, but that's a regular green-horn trick to shoot too high. It seems to me that mighty few people know how low the life lies in any animal. I keep telling you where to shoot at in an antelope, and you must remember it." "Of course you do, Hugh," said Jack; "I know that well enough. I try to shoot at that little curl of hair; that's what I aimed at, but you see I drew my sight too coarse." "Well," said Hugh, "just a little shooting is what you need, and you'll get plenty of that in a very short time now." Hugh got off his horse, and they began to skin the antelope, which was a very short operation. The hide strips off an antelope very easily, just as the hide strips off a deer. Jack noticed that on his side Hugh kept turning under the edge of the skin, so that the hair side was always next to the ground or else turned well under the edge. Jack, on the other hand, simply laid the hide on his side on the ground, and twisted and pulled it about; sometimes the flesh sides would come together, and some of the antelope hair rubbed off on the body. Hugh said to him, "You might as well learn to skin an antelope right, son. You know the hair smells quite strong, and if you let the hair touch the meat, the meat gets this smell and tastes of it. Lots of people don't like that taste, and so I always make it a point to keep the hair from touching the skin. You see how I'm working it on my side, always keeping the flesh side to the body." "I see," said Jack, "and now that you have told me, I see why you do it. Of course I've tasted the flavor of the antelope hide in the meat, and I don't like it a bit, myself. I will remember that after this in skinning. Are there other animals, the meat of which is affected by the touching of the hide?" "Well," said Hugh, "the meat of the tame sheep gets an awful strong taste if the wool is allowed to rub against it, and sometimes I think the meat of the wild sheep gets the same taste; anyhow, it's just as well to keep the hair side of the hide away from the meat of the animal it belongs to. At best the hides of these animals are full of dirt and dust, and there is a common prejudice against making that sort of thing your food. We have to eat a lot of it, of course, but at the same time we don't want to eat any more than we have got to. You take the hide of a deer or an elk or a buffalo, just after you have stripped it off, rub your hand down the outside of it, and see what a lot of dirt you will get on your hand. Of course, the Indians don't think much about a little thing like that, and perhaps the average plainsman don't, but I've noticed a few times how very dirty these hides are, and it seems to me worth while to be as clean as we can with the skinning." The antelope being lifted off the hide, its body was rested now for a moment on the top of a sage bush, while Hugh went to his saddle and from one of the strings behind it untied a cotton sack. The antelope was quickly quartered and the pieces packed in this sack, which was lashed on the unloaded horse, and they went on. Camp was made that night some miles above where the Muddy runs into the Medicine Bow River. There was no timber, but the grass was good, and there was plenty of sage brush and some dry willow bushes, so that they had fuel enough to cook their meals. By the time the horses were picketed and the coffee was boiling, it was dark. The day had been warm and bright, and as the night was clear, they decided that it was not necessary to put up the tent. After supper they sat by the fire, Jack questioning Hugh about the country they were going to. "You have talked to me a good deal about the Northern countries, but I don't know that you have ever said anything about the Parks of Colorado, and I don't know just what they are. Of course, we will see them before long, but I should like to have some idea of the country before we reach it." "Well," said Hugh, "I can tell you pretty clearly what these Parks are like. They are just big basins of open country lying between ranges of high mountains. In some places they are fifteen or twenty miles across and twice as long as they are wide, and the mountains on either side are very high--not like the mountains back of the ranch, but running away up above timber line. There are no people in North Park, though I believe within the last two or three years some folks have begun to drive cattle in there for the summer; but in Middle Park and South Park, which are nearer Denver, there are some settlements. In North Park and in Middle Park there is lots of game--in fact, I reckon it's one the greatest game countries there is left now. You will find elk, deer, antelope, sheep, and maybe a few buffalo, but no moose, and no white goats. If you imagine a big plain like the Basin we have just come over, with high mountains all around it, you will have a pretty good idea of North Park. "There's a wagon road from Laramie into the Park--a good wagon road, but after you pass Pinkham's you won't see any settlers until you get over the divide into Middle Park. The North Platte heads in North Park, and, of course, there are no fish in that. Then you ride over a low divide and strike one of the heads of Grand River, and there, even up in the shallow water in a small brook you can catch lots of trout." "Why is it, Hugh, that there are no trout in the Platte River?" "I reckon a thousand people have asked that question, and nobody has ever been able to answer it, so far as I know. We all just know that there are no trout in the stream, but why it is, nobody can tell. Neither in the Platte River nor in any stream that runs into it, so far as I know, are there any trout, and it does seem queer."[1] [1] In recent years the North Platte River has been stocked with trout. "Why, yes, Hugh, that does seem queer; but where do the trout come from that are in the other Rocky Mountain streams? I know that they are not the same kind of trout that we have back East. Those have red spots, and these have black ones." "You just can't prove it by me," said Hugh; "but I've always believed that they came from the other side of the mountain, over the range. How they got over to this side, I do not know, but I reckon that there are ways for fish to move about and get scattered over the country, that maybe you and I don't know anything about. There's one place up north of here where there's a little spring right on the crest of the mountain, from which the water flows both ways. That is to say, it flows down into the Yellowstone on one side and into the Snake River on the other, and so from this same spring water goes to the Atlantic Ocean and to the Pacific Ocean. Now, of course, it might be possible for a trout from the west side of the range to push his way up a western stream until he got into this little spring, and then he might push his way down the stream, which runs east, and where one fish went another might follow; and so that stream might get stocked. It may be that in times past there have been a number of places like that where a fish could climb over the range. Mind, I don't say that is the way that it happened, but it seems to me it might have been that way." "That's mighty interesting, Hugh," said Jack; "I never heard of that place before. What do they call it?" "Why," said Hugh, "they have a good name for it, they call it 'Two Ocean Spring.' Long ago I heard of it from mountain men a great many times, and I have been there once or twice. It's in the right high mountains just east of that Yellowstone Park that we came down through two years ago. They call the two little creeks that run out from it, Atlantic Creek and Pacific Creek, and these seem to me to be very good names for them, too. I heard that not very long ago a government outfit crossed over there and made a map of the country." "Jerusalem!" said Jack; "that's one of the places I'd like to go to." "Well," said Hugh, "you're likely to see just as pretty places as that in these mountains this summer. The little pool up there, that these two streams run out of, is just like any other little shallow lake on top of a divide, and there isn't any wonderful scenery there. It's a good game country, though not any better, I think, than what we came through when we made that trip with Joe two years ago; but it is a pretty country to travel through; open parks and quaking aspen groves and high peaks of mountains sticking up every little while. Oh, yes, it's a real nice country." "Well," said Jack, "I would like to go there, but dear me! what a lot of country there is out here, and how much time it would take to visit all of it!" "That's so," said Hugh, "there's a right smart of country that I have never seen, and I have been out here a pretty considerable time." For a little while both sat silently looking into the fire, and listening to the sharp barks and the shrill wailings of a coyote perched on a hill not far from them. The noise made seemed to Jack to be enough for a half dozen animals, and yet he suspected that very likely it was all made by one. At last he spoke to Hugh about it, and said, "How many of those coyotes do you think there are yelling out there, Hugh?" "Well, I don't know," said Hugh; "there must be at least one; he makes plenty of noise, doesn't he?" "I should think so," said Jack. "I thought there must be at least half a dozen." "No, I don't think so," said Hugh; "if there were more than one, you would be apt to distinguish their voices, and there would be barking at different times. Instead of that, if you will listen to this fellow you'll hear him bark and then howl and stop, and then bark again. I reckon he's hungry, and is trying to call up a partner, and to-morrow morning they will go hunting together and try to kill a rabbit or two, or maybe pull down an antelope. They are queer beasts." "Yes," said Jack, "and mighty cunning, I expect." "Lord, yes," said Hugh, "they are cunning enough. A fox is a fool to one of those coyotes." CHAPTER VI TO LARAMIE AND NORTH PARK They were up before light next morning, and by the time the sun had risen, the little train had started off southward. Crossing two low divides, they found themselves, before noon, on Rock Creek, and traveled up that without incident until late in the day. Everywhere scattered over the valley and the bluffs, antelope were feeding in good numbers. About the middle of the afternoon Hugh proposed that they should stop and smoke and let the animals feed for a little while, and they did so. The men lounged in the shade of a clump of bullberry bushes, for the sun was hot. After half an hour's rest, Hugh said, "Well, son, let's gather up these horses and be moving. We want to get beyond Rock Creek Station to-night. I don't think much of camping in or close to a town, and especially not close to Rock Creek. There's where they unload considerable freight for the ranches up north, and there's usually a good big crowd of bull-whackers there, and most of them drunk. Let's get by there before we camp." They were stepping out to get the horses, when Hugh stretched out his hand and touched Jack, saying, "Hold on a minute, son, what's that coming down the creek?" Jack looked, and could see far off a flock of birds coming. They were stretched out in a line and seemed to have white bodies with black tips to their wings. "What are they, Hugh?" he said, as they both crouched on the ground and watched the distant birds. "I'm not sure," replied Hugh. "There are mighty few birds that are white with black tips to their wings. These might be white geese or white cranes or gulls or pelicans. They can't be gulls, for they don't fly right, and they are not white cranes, I am sure. They are either geese or pelicans, and we'll soon know which." The birds drew nearer and nearer, and presently Hugh said, "They are not geese, either; they must be pelicans. I hope they'll come over us, for they'll make a fine show, and I reckon they will follow the water." Very slowly, as it seemed to Jack, the great birds approached. He was astonished at their tremendous spread of wing and at their curious appearance. They flew in single file, nine of them, the bill of each just about so far from the tail of the bird before it. Their necks were crooked so that the back of the head seemed to rest on the body, and Jack could not but think that in this matter they carried themselves just like herons. Their enormous yellow bills shone in the bright sunlight, and the feet stretched out behind were yellow, but seemingly paler than the bills. To Jack two or three of them seemed to have a wash of gold color on the side of the head, but except for that they were pure white all over except the black wing tips. On steady wing they followed the windings of the stream, not more than thirty or forty feet above the water, passed the travelers without noticing them, and then disappeared down the stream. "My!" exclaimed Jack, as they grew smaller in the distance, "that was a fine sight, Hugh. I never expected to see anything quite like that. I did not know that there were many pelicans in this country, though, of course, there are plenty of them further west, at least that's what the books say." "Yes," answered Hugh; "there are lots of them out West, especially in Utah and Nevada, so I've heard, but there are a few scattered all over the Western country. Now and then one sees them up in Montana, and sometimes down here, and pretty much everywhere, but it's a long time since I've seen a lot together this way." "Well," said Jack, "I'm mighty glad they came along just when they did." A few minutes later the train was in motion, and not long before sunset they passed through the town of Rock Creek. As Hugh had said, much freighting was going on here, and many wagons with white tilts were drawn up side by side, while at a distance on the prairie, herds of stock fed, each watched by a herder. Scattered about near the different groups of wagons, were the camps of the bull-whackers, and a few men were seen, though most of them were presumably in the cook tents eating their suppers. The train had almost passed through the camps, when from between two tents a hundred yards off to one side, Jack saw a little man run out, turn and run down toward another camp, and almost immediately behind him was another much larger man who carried in his hand a good stout club. The little man did not run so fast as the one behind him, and presently the pursuer overtook him and began to beat him with the club. The second or third blow knocked the small man flat to the ground, but he did not remain there, and springing to his feet, he turned and caught the tall man around the neck with his left arm and in a moment the tall man fell to the ground, while the little fellow walked off. It had all happened quickly, and almost by the time Jack had called Hugh's attention to it, the little fellow had quickened his steps and was now running away from the camp. As Hugh and Jack looked back they could see dark stains spreading over the white undershirt that the large man wore, and it was evident that the little fellow had stabbed his antagonist. Almost at once from three or four directions men came running toward the wounded man, and a little later two or three men rushed out from tents, carrying rifles and cartridge belts. Jack had said to Hugh, "Oh, Hugh, that man is wounded; shan't we go over and help him," to which Hugh had replied, "Don't you do it, son; let us get ahead as fast as we can and not mix up with these fellows' quarrels. You can't tell what these half-drunken men will do. They are liable to try to knock one of us off our horse if the notion takes them. The best thing we can do is to put as much ground between them and us as we can. There's one comfort," he added; "if they do shoot at us they can't hit us." Meantime, shots were sounding out on the flat, and Jack could see the little man running hard for the distant bluff, while behind him two or three men were running or staggering and shooting with pistols and rifles. Before very long, Hugh and Jack had put two or three miles between Rock Creek and themselves, and just after sundown they camped in a pleasant part of the valley where there was good grass and water, but not much wood. While Hugh was cooking supper, a man came along on horseback and stopped to speak with them. Hugh asked him if he would not alight and have a cup of coffee, and he accepted. "Have you men just come from Rock Creek?" he asked. "Yes, sir," said Hugh. "We have just passed through there an hour ago. A lively place, isn't it?" "Too lively for me," said the stranger; "I've got charge of that bull train, and those drunken bull-whackers will break my heart if I don't get them out from the railroad before very long. Three or four of them got drunk and quit on me the other day, and I've been into Laramie to try and get some more. I've got three that are coming up on the passenger to-night." "Well," said Hugh, "we saw a couple of them having fun with each other as we came through. There was a big man pounding a little man, and the little man turned and cut the big man, and then pretty much the whole camp turned out and chased the little fellow off over the prairie, and the last we heard they were still shooting at him." "Yes," said the foreman, "that don't surprise me a bit. That little fellow was Wild Tex, and the big fellow was Donovan. Donovan has always been picking on Tex, and when he gets drunk he is worse than ever. I've been expecting that Tex would kill him, but he's a mighty patient little cuss and hasn't done it yet." "Well," said Hugh, "he had a good chance to do it to-day, and if Donovan gets well I hope he'll have learned a lesson." "I hope so," said the foreman, "but I don't think he is one of the kind that learns lessons." The foreman sat with them until they had finished supper, and then getting up said, "Well, I must be going. I've got to round up my outfit and get them started to-morrow morning, if I can. A mighty good cup of coffee you gave me. So long." The next night they camped close to Laramie, and early the next day went into the town and purchased their supplies, not forgetting a pair of rubber boots for each. It was only the middle of the morning when the loads were put on and they started south over the open prairie on their way to North Park. Now Jack felt that the trip had really begun. The ride over the open prairie was delightful. The mountains toward which they were journeying showed many strange shapes and curious colors, and the wagon road which they were following was constantly dipping down steep hills and climbing others. The first few miles showed them many cattle and horses, but no game, but later, as they approached the mountains, a few antelope began to be seen, and there were many well-known western birds of the dry country, which now for two years Jack had not seen. Towards evening they reached Beaver Creek, a tributary of the Laramie, and after following it up for a few miles, camped for the night. The day had been a long one, and not long after supper both Hugh and Jack turned into their blankets and were soon sound asleep. Off again at an early hour next morning, they traveled for a long way through the pleasant green timber, where the foot fall of the horses made no sound on the forest floor of dead pine needles, and where no sound was heard except occasionally the call of a gray jay, the rattle of a woodpecker's bill on a dead limb, or the soft whistle of a crossbill in the tree tops. Jack felt obliged to follow behind Hugh, though he really wanted to ride beside him and talk about the pleasant country through which they were passing. Still it was his business to watch the horses, especially so now during the first day of travel through the timber, where a pack horse, unless watched, might possibly get hung up by a tree and break something or disturb his pack. It was this morning, after leaving camp on the Beaver, that they came to what is called the Neck of the Park, and passing over the divide, followed down the valley, at first narrow, but gradually becoming wider, which at length lead them to a more open country. They passed Pinkham's Ranch, and then took the right-hand road, which Hugh said led to the mines at Hahn's Peak. Soon after leaving Pinkham's, they passed a cabin, near which was a small spring, from which bubbled up a constant supply of cool water abundantly charged with what Jack thought might be carbonate of soda. At all events the water was fresh, sparkling, and delicious, and he thought that if it were nearer to a market it might be bottled and sold. Soon after they left the soda water fountain, they crossed a high steep ridge and then passed down a gentle descent toward the North Platte River. On either side of the trail they were following the mountains were rough, and weathered pillars of granite stood out bare among the ancient cedars on the hillside. They camped in the beautiful valley of the North Platte on the edge of a splendid level meadow covered with fine grass, on which in the evening and again next morning Jack saw from three to four hundred antelope at a time. There were also ducks, rabbits, sage hens, and blue grouse; abundant food, Jack thought, for any hunters who are satisfied with enough. That evening Jack wandered away from camp and found in a clump of willows, not more than a quarter of a mile from it, a curious collection of long-eared owls. He could not think what brought so many of them to this place, unless it was for a shelter during the day, which would enable them to get out of the bright glare of the sun, for nowhere else in the neighborhood could shade be found except in this growth of willows. Here, too, in the tops of the willows he noticed a number of domed nests of magpies, and from the calls of the birds that he heard around about, he felt sure that they were occupied. When he got back to camp, Hugh said to him, "Do you know, son, that last antelope you killed is pretty nearly gone? We ought to have another one, or at all events some meat before long. You might start out to-night, though it's a little late, or we can lay over here to-morrow until noon and you can go out and try to kill something." "Say we put it off until to-morrow morning, Hugh," said Jack, "and I'll start out early, and see what I can do." As soon as breakfast was over next morning and it was light, Jack started off along the edge of the valley to look for an antelope. He did not have to look far to see a great many, for the bluffs and river bottom were covered with them, but he walked for some time before he could find any of the animals so placed that they could be approached. However, at length, as he cautiously peeped over a point of the bluff which stretched down toward the river, he saw well beyond it a single buck antelope, and what was more to the purpose, about half way between the antelope and the point of the bluff, a clump of willows which would give him an opportunity to approach it. Luckily, no wind was blowing. He drew back a little and descending the bluff, rounded its point so that the willows concealed him from the buck, and then hurrying along toward the patch of brush, soon found himself within a hundred yards of the antelope. By a careful shot he killed it, and a little later with the hams and saddle on his back he was on his way toward the camp. After the antelope had been skinned and put in the sack, it was loaded on a pack, and they started on again. The country was open and covered with sage brush, and often from the high bluffs they could see little lakes, which shone like silver in the sun. They camped early. That evening, after supper, as they sat about the campfire, Jack asked Hugh many questions about trapping. "Well, son," said Hugh, "trapping is a big subject, and it's pretty hard to learn much about it, except by setting your traps. You'll have a chance to set plenty of traps for beaver, and beaver is what we always used to call the hardest fur to trap." "Well, Hugh," said Jack, "what about trapping wolves? Are they not worth trapping? Are they hard to catch, or is it not much trouble to catch young wolves?" "Those that are one to two years old are easy caught, but if a wolf has been traveling the prairie for three or four years, he gets to be pretty smart. Wolf skins are worth from four to six dollars apiece, and so, of course, wolves are worth trapping, but in old times we always used to poison them, and that was cheaper and a whole lot less trouble than catching them in traps. Besides that, a wolf is a powerful, strong animal, and he can pack off a trap with him just as if he weren't carrying anything at all. Then, too, on the prairie there is usually nothing to fasten a trap to, and unless you carry a lot of iron picket pins with you, you lose your traps about as fast as you can set them." "You have told me all about poisoning wolves, Hugh," said Jack, "but you never said anything about trapping, and I don't understand how you fix the bait in a trap. You certainly can't put it on the pan, for you don't want to catch the wolf by the nose, and if you did, he would pull free." "Of course he would," said Hugh; "you want to catch a wolf by the foot, and to do that you must scatter your bait around the trap so that he will put his foot in it; but after all, in trapping wolves you don't use bait at all. Generally you use a scent, something that a wolf smells and wants to smell more of, and you raise that above the ground a foot or eighteen inches and set your trap so that he will step into it when he tries to get near the scent." "That's news to me," said Jack; "I supposed that you always set your traps with something to eat." "No," said Hugh; "very seldom. The beaver medicine that we use is just something to smell of; not to eat at all. But about wolf bait: the worst smelling thing that you can get hold of is about the best bait for wolves. Some people use asafetida or other drugs that they can buy in the shops, but the best thing that I know of is to take a piece of fresh meat, put it with some grease in a wide-mouthed bottle or jug, and let it stand in the heat for a week or two, until it gets to smelling very badly. Then add to it some beaver castor and about a quart of oil or grease, and cork it up tight. Of course, when you set your trap you must be careful not to leave any scent of yourself on it. Some people smoke their traps every time they set them, and if they can, use a fire of green pine boughs, but I don't count much on that. I believe that though smell of fire may kill the human scent, it makes the wolves suspicious. I think the better way is to wear gloves when you set your traps, and to be careful always to keep the traps to the windward of you. Don't let the wind blow from you to the traps. Of course, in setting, you have to dig out a hole in the ground large enough to let the trap set in it, so that the jaws will be just level with the ground. Then sprinkle over the trap a light covering of dust, and after the trap is set take a stick eighteen inches or two feet long, sharpen one end of it, dip the other end in your bottle of scent, and stick the sharpened end in the ground so that the end with the scent on it will pretty nearly overhang the trap. "You have to fasten your trap, of course. If you don't do that the wolf will carry it away. The best way to fasten it is to bore a hole through the end of a stick three feet long and as big as the calf of your leg, pass the end of a chain through that, and then drive a staple through the ring and into the log. Then if the wolf gets into the trap, he is not held in one place struggling to get out, and twisting the chain, and so likely to break it, but he starts off dragging the stick, which makes a plain trail, catching every now and then in the sage brush and so making him go slowly. It doesn't give him a chance to fight the trap. If you go to your traps every day, you will find that a wolf will not drag the clog very far before you overtake him. Then you probably have to shoot him. "As I say, there is a lot of work in trapping wolves that way, and I would hate to have to earn my living by doing it. If it should happen that we should get to any place where wolves are plenty we can set two or three traps for them, but I don't want to do that until we have tried beaver trapping, because I am afraid we will lose some of our traps." "I had no idea, Hugh," said Jack, "that wolves were so cunning and so powerful." "Yes," said Hugh, "they are strong animals, and when they have grown old they are pretty smart. They are mighty tough, too. Haven't I ever told you about that wolf that Billy Collins killed three or four years ago at the ranch?" "No," said Jack, "I don't think so." "Well," said Hugh, "I only speak of it to show how tough a wolf is. Billy had gone out just in the gray dawn of the morning, and just as he shut the door behind him, a big wolf came around the corner of the house. Billy jumped back into the house to get his gun, and the wolf ran off and stopped to look around on the top of that little knoll south of the house. He was about a hundred yards off, and Billy fired and the wolf yelled and fell down, and then started off. Billy and old Shep, the house dog, started after him, and when they got up to where he had stood, they found the ground all covered with blood and a broad blood trail leading off over the hills. Billy started on the trail, expecting to find the wolf over the next hill, but he followed him for two miles before he overtook him, and then the wolf was strong enough to sit up and fight off the dog, and needed another shot to kill him. But when Bill went up to him he found that the bullet had gone almost the whole length of the wolf and had smashed one of its shoulders. I had a friend who was trapping down in South Park and set two or three traps for wolves, and one morning when he found one of them gone, he went back and got two or three hounds that were at the ranch and took after the wolf through the snow, for it was winter. They chased that wolf with the dogs for thirteen hours before they got him, and he came mighty near getting away then." CHAPTER VII A TALK ABOUT BEAVER "Well, now, Hugh," asked Jack, "what can you tell me about beaver trapping?" "Why, son," said Hugh, "I can tell you whole lot about beaver trapping. There is a great big book to be written yet about beaver and how to trap them, and when that book is written there will be enough left out of it to make another book." "I've always heard," said Jack, "that beaver was about the smartest animal there was, and the one most difficult to trap, but, of course, I don't know anything about it. I have seen a few dams and the tops of a few houses up north, but you can't learn much about beaver by looking at his work." "No," said Hugh, "not much, and before you can learn anything about trapping beaver, you've got to know something about the nature of the beast." "Well, that's the very thing I want you to tell me about," replied Jack. "I want to find out all that I can about the beaver, before I see any. In the first place, suppose you tell me how big they are." "Well," said Hugh, "they are the biggest gnawing animal we have in this country. A full grown beaver will weigh from forty to sixty pounds; perhaps big ones will average as heavy as a half sack of flour." "My," said Jack, "that's bigger than I supposed they were. I have always heard of the beaver as a little animal. It seems to me that it's a big one." "Yes," said Hugh, "it's quite a sizable animal, and if you've got a half dozen to pack to your camp on your back you'll think they are pretty good sized animals before you get them all in." "Well, where do they live?" said Jack. "I reckon," replied Hugh, "that they live all over this country of North America, from Texas north as far as there are any trees. You know that the food of the beaver is the bark of certain trees, and, of course, they can't live anywhere except where these trees grow, but I have heard of them 'way down in Texas, and I know that the Northern Indians away up toward the limit of trees trap beaver a plenty, so that I expect they are found over the whole country. I have heard your uncle say that there were some beaver in Europe, but over there I reckon they have been about cleaned out. Too many people killing 'em, I reckon." "Well," said Jack, "I guess they are found all over North America, north of the United States, anyhow; because I know that the coat of arms of Canada has the beaver on it." "Yes, I reckon the beaver was the reason that Canada was settled, and in fact the beaver was what led men into all this western country. In the early days, soon after Lewis and Clark went across the continent, the fur traders began to push their way into this western country, north and south, and beaver was what they were after. You see in those days it was a mighty valuable fur, worth a good deal more than it's ever been since. "Just as soon as the white men came into the country and found the Indians wearing robes made of beaver, and clothing trimmed with beaver and other fur, they began to trade for the robes, and to tell the Indians that if they'd bring them in beaver skins they'd give them knives and needles and beads, and later, rum, and, of course, that set the Indians to killing beaver as fast as they could. "But, as I say, it wasn't until after Lewis and Clark got across the continent that trapping began down in the United States. Along in the 30's, though, white men began to get up fur companies and to hire the best trappers that they could get, and they pushed out in all directions, up the Arkansas, up the Platte, and up the Missouri River, setting their traps in every valley and cleaning out the beaver as fast as they could. Then they got into the mountains, and there they found more beaver and better fur, and there, too, is where they began to run across Indians to bother them. The Blackfeet were the worst. They used to steal our horses and take our traps, and now and then a scalp, when they could, and they made us a great deal of trouble. The prices for fur were good until in the 40's, just before I got out into the country. Then they fell, and for the next twelve or fifteen years every old trapper that you met was growling about the fact that beaver weren't worth anything any more. "Your uncle tells me that there has been a whole lot of books written about those early trapping days, but I have never seen any of them. Of course, then it was all wild country and lots of things were happening, and a man had to keep his eyes open pretty wide. As I have told you, the Indian wars did not begin until long after that, and most of the trouble that we had with the Indians was with parties of wild young men, who had started off to war, and were anxious to get glory, and to go back to their villages and brag about what they had done. The fights were with these little parties and not with the tribes. But, at the same time, a bullet or an arrow from one of these little parties would kill a man just as dead as if he had been fighting with a tribe." "That's all mighty interesting, Hugh," said Jack. "It seems to me that you never get through telling me interesting things about this country in the old times. I wish that I knew how to write, so that I could put it all down, and some day write a big book about your adventures." "Well," said Hugh, "I'm mighty glad you can't do that. I reckon if I were to see you taking all these notes down in a notebook I wouldn't talk so much as I do." "Well," said Jack, "if I knew how to write, you bet I'd write such a book. I sort of wonder that Uncle George has never done that. He spends a great deal of his time writing in winter, when he is back in New York." "Well," Hugh went on, "let's go ahead about the beaver. You know that they build dams across streams to hold back the water, and that they build houses in the ponds that they make. Have you ever looked carefully at these dams?" "No, I don't believe I have," Jack replied; "people have pointed them out to me, and they've shown me places along the streams where trees and brush had been cut down, and have said to me, 'that's beaver work,' and I have seen piles of sticks in the water and have been told that those were houses, but I never had any idea how any of this work was done." "They build their dams across streams," said Hugh, "and hold back the water and often spread it over quite a wide space of the valley, and in this water they build their houses. I have always supposed that the ponds were made as a protection for the animals. You see, they are big and slow. They can't run away from anything that wants to kill them, and so the only means they have of getting away from their enemies is to dive down into the water and swim under it. Then their enemies, whether they are humans or animals, can't follow them. Of course, I have no more idea than you how the beaver got the idea of protecting themselves in this way, but I believe it is for protection they make these ponds, and for nothing else. You'll see that their houses are built out in pretty deep water, and when they are scared from shore they go out and get into their houses, and if somebody tries to pull down the houses where they live, then they can swim to the shore and hide there, with their noses just above water." "Well," said Jack, "that's news to me. I always accepted the fact that they built dams to hold the water back, but I never had any idea why they did it." "No," said Hugh, "I reckon not. I never heard anybody that did know why, but I am just giving you my idea. You'll hear a whole lot of stories about the wonderful things that beaver do, and in many of these stories there is not a grain of truth, but they do wonderful things enough as it is. You don't have to lie about them to make them out mighty smart animals." "Yes," replied Jack, "I have heard of some of these wonderful things. I think some of the books say that the beaver can cut down a tree so that it will fall exactly where they want it to lie, just as a lumber-man in the woods will fell a tree where he wants it to lie. They say that when the beaver want to build a new dam they look along the stream until they find a place where there is a tree of just the right length, and then they fell it across the stream for a foundation for their dam." "Yes," said Hugh, "I have heard that story, too, but I don't believe it. Beaver will cut down trees, and mighty big ones, too, but I don't believe that they can cut down a tree so that it will fall in a particular direction, and if it does fall in a direction to be useful to them, that's just nothing but accident. What they cut trees down for is for the food that they know is growing on the tree. They want to get at the tender bark of the branches for their food, and that's what they cut the trees for. All the same, it's mighty wonderful sometimes to see what big trees they will cut down, and how smart they are about cutting them. They will gnaw a deep gouge below and then gnaw another cut eight or ten inches above, and pull the chip out; a chip just about as big as an axman would cut out with an ax. They are smart about that, but they haven't any idea which way the tree is going to fall." "Well," said Jack, "that seems natural enough, and besides that, I should think that even if beaver did know how to fell the tree to lie in a particular direction, they could not always do it with these crooked old cottonwood trees that grow along the streams." "Yes," said Hugh, "some of them are so crooked and grow so slantwise that no axman could fell them the way he wanted." "I have seen it stated in books, too," Jack went on, "that they always fell a tree just long enough to reach across the stream, and no longer. I never could see how that could be, because it would be impossible for beaver to measure the height of a tree." "Oh," said Hugh, "that's all nonsense; they don't do anything like that. There is one thing which they do, though, that people don't give them credit for, or at least I have never heard anybody speak about it; they'll build a dam across a creek and raise the water, and make a big wide pond. Maybe the water flows over the top of the dam pretty freely for its whole length. Such a pond will be lived in for a good many years. During all those years the rain and the melting snow, and all the water that falls, carries down from the hills soil and dead leaves and sticks and a whole lot of trash, and after a time the pond fills up and gets too shallow for the beaver to use it. Then maybe they'll raise the dam for its whole length, and make the pond bigger, and then after years of time this larger pond will partly fill up and grow shallow. After a time the beaver will, perhaps, leave the pond, and go somewhere else to build another. Then, after a few years the dam will rot out and break down, the pond will go dry, the water will get back to its old channel, and grass and willows and other brush will grow up over the old bottom of the pond, and there you've got a big wide flat--what we call a beaver meadow. All along streams all over this western country there are big strips of flat land that have been made just in this way by the beaver." "I have never thought of that before, Hugh, and I never heard anybody speak of it. The time may come when people will farm on these big flats, never knowing how they were made." "Yes, that's a fact," said Hugh, "and already there are lots of places down toward the prairie where folks have started ranches on land of just that sort. "Let me tell you another thing that beaver are smart about. Sometimes they will make a pond in a particular valley, quite a distance from any place where their food grows. Often there are no willows, and the quaking aspen grows only along the foothills, maybe quite a little distance from the edge of their pond. Sometimes they will dig out a ditch or canal all the way from the edge of the pond up close to where the aspen grows. Of course, the water from the pond fills up these ditches, and the beaver will follow them up close to the aspens, cut down their feed there, and cutting the trees and brush into convenient lengths, carry them to the ditches, dump them in and then take and swim with them back to their houses, or the places where they store their food. This always seemed to me pretty smart, because, while it must be a lot of work for them to dig the ditch, it's a tremendous saving of labor for them to be able to float these sticks to where they want them." "That seems to me mighty intelligent, Hugh, and I should think, too, that they might have another motive in digging these ditches. If they had to travel two or three hundred yards on dry land, wouldn't there be a good deal of danger of their getting caught away out from the water and killed?" "Lots of danger," said Hugh, "and I wouldn't be a bit surprised if they made these ditches more for their safety than to save themselves work. They are mighty industrious animals, the beaver. You know, if we see a man that is hard at work all the time, we say he works like a beaver. They are busy animals, and they keep at it all the time." "What animals are there, Hugh, that kill the beaver? I suppose man is the worst enemy it's got, but there must be a lot of others, such as wolves and, perhaps, bears." "Yes," said Hugh, "a beaver has lots of enemies. As I have said to you, it's heavy and slow; it can't run away nor climb a tree, and it has no special means of defending itself. A beaver's got a good set of teeth, but while he can give one or two pretty strong bites, that would not help him much in a scrap with any animal near his own size. "A bear, of course, would kill a beaver every time if he could get hold of him; so would a big wolf. A single coyote might not be able to, but two or three coyotes could get away with him in short order. "Didn't you ever, back East, see a dog get between a woodchuck and his hole? You know the woodchuck will sit up and chatter his teeth, and perhaps he will bite the dog once when the dog runs in, but that's the end of the woodchuck. The beaver has got longer teeth, and can bite a little harder and deeper, but he is not built for fighting, and what's more, he never means to fight if he can help it. "The wolverine sometimes lies around beaver ponds and maybe once in a while catches one, but wolverines are pretty scarce, and I don't think they get many. I believe that the animal that gets more beaver than any other is the lynx. They are small, to be sure, but they are mighty quick, and they have got those long claws, and they can jump on a beaver and cut him up pretty badly before he can get hold of them. I have often seen places where beaver had been killed, and I know it was done by lynxes; that is, by bob-cats, and also by the big gray lynxes. One time, a good many years ago, I saw a lynx waiting to catch a beaver. As it happened, he didn't get him, but he tried hard enough. "I happened to be riding down William's Fork, and had to pass through a point of timber, and just before I got out to the pond, on the other side, I stopped my horse for a minute to look around and see what I could see. There was a big beaver dam just below me, on the river, and I knew of it, for I had often passed there. I could see nothing, and was just going to start on again, when, as I happened to look over across the creek just opposite me, I saw something move. For a minute I could not tell what it was, and then I saw lying among the sage brush a big bob-cat, whose color matched the ground and the weeds about him so well that it was hard for me to make out his shape. At one end of him, however, there was something black that kept moving regularly in little jerks, and, of course, I knew that this was his tail, and that he was watching something in the stream and getting ready to jump on it. I looked at the stream carefully, and for a moment could not see anything, and then, just below the bob-cat, I made out something swimming in the water, close under the bank, but to save my life I could not tell whether it was a duck, or a muskrat, or what. When this thing, whatever it was, had got nearly to the bob-cat, which kept crouching flatter and flatter all the time, the thing suddenly dived and hit the water a tremendous rap with its tail, and then, of course, I knew that it was a beaver that had been swimming up stream, and that the bob-cat had seen it, and was waiting for it to get within reach, and then was going to jump on it. Of course, bob-cats don't like the water very well, but all the same, they will go into it for food." "What did the bob-cat do when the beaver dived, Hugh?" asked Jack. "Oh, after a minute or two," said Hugh, "he seemed to realize that the game was up, and he then got up and walked away into the sage brush. I have often wished that the beaver had come on a little further so that I could have seen the end of the thing, and seen whether beaver or bob-cat would have come out ahead. You see, the beaver must have been swimming in pretty deep water, and, of course, if he had had sense enough to grab the bob-cat and hold on to him, no doubt he could have drowned him, but I don't reckon the beaver would have had sense enough for that; he would have just tried to get away, and I guess he would have succeeded." "Well, Hugh," said Jack, "it is interesting to hear of these animals, but as you say, it's pretty hard work to really learn anything about them by reading or hearing people talk. The real way is to see the animals themselves, and I hope we will do that before very long." "Yes, son, we ought to. In fact, by to-morrow afternoon we ought to get to where there used to be a great big beaver meadow. I don't know, of course, whether we will find any beaver there now or not, but it's a good place to go and look for them. I have seen the time when it was full of beaver, and if we could find it as full now as it was then, we ought to be able to load up a pack horse with fur." "My!" said Jack; "don't I wish we could. That would be fine." "Put some more wood on the fire, son," said Hugh, "and I'll smoke my pipe, and then we'll go to bed." Jack rose from his comfortable seat, and going over to where some cottonwood branches had been dragged together, brought two or three good-sized logs, and raking the fire together, threw them on. The dry wood blazed up with a cheerful flame that almost reached the branches of the pine tree beneath which their tent was pitched, and Hugh, after filling his pipe and lighting it by means of a twig thrust into the fire, sat back and declared that this was solid comfort. "It's a bully good camping place, isn't it?" said Jack. "First class," was the reply, "and we are going to have good weather and good country to camp and travel in all summer, except when we have thunderstorms. Of course, we have got to expect that, for there is lots of thunder and lightning in these mountains. We will get wet once in a while, but that's no great harm." "No, indeed," said Jack, "getting wet is a part of the play." "Tell me, Hugh," he added after a pause, "what other fur may we expect to see here?" "Why, son," said Hugh, "there is mighty little that will be good now, except bears. As I told you at the ranch, any bears that we can kill before the first of July will be good prime skins, but right after that they begin to get sunburned and rusty, and begin to shed off, and then, the first thing we know, they are not worth skinning for about three months. Along in October they begin to get a pretty good coat again, though it is not so very long." "Well," persisted Jack, "there is fur in the mountains here, I suppose." "Lord, yes," said Hugh. "There are a few otter, lots of mink, and a few marten high up in the hills; once in a while a wolverine, and once in a while a fisher; but none of this fur, except the otter, will be good in summer, and otters are so scarce that they are not worth bothering with." "I should not have supposed there would be any otter here, because the streams are so small." "There are not very many," said Hugh, "but yet more than you think. You see there are worlds of fish in many of these mountain streams, and where there are fish you are pretty sure to find otter. In some of the lakes high up in the mountains I have seen lots of otters, but as I say, there aren't enough to try to trap." "What is the fisher, Hugh?" asked Jack. "I have heard of that animal, but I don't very well know what it is. Is that the same creature that the books speak of as the black cat?" "I reckon it is," replied Hugh. "I have heard some trappers call them by that name. Really, it always seemed to me like a big marten, and why people called it fisher, I don't know. I never saw one near water, and I don't believe they catch fish. They are great things to climb round in the trees, and they are quicker in them than any squirrel you ever saw. I have seen them chasing martens and I believe that they eat them. I know they eat porcupines, for though I never saw one kill a porcupine, I have seen them with porcupine quills in their faces and in their forelegs, but bless you, the quills didn't seem to bother them a mite. You take a dog or a cat that had as many quills in it as I have seen in some fishers, and it would be all swelled up and not able to see out of its eyes, nor to walk; but I have seen fishers stuck full of quills and I never saw one swelled up or apparently hurt at all. They don't seem to get inflamed by the quills the way a dog or a cat does." "I suppose, Hugh, there is no great chance of our being able to shoot any of these animals while we are hunting?" "No," replied Hugh, "I don't think there is. Of course, you never can tell what you might run across when you are going through the timber or up over the rocks on the mountains, but as a rule these animals will see, or hear, or smell you before you know they are around, and they'll just slip out of sight, and either get away as fast as they can, or else watch you to see what you are going to do. I remember that the only wolverine I have killed in a good many years was one that I saw traveling along over the rocks when I was up above timber-line one time waiting to try to kill a sheep. He just walked up within easy shot, and, of course, I killed him. A mighty pretty looking animal he was, too, with his smooth coat all shining in the sun and blowing in the breeze. "But, look here, son, if you and I are going to get off in any sort of season to-morrow morning we'd better turn in now. Suppose you go down to the creek and get a bucket of water, and I'll go out and look around through the horses, and then we'll make down our beds." "All right," said Jack, and he did as requested, and a little later the camp was peacefully sleeping, as the fire died down. CHAPTER VIII THE WATER FOWLS' SUMMER HOME It was still dark when Jack awoke next morning, but when he struck a match and looked at his watch he saw that daylight was not far off, and rising and putting on his clothes he started to light the fire. Hugh, having heard him, arose, and before long breakfast was well under way. Then Jack went out to where the horses were picketed and set free all but one, and this one he changed to fresh grass, so that the horses might start with full bellies. The sun had not yet risen when breakfast was over, and Jack had brought in and saddled all the horses. They made an early start, for the day's journey was to be a long one. For the first hour or two of the march it was interesting to Jack to watch the antelope that were seen on both sides of the trail, and to see how differently those acted that had the sun on their backs from those that had the sun shining in their faces. Sometimes there were antelope on both sides of the trail, and when those that were looking away from the sun started to run, then those that were looking toward the sun started also. But if the little pack train approached antelope with the sun on its back, so that the antelope were looking toward the sun, the timid animals, unable to distinguish what these moving objects were, would let them come up very close without showing any alarm. Jack had often seen the same thing happen with other animals, so it was not new to him, but, nevertheless, it was interesting, and he spoke of it to Hugh. "Yes," said Hugh, "that is interesting, and, of course, brings up the old question of how useful their different senses are to wild animals. Some people say that a deer has bad eyes; that he can't see well, and, of course, we all of us know that all game depends on its powers of scent for warning that its enemies are about. Most game can hear well enough, and can distinguish between the ordinary sounds of the timber or the mountains and those made by a man going through the timber or rattling the rocks. The people that say that game can't see are mistaken, I think. They don't go quite deep enough into the matter. What I believe is, that many wild animals don't notice a man and so don't take him for an enemy, if he keeps absolutely still. An animal's eye is quick to catch any motion, but a man standing still may be taken for a stump, or a rock, or a bump of earth. The deer's eye does not stop to look carefully at stumps and rocks and bumps of earth, but if one of these things moves, then the eye stops and studies it, and is likely to find out what it is." "Of course that is so, Hugh," said Jack, "but I never thought of it before. I remember, though, that when I went duck shooting on Great South Bay with my uncle, and was sitting in the blind, he always warned me never to make a sudden motion, but that if I wanted to lower my head to get it out of sight behind the blind, I should do so with a slow, gradual motion." "Of course," said Hugh, "but if you stop and think a minute you will know that that is just exactly what you do now when you are hunting in this country. If you raise your head up so that it shows over a ridge, and see an antelope feeding there, you don't duck down to get out of sight; you lower your head very slowly. If you made a quick motion the antelope would see you out of the corner of his eye, and would run away without waiting to ask any questions. If you lower your head gradually, he does not see the slow motion, and you can have a chance to crawl up to him." "That's so," assented Jack; "I must be pretty stupid not to be able to think of these things." "Well," replied Hugh, "of course you have to think, and boys don't always stop to do that. Men, after they have lived a good many years find that they have to do it. But this is what I wanted to say about the power of game to recognize danger from man; a deer knows that there is danger only from living things, and he knows also that only living things move, so that if he sees anything make a sudden motion he knows that he must be on the lookout." All day they traveled on through a broad valley, and toward night camped at the foot of a high, bare hog-back running north and south, one of the foothills or spurs of the main range to the north. There was a good spring where they camped, and quite a wide stretch of level prairie, in which were half a dozen large alkali lakes, and on these lakes were great numbers of water fowl. Some of them were so large that Jack thought they must be geese, and getting his field glasses out of the packs he looked at them and found that they really were geese. "How is it, Hugh," he said, "that geese are found here as late in the season as this? Here it's nearly the first of June, and it seems to me all geese ought to have passed north to their breeding grounds before this." "I'll allow," answered Hugh, "that the geese ought to be on their breeding grounds by this time, but why do you say they ought to be up north?" "Why", said Jack, "I thought all geese went north into Canada to breed, except a few that breed in northern Montana, right close to the Canada line." "Well," said Hugh, "there's where you are mistaken. The geese breed right here in these mountains, and quite a way south of here, too. Then you know yourself, you've seen them breeding on the Missouri River, although that is pretty well north, of course." "Yes," said Jack, "I've seen them up north, but I didn't suppose that any of them stayed as far south as this." "That's a mistake," said Hugh. "In old times they used to breed on the prairies as far south as Kansas, and maybe still further south. Many a time I have seen them breeding in Nebraska and in northern Kansas, and from that away north as far as I've been. Swans, too, used to breed in the same country. The reason they don't breed there any more is because the white people have come in and killed them at all times of the year, and so they go on to a country further away from where the white people are." "Well, live and learn," said Jack. "I got my knowledge about that from the books, but I guess the books don't know everything?" "Well," said Hugh, "I guess the books know just as much as the men knew that wrote them, and I suppose there's a lot about this western country that they don't all know yet." "Say, Hugh," said Jack, "after we've had supper I'm going over to these lakes to try to see what birds there are on them. Do you mind coming along?" "No," said Hugh, "I'll go with you, but first we've got to get supper and got to get up wood enough for to-night and to-morrow morning. I'll rustle the supper if you'll pack in the wood." "Done," said Jack; and for the next fifteen or twenty minutes he was busy dragging in aspen and cottonwood sticks of which, before very long, he had a good pile. After supper Hugh said to Jack, "Son, to-morrow we'll have to kill something, for there's only enough meat left for a couple of meals. I don't like to eat meat that is just fresh killed, but if to-morrow you'll kill a deer or a good fat antelope, we will carry it a day and then it will be just about right to eat." They washed up the dishes before they started, and then walked over to the lakes, the sun being only about an hour high. The lakes were shallow, and their shores, sloping up very gradually from the water's edge, were all of soft, yellow mud, so that it was not possible to get close to the water without sinking deep in the mire. The abundance and variety of birds seen was very striking. White gulls flew slowly over the water, and beautiful avocets, striking objects from the contrasting black and white of their plumage, waded along near the shore. Flocks of tiny shore birds tripped lightly over the soft mud of the banks, and brown and black long-billed curlews stalked over the grassy prairie. Many of these birds were evidently breeding, and displayed great anxiety when the visitors approached their nests. The curlews especially were demonstrative, and flew about close above the men's heads, uttering loud, shrill cries. On a little knoll near one of the lakes, Hugh and Jack sat down and adjusted the glasses to study the birds that were floating on the water. Geese and ducks of several species were there, and Jack could detect also grebes and coots, and the curious little shore birds known as phalaropes, which swam about in the water with a curious nodding motion of the head that reminded Jack of the rails. Jack was very much excited at this display of bird life, for he realized that at this season of the year all these birds had either eggs or young, and there were a multitude of birds that he had never seen before, and whose eggs he had never seen nor even heard about. "Why, Hugh, it seems to me we ought to stop over here a day and see if we can't collect a lot of the eggs of these birds. I think there are some birds here whose eggs have never been described. Just think what a great thing it would be if I could take them back and show them to the ornithologists who have never seen them." "Sure," said Hugh, "that would be great. How are you going to know when you get an egg back East what bird it belongs to?" "Why," said Jack, "I suppose I could remember. I guess my memory is good enough for that." "Maybe it is," said Hugh. "I know mine wouldn't be, especially if I had to do with a lot of eggs of birds that I never had seen before. I should have to tie the egg round the neck of each bird and take both home." "Well," said Jack, "of course, if you are going to collect the eggs I suppose you ought to collect the parent birds at the same time." "I suppose," said Hugh, "that you've got your tools for fixing up these eggs to take away with you, cached somewhere in the packs, haven't you, and some sort of a chest to carry these eggs in? I expect if we put a lash rope over them and pull pretty hard it will smash some of the eggs, won't it?" Jack sat silent for a little while, and then looked at Hugh. "I never saw anybody that could make a fellow feel like such a fool as you can." "Why," said Hugh, "I don't want you to feel like a fool." "No," said Jack, "I suppose maybe that is not what you want. I suppose that you want to make me think before I speak." "Yes," said Hugh, "that's something I would like to do. That would be a bully lesson for you to learn, and I think you are learning it, only maybe not very fast." "Of course," said Jack, "you know just as well as I do that I haven't any stuffing tools with me, or any tools for blowing eggs, or anything to carry bird skins and eggs in if I had them. Of course, if we were to put such things on the packs they'd get broken and smashed up in forty ways and wouldn't be worth throwing away." "No," said Hugh, "I don't reckon they would." "Well," sighed Jack, "it's mighty aggravating to sit here and look at all these birds and think that there must be lots of their eggs all about and I can't get hold of them." "I'll allow that must be pretty aggravating," said Hugh; "but if you wanted to go off to collect bird skins and eggs why didn't you think of it before you started out from the States, and bring along with you the tools you wanted to use? Suppose I had started from the ranch to trap beaver, and had come down here without any traps, what would you have thought of me?" "Well," said Jack, "I suppose I'd have thought you were a pretty queer trapper." "I reckon so," said Hugh, "and I think you're a pretty queer bird collector, as yet. You may become a good one later, though." It soon grew too dark to distinguish the birds, and the two returned to camp, where they built up a big fire, for the night was chilly. Several times after the fire began to blaze up, they saw an owl fly into the circle of light and pass once or twice about the fire and then out into the darkness again. "What gets me, Hugh," said Jack, after they had settled themselves comfortably by the fire, and Hugh's pipe was going well; "what gets me, is what has become of all the animals and birds that used to inhabit all this country? Of course, when I first came out here I saw antelope and buffalo in wonderful numbers, and there are lots of them now, but there must have been a time, say a hundred or two hundred years ago, when perhaps there was just as many buffalo and elk and deer in Illinois or Ohio as there were in Wyoming and Montana when I came West. Now, of course, all those animals have disappeared from that country, and in the same way birds have disappeared. There must be places still all over the West here where birds come and breed, just as thickly as they do on these little ponds that we've been looking at to-night. And in old times they may have bred just as thickly in the swamps of Illinois and Ohio as they do here in this valley. What's become of them all?" Hugh did not answer, but made with his hand the sign for "gone under," meaning dead. "Yes," Jack went on, "I suppose they are, but is that what is going to happen to all the wild animals and birds in this country? Is the whole of North America going to be swept bare of all the birds and animals that belong to it, and just have nothing in it except sheep and cattle and dogs and things? That's the way it seems to me, but I hope that's not the way it's going to be." "Well, son, that's one of the things that we have often talked over, but it's a pretty hard thing to prophesy about. There's one thing sure, all big animals are going to be killed off, except those that are found in parks like that Yellowstone Park we came through two years ago. I expect that there, elk and deer and sheep and antelope may be found for a long time. But people are going to come into this western country, thicker and thicker, and, of course, they are not coming here for their health, they're coming here to make money. One man will start a band of cattle, another will have a bunch of sheep, another will farm along the creek; ten to one, mines will be found all over these mountains, and the first thing any of us know the country will be full of people and towns and railroads and factories. Of course, you don't need me to tell you that there can't be any game when the country gets full of people." "I suppose that's just what will happen, Hugh. I suppose a time will come when there won't be any more buffalo, and maybe when there won't be any elk or even deer. I'm glad that I was born in time to see something of these wild animals." "Yes," said Hugh, "you are lucky to get to see them, because I believe that they're not going to last many more years. I wouldn't be surprised if twenty or twenty-five years saw them pretty much all wiped out. I expect that I'll be dead before that times comes, but likely you'll be alive all right." Jack sat thoughtfully staring into the fire as though he were contemplating the death of all game, and of Hugh as well. Presently Hugh went on: "Now, about the birds, it's a little different. They've got wings, and can fly, and do fly long distances. They don't have to stop in one place, and, of course, away up north there is a whole lot of country yet that the people haven't got into, and I expect a good many of the birds that used to breed in Illinois and Ohio, as you were saying just now, don't stop any longer in that country, but keep on going to the north. "I've seen Hudson Bay men that came down from that northern country who say that in some of the lakes and big rivers up there the natives at the right time of the year kill a powerful lot of fowl. There must be dead loads of them there, and then when molting season comes and they lose their wing feathers and can't fly, the natives take after them in their canoes and kill them with sticks and spears, and then dry them. I believe that's a regular part of their living up there." "There must be an awful lot of ducks and geese that breed in that great country up there, Hugh. It's almost the whole width of the continent, is it not? and a thousand or fifteen hundred miles north and south?" "Yes," said Hugh, "it's an awful big country, and mighty few people in it. You know, don't you," he went on, "that the food of a number of the Hudson Bay Posts, during certain seasons of the year, is dried or frozen fish, and dried or smoked geese? They kill the geese spring and fall, as they are passing back and forth, and so many of them that they store them up for the winter and summer food." "My," said Jack, "what a place that would be to go shooting in!" "Don't fool yourself, son. When you kill game regularly for the food it yields, it stops being fun to hunt and it becomes real work. I know it's so because I've done it." "To-morrow morning," added Hugh, "unless I miss my guess, you'll see the biggest beaver meadow you ever saw, and we'll get to it toward night. Then beyond, and not far off, is the main range, where we can hunt if we want to, but I don't know as we'll be able to get there. Haven't you noticed something like smoke off to the west? 'Pears to me I have, and it may be that the range is on fire. If it is, that will let us out as far as hunting goes." "I hope there isn't any fire," said Jack; "I want very much to get up into the mountains." "Well," said Hugh, as he rose and began to take the straps off his bed and to unroll it, "even if we should not be able to get into the mountains here, we can do it further south. We'll see how the high hills look to-morrow." In a little while the two were fast asleep, and as the fire died down no sound was heard except the calls of the water fowl from the nearby lake. CHAPTER IX A TROUBLESOME GRIZZLY They had sat up so late the night before that neither Hugh nor Jack was astir very early next morning, and the sun was well above the horizon before they started west toward the high ridge which lay between them and the main snowy range. The horses were now so accustomed to traveling together that they needed no driving, and Jack and Hugh rode side by side ahead of the packs, though every now and then Jack looked back to see that the animals were coming on well. Occasionally an animal would stop and lag a little, and graze alongside the trail, but usually a shout from Jack would cause it to stop feeding, and it would trot along until it had overtaken the others. Each morning about an hour after starting, when the ropes had stretched a little, the train was halted and the lashings tightened upon all the animals, and after that they needed no attention. Of course, if a bad stream or a very steep ravine had to be crossed, Jack dropped behind and followed the pack animals, but the packing was so well done that it was very seldom they had to give any attention to the loads. As they rode along Hugh said to Jack: "If we had a big train or heavy loads, I would go 'round the point of the hog-back, which would make us travel five or six miles further but would be a good deal easier on the horses, but our animals are fat and strong, and lightly loaded, and we may as well make the cut-off and cross the ridge." The ascent of the hog-back was steep at first, but then became more gradual. Several times during the climb they stopped to let the horses breathe. On the way up, several big buck antelope were seen, each one feeding alone, but as they were all at some little distance from the trail, Jack thought it better to let them alone, on the chance later of getting a shot which would require less time. They had nearly reached the crest of the ridge when Hugh, waving his hand toward the west, remarked, "I thought so; the range is afire," and Jack could plainly see the smoke rising some ten or fifteen miles distant. A little further on they could see the whole range, and found that everywhere to the south it was on fire, and that the fire seemed to be moving northward. Columns and masses of thick white smoke rose from the mountains in many places, and were rolling steadily along from south to north. The fire seemed to be chiefly on the lower slopes of the mountains. Above it could be seen the green timber, and above that again gray rocks bare of vegetation, whitened a little further up by occasional patches of snow, and still higher were great fields of snow, pure and shining when touched by the rays of the sun, but seeming gray and soiled where shadowed by clouds or by a column of ascending smoke. "No use to think of hunting there, is there, Hugh?" asked Jack. "Not any, son," replied Hugh. "We'll have to strike into the hills somewhere else. But look at that beaver meadow this side of the mountain." Jack lowered his eyes to the valley, and was astonished at what he saw. There, spreading over miles and miles, north and south, was a great carpet of green, bordered on either side by the gray and yellow prairie, and intersected by a thousand tiny streams that glistened in the sunlight. It looked like a vast carpet of emerald velvet over which had been spread an irregular net of silver cords. Beautiful it was, but the most astonishing thing about it all was its great size. It seemed to stretch north and south for ten or fifteen miles, and east and west for half as many. The view presented astonishing contrasts in the aspect of the mountains, snow-capped, timber-clad, and fire-swept; and not less in the lower land, with its opposites of arid sage brush prairie, and of watered, verdant meadow. Jack turned to Hugh: "That's the most wonderful thing I've seen since I've been out West, Hugh. Did you ever see anything like it?" "Well," said Hugh, "it's sure a pretty sight, but I wouldn't want to say that it was the prettiest thing that I'd ever seen. One sees a whole lot of fine sights out in this country. 'Pears to me I've heard you say a good many times that different things are the most wonderful things you'd ever seen." "Well," said Jack, "that's so. I never get through wondering at the sights here in the mountains, and I don't suppose it's true that each thing is more wonderful than anything else I've ever seen, but I do keep being surprised at all these beautiful sights." "Well," said Hugh, "what do you think of stopping off at the first water we come to, and taking off the loads and letting the horses rest while we cook a cup of coffee?" "That will suit me, Hugh," said Jack, "but I'd like to stop somewhere so I can look at this show that is spread out in front of us." "We can do that all right," said Hugh, "and I think over in that little ravine just below us we'll find some water. There are some willows down there, and that must mean a spring somewhere near." They started on, Jack following behind to keep the horses up and to catch them when they got to the stopping place. Hugh kept on down the slope, and then turning short to the right descended into the ravine. He had got part way down the slope when suddenly his horse threw forward his ears and stopped. Two of the pack horses turned at right angles and began to climb the sides of the ravine. At the same moment, from under a cedar just ahead of Hugh, a bear sprang up and rushed down the ravine. Jack caught a glimpse of the animal, and saw Hugh throw his rifle to his shoulder and fire, but as the black horse was trying to run, Jack was not sure that the shot had told. Jack spurred his own horse up the side of the ravine where the pack horses had gone, and in a moment was high enough to see portions of the ravine down which the bear had run. He wheeled Pawnee so that he could shoot handily, and having loaded his rifle, sat there watching for the bear. Suddenly it appeared, and he could see it while it ran twenty-five or thirty yards along the ravine. It was a hundred and fifty yards off, but he threw his rifle to his shoulder, and aiming high and well ahead of the bear, fired. The animal turned a somersault at the shot, and then regained its footing and disappeared. Hugh, meantime, had galloped on down the ravine, and a moment of two later his rifle spoke again. Jack was strongly tempted to ride down and see what had happened, but feeling that it was now too late to do anything, and that the bear had either been killed or had escaped, he rode round the pack horses and drove them on down the ravine, following Hugh's course. Presently he came to a place where some willows grew at the side of a patch of green grass, and there out of the bottom of the bluff bubbled a spring of clear water. Jack tasted it and found it sweet and good, and then caught up the pack horses and tied them to the willows. A few moments later Hugh galloped back, dismounted, and said: "Well, let's take the packs off here," and in a few moments the horses were relieved from their loads, and were turned loose on the green grass, with their hackamores dragging. Jack saw that Hugh had blood on his hands, but forebore to ask any questions. He felt sure that presently Hugh would tell what had happened. "Now, son," said Hugh, "we've got quite a job on our hands skinning that bear. It's a good-sized fellow, and you know that skinning a bear is a good deal of a job." "Where is he?" said Jack. "About a half mile down that little valley, right in the open. He's got a fine hide and we want to save it. It ought to mean eight or ten dollars to us. Suppose we go right down there and take his jacket off, and then come back and eat and pack up and go on. That's going to cut off your looking at the scenery, but we can't afford to waste that bear's hide." "No," said Jack, "you're dead right, of course. Let's go and do it now. We can look at scenery 'most any time, but we don't get bears every day. How was he hit, Hugh?" Jack went on. "There were only three shots fired." "I guess they all hit him," said Hugh. "My horse was hopping round so when I fired the first shot that I expected I'd miss him clean, but I don't think I did. I shot him too far back and too high up. When the ball hit him he fell and bit himself, and then got up and kept on. I started after him, but just then he disappeared round a point, and when I got up to it he was away ahead of me. Then you shot and you hit him, because he fell again and then got up and went on again, but he was hard hit then and going slowly, and before long I got up to him and killed him. The hide is in good order, and we are pretty lucky to get it." The two mounted and rode down the valley, presently reaching the bear, which, as Hugh said, was a big one with a beautiful long coat of shining brown. The long claws of the fore-feet showed that he was a grizzly and a very large and handsome specimen. The next hour and a half was spent in skinning the bear, and long before this operation was finished, Hugh and Jack were tired and more or less covered with grease. "This will be good practice, son, if we get any beaver," said Hugh. "You see, in skinning a beaver you've got to work just as you do on this bear. You can't do any stripping; every inch of hide you take off has got to be cut free from the fat that lies under it, and as you see, that's a mighty long, slow business." "I should say it was," said Jack, "and a mighty greasy business, too. It seems to me as if I was all covered with oil, and I am, up to my elbows, and my face, too. Seems to me my face never itched before as it does now, and when I rub it with my greasy hands of course my face gets all grease, too." "Yes," said Hugh, "it's a very different thing skinning a bear or beaver, from skinning a deer or a buffalo, but this is just a part of the game, son, and this hide will pay us good wages for the trouble we've been to." "There," Hugh went on, as he made a last cut, "that hide is free on this side down to the middle of the back. How are you getting on on your side?" "I've got a lot more to do," said Jack. "All right," said Hugh, and he came around to Jack's side and began to help him, and presently it seemed as if the hide were free throughout. "Now," said Hugh, "I tried to lift and drag that bear just after he was dead, and I couldn't stir it, and I don't believe you and I can do any better now; let's try." They took hold of the bear's hind-legs and tried to lift and pull the carcass off the hide, but it was too heavy for them to move. "Well," said Hugh, "get your rope off Pawnee and we'll see what a horse can do." When Jack had brought his lariat, it was knotted about the hind-legs of the bear, and then after tightening the cinches of his saddle, Jack mounted, took a double turn of the rope around his saddle horn, and then slowly started Pawnee up the valley while Hugh took hold of the bear's hide to keep it in place. The carcass began to slide off the hide, and Hugh with his knife made two or three last cuts, which freed the hide from the carcass, and presently the hide lay there spread out flesh side up. After the rope had been untied from the carcass, the two went over the hide with their knives scraping away all the fat that they could get off, and presently Hugh declared that it was in shape to be spread and dried. "We're likely to have some trouble getting this on a pack, because, of course, no horse likes to pack a bear hide, but I guess we can do it all right. Instead of taking it back to where we left the horses, let's spread it out here and bring one of the animals down here and load it on him." "All right," said Jack, "and now let's get back to camp. I feel like having a wash." Returning to the horses it took some little time with water, mud, and sand--for, of course, the soap was in the pack and they did not want to open it--to cleanse themselves of the grease from the bear. The smell of the beast they could not get rid of, and this gave them some trouble when they were catching and loading their animals, for the horses snorted and jumped and pulled back when they caught the scent of either of the two. However, at last they had their lunch, and then loaded their horses, and went down to the bear skin. As Hugh had said, the matter of loading it was not easily performed. It was first lashed up into a secure package, to be put on as a top pack, and then the lightest loaded of the horses was brought up to it. The horse did not like it a bit, but at length by blindfolding him with a coat tied about his head, he stood quietly enough for Hugh to place the load on his back, but Jack was obliged to hold the rope, for the horse, notwithstanding his blindfolding, kept stepping about and was very uneasy. Hugh managed to tie the skin on so that it would stay, and then Jack, going around to the off side, helped to put on the lash rope firmly. When they took off the coat, however, and the horse saw what was on his back, he bucked fiercely all over the meadow, and would have stampeded the other horses when he passed near them if it had not been that Hugh and Jack, both mounted, had a firm hold on their ropes. At last the horse became tired of bucking, but its fears were not quieted, for every little while it would look back at its pack and snort and rush here and there, much afraid of the load it was carrying. "That bear skin is going to make us a lot of trouble, son," said Hugh, "and the sooner we get it dried so that some of the smell will be gone out of it, the better it will be for us. Let's go on now to the edge of that beaver meadow and camp there. We'll have to spend a day or two drying this hide and getting the horses used to it." For the rest of the day they had much trouble with their horses, for every time the trail crooked around so that the odor of the bear skin was carried to the other horses of the train, there was a scattering, and Jack had to round up the animals and bring them back again. It was nearly dark when they finally camped at a little spring at the border of the beaver meadow, where a little clump of cottonwood trees gave shelter and wood for the campfire. Not long before they reached the stopping place, dark clouds had begun to rise over the mountains to the west, and gradually the whole western sky became overcast. "Looks like we were going to have a rain storm," said Hugh; "and I wish we might, and a good hard one. It would put out the fire on the mountains and cleanse the air of the smoke." "Yes," replied Jack, "I wish it would rain. I hate to see all that timber burning. It will take a long time for the mountains to become green again." "Yes," said Hugh, "many and many a year; and sometimes, of course, after the fire has gone over the hills like that they never again are covered with timber. I have seen mountains way down in the south-west that at one time must have been covered with splendid great trees, and then had been burned over and no trees ever grew there again. There are big logs lying on the hillside now that are all that is left of those old forests, but no sign of any new timber springing up anywhere." "Well, how long ago were those mountains burned over?" asked Jack. "You can't prove it by me," said Hugh. "I've asked that question a good many times, and I have never found anybody that was old enough to know anything about when the fires took place. It must have been long, long ago." "But why don't those old logs that you were speaking about, rot and disappear?" asked Jack. "I'll tell you why," said Hugh. "It's because that country is so dry. I don't believe more than six inches of rain falls there in the year, and nothing ever rots; things just dry up and lie there, getting drier and drier all the time." "And yet," said Jack, "when we came down through the mountains from the north, we saw lots of country that had been burned, and almost everywhere a lot of new green timber was springing up to take the place of the old burnt tree trunks that were getting ready to fall." "That's so," replied Hugh; "but I remember that we passed over some places where the forests had been burned, where there was no sign at all of anything growing, no sign of any soil; nothing except the bare gravel or the rock." "Yes," said Jack, "I remember that, too." "I reckon it's like this," explained Hugh. "If the fire passes over the country quickly and just burns or kills the standing trees and doesn't heat the soil too much, then the seeds that have been dropped by the trees and are lying hidden in the soil, sprout and new timber grows up, but if the fire catches in the soil of the forest, which you know is made up of the needles and branches and cones of the pine trees, and if that soil is dry enough so that it will burn, then the fire keeps creeping through it, burning it where it's dry enough to burn, or heating it where it's too damp, and so all the seeds that are lying in it are either burned or cooked, and there is nothing left to sprout. Then after that, a few years of rain storms will wash away all the soil, and as there's nothing left on the mountain to furnish seeds, no timber ever grows. I take it, a great deal depends on the condition of the soil at the time the fire goes through. If it's dry, the seeds of the trees are likely to be killed. If it's damp, they're likely to live after the fire has passed and to send up another crop of trees." "It seems an awful shame, Hugh, that all this timber should be destroyed and all game should be driven out. Of course, the timber has no commercial value now. I suppose it's too far from any market, and there's no way to get it out." "No," said Hugh, "you couldn't sell it for anything, of course, but the time will come, I expect, when there'll be some use for all this timber. This country is going to fill up with people sometime, and those people will need houselogs, corral poles, and fence-posts; and then besides that, nobody knows what mines may not be found in these mountains; and if mines ever are found and worked, there is going to be a lot of lumber needed to timber them with." When the camp was reached the western sky looked very threatening, and Hugh said to Jack, "Now, son, let us get these loads off as quick as we can and picket the horses, and then we'll get the tent up. I reckon we are going to be rained on to-night, and we may as well sleep as dry as we can." It took but a few minutes to throw the loads off the horses, and to picket them, and immediately the little tent was raised and the beds and packs got under cover. By this time it was dark, and over the mountain-tops to the west could be seen lightning flashes, playing far above the red glow of the forest fire. "Yes," said Hugh, as he looked toward the mountains, "I believe that rain will come pretty near putting that fire out to-night. At all events it will check it." The storm advanced toward them, and presently the light of the fire grew dimmer as the rain passed over it and advanced toward the valley. Supper had hardly been cooked when the first few drops reached them, and after piling plenty of wood on the fire, they retreated to the tent to eat. It was a hard thunder storm, and before long flashes of lightning were thick all over the sky and the thunder was crashing and rattling above their heads. "I don't believe we'll get drowned out here to-night," said Hugh, "for this place where we've camped is a few inches higher than anything round about it, but we may find our things pretty damp in the morning, for this hard rain sifts through even good canvas like this," and he pointed to the tent above them. "There's one thing you want to look out for when you are camping in a dry country, son," he went on; "don't ever camp down in a ravine, no matter how dry it may seem to be. I've known three or four cases where a lot of fellows camped in a nice grassy spot in the middle of a ravine and along during the night there came a cloud-burst somewhere up on the high prairie, and the water came rolling down the ravine and floated all the fellows off. I guided a party of scientific chaps one time that did just that. The ravine was dry when they went to sleep, and they were washed away during the night, and the next morning the ravine was pretty nearly dry again, but they spent two or three days traveling down that gulch, picking up their things that had been carried away by the water and digging them out of the mud and sand. Some of the men might easily enough have got drowned if the storm had lasted a little longer." "Well, Hugh," said Jack, "why did you not tell them not to camp in such a place." "I did," said Hugh, "but they laughed at me, and thought that because there wasn't any water there then, and hadn't been for a long time, there never would be any. I took my blankets and slept on a little point eight or ten feet above the bottom of the ravine and the water never got to me, but I had to laugh at two or three of the young fellows who waded out close to my bed. Of course, it was dark and they didn't know where they were, nor what had happened. I heard them calling and shouting to each other, and before that I had heard the water coming, so that I knew what was taking place, but I could not do anything to help any of them." "Well, after that, Hugh, I expect those men had more respect for your advice, didn't they?" said Jack. "Well," said Hugh, "I don't know but they did." CHAPTER X A BIG BEAVER MEADOW The next morning dawned bright and clear. Jack and Hugh were both up before sunrise, and while Hugh was kindling the fire, trying to make wet wood burn, Jack went down to the stream to get a bucket of water. He was just about to stoop over to fill his bucket, when suddenly he saw something swimming along under the water, and placing his bucket on the ground, he fired at the object just as it passed in front of him. The stream was narrow and deep, so that he shot almost directly down into the water, and as soon as the splash made by the ball ceased, he could see something struggling below him, and reaching down into the water he caught the animal by a foot, and lifting it out threw it on the bank. It was a little beaver. Jack had seen plenty of beaver hides, but never before a living beaver, and this seemed to him very small, and, judging by what Hugh had previously told him, he concluded that it was a young one. It would not weigh more than ten or twelve pounds. Filling his bucket, he carried his water in one hand and the beaver in the other, with the rifle under his arm, up to the tent, and surprised Hugh by throwing the beaver on the ground. "Well," said Hugh, "is that what you shot at? I wondered whether you could have run on a deer down by the creek, or maybe an antelope. This is a good piece of meat you've brought in. Beaver is first-class eating, and this is a nice, fat, tender kitten. About three months old, I should say, by the size, and it's mighty early for kittens as big as this. You'll get your first lesson in skinning a beaver to-day, and your first taste of beaver meat, too. Won't it be, or did you ever eat beaver when you were with the Blackfeet?" "No, Hugh," said Jack, "I don't think I ever tasted it. I'd like to." "We'll have beaver tail soup, too," said Hugh. "This tail's only a little one, but it'll be enough to give us a taste. Beaver tail used to be considered great meat by the old-time trappers, something like back fat among the Indians. I never cared much about beaver tail. It's too oily for my taste. I should think those Indians we saw last summer up in British Columbia would like it, but I like something a little more solid. "Lay that kitten in the shade," he went on, "and after we've got through our breakfast we'll stretch that bear hide. You must remember that that is like so much cash in our pocket. We've got to save all the fur we get this trip, and no fur is ever safe until it's good and dry." As they sat at breakfast, they looked toward the mountains. The morning was still, and instead of the flames and the onrushing clouds of smoke which they had seen the day before, there were now only a few smoke wreaths lazily curling up toward the sky at occasional points on the mountain side. "Yes," said Hugh, as he waved his knife toward the range, "I reckon that storm last night put out that fire. In the first place it wet all the timber, green and dry, and then it wet all the dead underbrush and the needles and dry branches with which the ground is covered. I think everything got a good soaking, and I believe that now the fire will go out. Anyway, I hope so." "I suppose you have no more idea than I have how the fire got started?" asked Jack. "No," said Hugh, "no man can tell about that. A fire may get started in forty ways. Usually, it's some fellow goes off and leaves his campfire burning, and then a puff of wind comes up and blows some of the coals into some dry grass or something that catches fire easy, or else the Indians may set fire to the timber just for the purpose of driving the game into some big stretch of country where it is easy to hunt it. Of course, Indians get the credit for a whole lot of fires that they never set, and I believe that half the fires are started by white men, just from carelessness, like throwing down a lighted match, or chucking away a cigarette that will burn for ten or fifteen minutes. On the prairie, of course, lots of fires are started by the railroad. The sparks from the locomotive fall among dry grass. Sometimes in the timber lightning starts a fire. There are lots of ways in which the forests can be burned, and as long as there's so much forest, and it's nobody's business to look after it, of course, these fires will keep burning year after year." "Well now, son," said Hugh, "after they had finished eating, if you'll get another bucket of water I'll wash the dishes, and then we can stretch that bear hide." Jack brought another bucket of water, which Hugh set on the fire, and while it was heating he directed Jack to unlash the bear hide and to drag it out a little away from camp. After this had been done, he sent him down to look along the stream to see if he could find any birch or alder brush, telling him if he could do so to get enough branches to make thirty or forty wooden pins. Taking the ax, Jack went down the stream and could find neither birch nor alder. He did find, however, a thicket of small ash saplings, and cutting down half a dozen of these he put them on his back and dragged them back to camp. "Couldn't find any birch?" said Hugh. "Well, I don't know as I'm much surprised. It's pretty well south for birch, but that makes better pins than 'most anything else. However, this ash will have to do, I reckon." He took the saplings and with the ax cut them into lengths of about eight or ten inches, and then taking the thickest ones he split them. Then he said to Jack: "Get out your knife now, son, and help me whittle pegs. We want quite a lot of them, for I would like to stretch this hide nicely, and take it in in good shape." For half or three-quarters of an hour the two were busily employed whittling down and pointing pins, and they had a large pile of them before Hugh declared that there were enough. They carried the pins over to where the bear skin lay and threw them on the ground; then turning the hide flesh side up they stretched it as nearly square as possible, and then with their jack-knives went round its border, cutting holes half an inch long in the margin of the hide at intervals of about six inches. When these had all been cut, the hide was again spread out, and Hugh, with the ax, drove two pins through holes, one in each side of the neck, and then, stretching the hide to its full length, drove two more in holes each about a foot on either side of the tail. Then two pins were driven at one side of the hide between fore and hind leg, and two on the other side, between fore and hind leg. The hide now was held in position, and going about it, Hugh, with great care, drove in his pins, stretching the hide so that it was nearly square, though a little longer from head to tail than from side to side. Of course, the four legs and the head made the square irregular, but, on the whole, Hugh declared, after he had finished, that it was a very good job. "I shouldn't have stretched this hide quite so large, son," he said, "if it hadn't been so very well furred. Usually the hair is thin on the flanks, and if you stretch a hide much you get places on either flank just in front of the hind-legs where there is scarcely any hair at all, and a bear hide that shows up like that never brings a good price. You notice, though, that on this hide the fur is just about as good on the belly as it is on the back. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if your uncle bought this hide himself, instead of letting us sell it to some fur buyer. "Now, I don't want the sun to burn it," he went on, "so we'll just go down to the creek and get a lot of willow brush and make a shade for it. If the sun shines all day on this fat it will more than half cook it, and that will spoil the hide." Hugh and Jack went down to the stream, and cutting a lot of the green-leafed willows, brought them up and so arranged them that the direct rays of the sun were kept from the hide. "Never dry a hide in the sun," said Hugh; "always in the shade. Let the wind and the dryness in the air take up the moisture for you. Then your hides will always sell well." "Well, son," said Hugh, when the job of stretching the hide and shading it was ended, "do you feel pretty wolfish?" "Yes," said Jack, "I believe I'm ready for dinner." "All right," said Hugh, "we'll skin that little beaver, and roast him for our dinner. If we have any luck trapping you'll have plenty of skinning to do before we get back, and I guess you'll be pretty sick of it." Returning to the camp they took the beaver kitten to the shade of one of the cottonwood trees, and Hugh showed Jack how to skin it. "You split it," said Hugh, "from the chin right straight down the middle of the belly to the root of the tail, and then take off the skin just as you would with any other animal. You must have a whetstone by you and keep your knife sharp, and be careful in your cutting so that you make no holes in the hide. At the same time you must skin close to the hide, and not leave any fat on it. When you get to the legs, cut the skin all around just above the feet on fore and hind legs, and at the tail cut all around the bone, just above where the scales begin. In skinning around the eyes, see that you don't cut the eyelids, and when you get to the ears, cut them off close to the hide on the inside. Now, go ahead and see what you can do." Jack split the beaver as directed, and carefully worked back the hide, first on one side and then on the other. It was slow business. In his effort not to cut holes in the skin he made short cuts, and the peeling off of the hide seemed to go very slowly. However, he worked it along with much patience until he got to the legs and the tail, and cut them around, as Hugh had instructed. Meantime, Hugh had gone off and cut some long willow sprouts, and returning to where Jack sat, occupied himself in making a circular hoop, which, he told Jack, was to stretch the skin on. He bent a long twig into a circle, and with the slender branches on the end tied the smaller and larger ends together. By this time Jack had the beaver about half skinned, and Hugh, drawing his knife, took hold of one side of the hide and helped, and in a very few minutes the carcass was free and lying on the grass, while beside it lay the skin, flesh side up. "Well, son," said Hugh, "that is a pretty good job, considering it's the first beaver you ever skinned. It will be a good practice for you. You see, if we should ever be lucky enough to get half a dozen beaver in a morning it will take us about all day long to skin them." "Whew!" said Jack, as he stood up and stretched his cramped limbs, "that's something like work. I guess most fellows, when they think of trapping, think only of how good they feel when they catch their beaver, and how good they feel when they sell the skins. They don't remember how much work it takes to get the skins ready for market." "That's so, son," said Hugh, "but then, I guess that's true about 'most everything in life. The miner thinks only about the rich haul that he is going to make; he doesn't reckon on the number of hours that he's got to swing a pick or a sledge or hold a drill before he strikes pay streak. He just thinks of striking it rich, and then getting the money for his mine. There's lots of human nature in all of us. "Well, now," he went on, "the first thing we want to do is to go down to the creek and get rid of some of this grease that we have accumulated, and then we can come back and cook our dinner." It took a lot of scrubbing with soap and sand to free themselves from the oil of the bear and the beaver, and the smell of the grease they could not get rid of. When they had returned to the tent Hugh sent Jack to cut a long, green, forked stick. Sharpening this at its larger end, he drove it firmly into the ground in such a position that it would overhang the fire. He tied a stout cord to the hind-legs of the little beaver, built up his fire of dry cottonwood, and let it burn down to good, red coals, and then hung the beaver to the fork of a green stick so that it swung directly over the coals. Then he told Jack to get a long, green, willow twig, and from time to time to give the beaver's carcass a twirl, so that it would constantly keep turning over the fire. Then Hugh himself began preparations for the rest of the dinner, which, after all, consisted only of bread and coffee. The hot coals soon caused the grease to drip from the meat, which slowly twirled over the fire, and by the time Hugh had baked his bread and cooked his coffee he declared that the meat ought to be done. It was taken from the fire and a slash with a knife showed that it was cooked through. Hugh divided it into two pieces, and putting it on two tin plates, gave one to Jack and took one himself. "Now, son," he said, "try this meat, and see how you like it. Most of us think that kitten is pretty good food. Of course, it isn't like fat cow, or even like mountain sheep or elk, but to my mind it's quite as good as any bird or fish that there is." For some time Jack's mouth was so full that he could not comment on the dinner, but, after a time, he declared in response to a question by Hugh, that the meat was "prime." "But what is this queer, half-bitter taste that it has, Hugh?" he asked. "Why, son, that's extract of cottonwood and willow bark. Don't you know that is what the beaver feed on, and, of course, the flesh tastes of it? This little fellow is not very strong, but I've sometimes eaten old beaver that was so bitter that you really didn't want to eat much of it." "Well," said Jack, "this is about the tenderest meat that I've ever eaten, and I like the bitter flavor." "Yes," said Hugh, "it's mighty nice, and then this fellow is so young that you don't have to mind the ribs at all; you can chew them right up and swallow them down." "Well," said Jack, "I say it's prime, and I hope we'll have lots more beaver meat before we go in." "No doubt we will," said Hugh; "but no doubt, also, it will not be as good as this has been. It's not every day that one gets a kitten beaver, and it's mighty poor policy to kill them. You see this little bit of a hide isn't worth anything, whereas, if the kitten had been allowed to grow a year more the hide would have been worth, maybe, four or five dollars. Now it isn't worth more than seventy-five cents." "Well, Hugh," said Jack, "if I had known that perhaps I wouldn't have shot it, but you see, I didn't know that kitten ought not to be killed, and if I had known about it I had no time to think." "No," said Hugh; "it was all right to kill this one, but I'm just telling you so that after this you'll know about kittens. We try always to set our traps so as to catch only the old beaver. Of course, Indians will sometimes tear down a dam and kill all the beaver in a pond, but then Indians haven't much idea of looking out for the future. I say, kill what old beaver you can and leave the young ones to grow up. If you don't get them next year somebody else will, and we'll hope that whoever does will have sense enough to spare the young ones." When dinner was over and the dishes washed, Hugh told Jack to bring him the little beaver's hide and the willow hoop that he had made, and then after cutting holes all around the margin of the hide, he took a string and passed it through one of the holes, around the hoop, through another hole and around the hoop again, and so went all around the skin until it was fairly and evenly stretched on the willow hoop. "There, son," he said to Jack, "that is the way to stretch a beaver hide. Now hang this up somewhere in the brush where the sun can't get at it, nor the wolves and coyotes, either, and by to-morrow morning it will be dry enough so that we can fold it and put it in the pack." Jack soon found a good place in the shade near the tent and hung the skin up, well out of the reach of any animals that might be prowling about. When he had returned to the tent, Hugh had about finished washing the dishes, and Jack wiped them and they were put away in a corner of the tent. "Hugh," said Jack, "you told me to hang the beaver skin where the animals could not get at it, but what about that bear skin out there? May not some of the animals trouble that to-night?" "Not so, son; the smell of the bear skin ought rather to frighten off the animals. At the same time I haven't very much confidence in the miserable coyotes that this country seems to be full of, so I am going to put a scare out around that hide to-night, and to-morrow morning you will see that nothing has disturbed it." "Well, I shall be mighty glad to see what you do to it, Hugh," said Jack. "Oh," said Hugh, "there is nothing special about it. I'm going to protect that hide by taking advantage of the cunning of the coyote. He is always on the lookout for traps and snares of one kind or another, and he won't go close to where he thinks there is a trap. Now, if I put four sticks in the ground at the corner of that bear skin, and run a little string from the tops of these four sticks all around the hide, the coyotes will not pass under that string, because they'll think that maybe it's some kind of a trap to catch them. You see, the coyotes are like some men you have heard of; sometimes they are a little too smart." When Hugh had finished his pipe Jack said, "What shall we do this afternoon, Hugh? You were going to visit this beaver meadow this morning if we hadn't had that bear skin to attend to. Is there time enough for us to go down there now?" "Plenty of time," said Hugh. "I was just going to propose it. There's an awful big stretch of beaver work here and I guess that a great deal of it has been abandoned. We want to find out where the beaver are now, and when we've learned that and something about their ways, we can get out our traps. If you like, I'll go down with you now and look for ponds that have beaver in them." "All right," said Jack; "I'm ready." "Well," said Hugh, "let's go on now, and I reckon this is as good a time as any to christen those rubber boots that we bought in Laramie. We are likely to find it pretty wet down there, and I don't care to take a horse in those thick willows until I find out a little about them myself. An old beaver meadow is a mighty mean place to take horses. There are bogs and beaver sloughs and old abandoned beaver holes, and it's easy for a horse to fall down, and sometimes mighty hard to get him up again." Hugh and Jack donned their rubber boots, and taking their rifles, started down toward the main stream. The meadow here was miles in width and it was quite uncertain how far they could go. As well as they could see, much of the meadow was overgrown with tall willows, but on the other hand, there seemed to be many open, grassy meadows. Before plunging into the willows they followed along the edge for some little distance and at last Hugh said, "Let's turn in here, son, there seems to be a game trail running in the direction we should go." Sure enough, they found a well-traveled and dry game trail which showed that last autumn it had been traveled by bands of elk, for the bark was rubbed off the willows as high as Hugh's head, where great horns of the bulls had forced the stems of the brush apart on either side of the trail. The way led just in the direction they wanted to go, that is, across the valley, and ten or fifteen minutes' brisk tramping brought them to the edge of a green, grassy meadow of considerable extent. Just as they reached the edge of the willows Hugh paused and motioned with his hand, beckoning Jack to come up to his side. "Look there, son," he said, pointing, and Jack saw, only about forty yards away, two bob-cats pulling and tearing at some small thing on the ground, a little distance out in the meadow. Hugh said, "You try to kill the one that is nearest to the brush, and I'll see if I can take the other one on the jump." Jack leveled his rifle and took a careful side aim at the breast of one of the cats, which stood facing him. On the crack of the gun the one he had fired at fell over, while the other jumped high in the air, and when it struck the ground again stood looking to see whence the noise had come. It looked only for an instant, for then Hugh's gun also spoke, and the animal fell over. "Well," said Hugh, as he reloaded his gun, "I wouldn't have looked for those two bob-cats in such a place as this. I reckon their hides are not worth much, but they might make you a pair of shaps, son; let's go over and get them and see what it is that they were eating." Walking over to the place, they found that the bob-cats had been devouring the carcass of a little spotted fawn. "Look there, now," said Hugh; "that's the sort of work these fellows are at day in and day out all the year round. Of course, after a while the fawns get too big and shy for them to tackle, but these bob-cats are all the time killing something that ought to be allowed to live. I suppose that every two or three days for the next month or two each of these cats will kill a young deer, or a young antelope, or maybe a young elk. That would make twenty head of young game animals to a cat each summer. It's mighty lucky that there ain't any more of those fellows in the mountains than there is." He stooped over and looked at the head of the lynx he had shot, and then at the one that had fallen to Jack's gun. The latter was shot through the neck and showed a small hole where the bullet went in and a large one where it came out. The lynx he had killed had only one bullet hole in its neck, the ball having entered its mouth and having knocked out some of its front teeth. "You ought to shoot closer, son," he said to Jack. "Every hole cut in a skin takes a little off its value. You might remember this." [Illustration: TWO BOB-CATS PULLING AND TEARING AT SOME SMALL THING ON THE GROUND.--_Page 106._] "Yes, Hugh, I know I ought to have shot it through the head, but the range was short and I was a little afraid that if I fired at its head I might overshoot." "Well," said Hugh, "of course, you might have done so, and at the same time you ought to know how to hold your gun so that you would know just where the bullet would hit at every range from twenty yards up to two hundred." "Well," said Jack, "I have been pretty lucky with my shooting, but you know that I can't shoot like you, Hugh; and I don't believe I ever will be able to." "Nonsense," said Hugh. "When you once know your gun thoroughly, provided it's a good one, you can shoot just where you want to, and just as well as any man alive." "Well," said Jack, "I'll try to be more careful after this. Lord knows, I want to be a good shot, but you can never make me believe that I'll ever learn to shoot as well as you do, Hugh." "Yes, you will," said Hugh. "Now, let's see what we can do with these bob-cats, son, and then go on a little further and find out something about how these beaver down here are living." Hugh took from his pocket a buckskin string and tied the two cats together. Jack climbed up among some stout willow stems and by his weight bent them down to within five or six feet of the ground, and then Hugh hung the cats across them. When Jack came down the stems rose nearly to their former height and left the lynxes suspended well out of reach of any prowling animal. Then the two went on. As they walked on over the meadow where the thick grass stood knee-high, the ground became more and more moist, until presently the water quite covered the soil. "We must look out here, son," said Hugh; "we may strike bad places anywhere and must go carefully." Presently they were stopped by a ditch two or three feet wide, in which a few inches of water seemed to stand. Hugh stepped across it, finding the bank on the other side firm enough, and Jack jumped after him. "This," said Hugh, "is one of those ditches that I was telling you about that the beaver dig to float their feed down to their ponds. If we could follow it back to the brush we would find that the willows all along it had been cut off." A little beyond this they came to a place where the water was deeper and where the mud under the water was soft, and here they stopped and turning up the stream, followed as nearly as they could the edge of the old pond. Standing in the grass, out where the water was deeper, Hugh pointed out a number of little mounds overgrown with grass and low willows, which he told Jack were old and long-deserted beaver houses. "If we could get out to them," he said, "we should find under that brush a solid foundation of sticks and mud. Those houses will last for a long time, for as the sticks are kept wet all the time they don't rot, but just become water-soaked and will last pretty nearly forever." The grass, the mud and water, and the frequent detours they had to make made their progress up stream slow, but at length they came to a grass-grown wall a foot or two higher than the rest of the ground, and when he saw that, Hugh gave an exclamation of satisfaction. "Now," he said, "I think we'll have better going. This, you see, is an old dam, and the chances are we can get on it and cross the stream, and on the other side, where the bottom is narrower, we shall have better going." It turned out just as he had said. The dam, though soft in places, was generally so firm that they could walk along on it pretty comfortably. Over toward its further end it was partly broken down and the water of the stream trickled over and through it for a width of about twenty feet, but by carefully feeling their way and at every step testing the dam with their feet, they managed to cross the running water, and from there to the other side of the valley the dam was firm. On this west side of the stream the moist bottom was much narrower and they presently found themselves on firm ground, and started to walk briskly up the creek. "All this work here," said Hugh, "is very old, and I haven't seen any sign of beaver being here for a long time. We'll go up stream as far as we can, but we must cross to the other side before it gets night. We'd be pretty badly off if we were caught in this beaver swamp after dark. We'd sure have to spend the night here. I wouldn't be much surprised if we found that we had to move camp and go up further toward the head of the stream. The beaver have certainly left this part of it." They hurried on, and for a mile or two nothing was said. The sun was hot and the rubber boots which both wore seemed clumsy and heavy. Jack felt pretty tired but he said nothing of this to Hugh. Presently, from the dry upland where they were walking they could see ahead of them a pond, and then, a little later, the dam which held back its waters. "There," said Hugh, "that looks to me like fresh work. Don't you see there in that dam some green leaves sticking up? That looks as if the dam had been lately mended; so lately that the twigs and brush used in repairing it have not yet died and lost their leaves." Jack could see this, and then as he looked over the pond he saw a long wake in the water close to the bank, and caught Hugh's arm and said, "Look there. Hugh, away over there under the bank. What is that swimming? Of course, it may be a duck, but may it not be a beaver?" Hugh looked carefully, and presently the object which was swimming passed a little bay so that it was distinctly seen as a small, round object. "That's a beaver, son," said Hugh. "You can see for yourself that it isn't a duck, and the only other thing it could be would be an otter or muskrat. It is too big for a muskrat and it doesn't seem like an otter. There are beaver down there, and what's more, they haven't been disturbed for a long time, or else they wouldn't be out swimming around like that in the heat of the day. Let's go down and take a look around; but keep quiet; don't make any quick motions, and whatever you see, don't fire your gun. If there are any beaver there we want to get some of them." The two walked slowly down toward the dam, taking advantage of whatever little cover there was in the way of inequalities of the ground or of willow brush. Down close to the water's edge grew a good many willows, and they were thus able to get quite close to the dam, and sitting down there they watched the water. For a long time, as it seemed to Jack, it was absolutely still, and then, while he was staring as hard as he could at the farther bank and the place where the dam met it, Hugh touched him and made a little motion with his head, and Jack, following the direction of his companion's eyes, saw, not more than twenty-five yards off, two beaver swimming down toward the dam, each with his head slightly turned to one side, and each dragging after him a green stick about three or four feet long. The two animals came on down to the dam, and without the slightest suspicion that they were being watched, crawled out of the water, dragging their sticks after them. When they left the water they were so close to the watchers that they were hidden from them by the dam, and just what they were doing could not be seen. Jack touched Hugh, and when he bent down his head, whispered to him, "Couldn't we crawl up a little closer and watch them?" Hugh shook his head. A few moments later the two beaver entered the water again and swam off up the pond. When they had disappeared Hugh touched Jack, and turning about, they crept away among the willows in the direction from which they had just come. When they had left the dam some way behind them, Hugh stopped and said to Jack, "Now, let us go on up this pond, and try to see where these beaver are living and where they're working. Keep out of sight as much as you can. I don't want them to know that there are any people about. It looks to me as if nobody had been trapping here for years, and as if we had struck something good. Now, come on, I want to walk fast and find out all I can to-night, and then we've got to get back to the camp as quickly as we can." They hurried along up the stream, Hugh looking carefully at the willows and aspens along the border of the meadow, and sometimes going down toward the edge of the pond. They crossed a number of places where branches, some of them quite large, had been dragged over the ground, but Hugh contented himself with saying to Jack, "You see, these beaver are working all along here, and they have to go quite a little way for their food." The beaver pond was quite a long one, but at last they reached its head. Here they came upon a game trail which seemed to lead back across the stream, and turned into it in the hope that it might lead them to the other side. From one high point above the pond they got a good view of its whole length, and Hugh pointed out half a dozen grayish brown objects raised two or three feet above the water's surface, which he told Jack were beaver houses. "It may be, son," he said, "that we'll have to bring our outfit across and camp up at the head of this pond. It's too far from our present camp for us to trap here conveniently." The game trail led them across the wide stream valley by a good, hard road. At only one point was it deep and muddy, and just here by good luck they found an old cottonwood tree, felled long ago by the beavers, which bridged the bad place. Once on the other side of the valley, they turned sharply down stream, and after a long walk, reached the game trail by which they had crossed it earlier in the day. They went down this until they came to the place where the lynxes had been hung up, and getting these, they went back to camp, reaching it just about sundown. "Well," said Hugh, "I feel as if we'd had quite a walk. I guess you are ready for supper, aren't you, son?" "You bet I am," said Jack; "but the first thing I want to do is to shed these rubber boots. They seem to me the heaviest things I ever had on my feet, and I believe I've got three or four blisters from walking in them. I'd rather go barefoot than wear these again." "Don't you believe it, son," said Hugh. "You'll be mighty glad of them boots before many days, now. I expect before long to have you wallowing around in the mud and water like a terrapin." CHAPTER XI INDIAN BEAVER LORE The two ate their supper that night with the eagerness of hungry and tired men. Jack thought that the term "wolfish," that Hugh sometimes used to express hunger, had a good deal of meaning. He was so greedy over his food that when the first helping was put on his plate he began to bolt it, as he said to Hugh, "like a hungry dog." "Better eat slowly," said Hugh. "You'll get a good deal more comfort out of your food and it will do you a whole lot more good. As a rule the hungrier you are the slower you ought to eat. I've seen a number of starving people in my time, and the longer they'd been without food the less we gave them at a time. It makes a man pretty mad, though, when he is just ravenous, if he can't pitch right into his grub and eat all he wants." "Yes," said Jack, "I've always heard that people that had been without food or without water for a long time ought to have their food or their water given them a very little at a time." "That is so," said Hugh. "If a man takes all he wants to it's pretty sure to make him sick. I remember one time when I made quite a ride one day in about eleven hours, about seventy-five miles we called it. There was a Pawnee Indian that ran alongside of my horse the whole way. In other words, for eleven hours he ran about seven miles an hour. Sometimes he slowed down and got a mile or two behind, and then he'd run harder and catch up to me and keep right alongside the loping horse for hours. When we got to the Republican River I was good and tired. I wouldn't let my horse drink at first, and just wetted my head without drinking, but that Indian sat down on the bank and borrowed my quart cup and drank it seven times full while he was sitting there, and then he was sick--Lord! how sick he was. When my horse had cooled off I let him drink, and then we crossed the river and camped on the other side." "Well, why did you make that long ride?" asked Jack. "Well," said Hugh, "we had gone down from the old Pawnee agency to take back south some horses that had been stolen, and when we were coming back we passed through some white settlements, and the white men being new to the country, and not knowing anything about Indians, wanted to kill my people and arrest me. I had all I could do to get the bunch through without anybody getting hurt, and to keep out of trouble myself, but I finally did it, and when we got out of the settlement I told the Indians that we'd all better make for home, and that we'd better separate in doing it. This Indian, Sun Chief, and I came along together. They all got in finally without any more trouble." "When was that, Hugh?" asked Jack. "Why," said Hugh, "that was in '67 or '68, I think. It was just after the railroad had passed through Eastern Nebraska." By this time supper was over and the dishes washed, and though Hugh and Jack were tired it hardly seemed time to go to bed. "I wish, Hugh," said Jack, "that you would tell me something about what we saw to-day, and something more about the way the beavers live." "Sure", said Hugh; "I'll tell you all I know, but that is not much yet, as far as what we saw to-day goes. We found a dam and some houses, where, I am sure, there are quite a number of beaver, maybe twenty-five or thirty, and maybe more, and from what we saw, I am pretty sure that they are gentle and unsuspicious. We ought to be able to get some of them, but until we've looked about more I can't tell much. What I think we'd better do is spend a day or two more prospecting, especially on this side of the creek, and then we'll move camp according to what we see, and then go to work to set some traps. You saw enough to-day to get some idea of how the beaver live. You saw an old dam and a new one, and you saw some houses. Did you ever see a muskrat house back East?" "Yes," said Jack, "I've seen a good many." "Did you ever see one opened?" asked Hugh. "No. I never did," said Jack. "Well, now, a muskrat and a beaver are pretty close relations, I take it. They live in much the same way, and build houses that are a good deal alike. Of course, a muskrat doesn't build dams, and a muskrat's tail is flattened from side to side, while the beaver's tail is flattened from above downward, but in many ways they are a good deal alike. They both live in their houses during the winter, and if they're driven from their houses they swim under the water to some place where there's an air-hole in the ice and where they can put up their noses to breathe. Of course, both beaver and muskrat must have air. A muskrat builds his house by heaping up mud and reeds and grass in a shallow pond at a distance from the bank. The beaver builds his by heaping up the same sort of stuff, only bigger, that is to say, sticks and brush and mud in a shallow pond away from the bank. Each sort of house has in it one or more rooms with a kind of a bench all round the walls where the animals sit or sleep, and with a hole somewhere near the middle of the floor leading down through the bottom of the house and out into the open water. I have seen beaver houses opened. Generally, they have only one big room, but sometimes a big house will have two or three rooms in it, and each room has a separate passage out into the water. I think that perhaps several families take part in building such a big house as that, and each family has its separate home. "Beaver, you know, don't always live in houses. There's a kind that people call bank beaver, and they just dig a hole in the bank under water, which slopes up a little and finally gets above the level of the water, and there they dig out quite a good-sized room not so very far under ground. These bank beaver live for the most part in rivers or in natural lakes, and as a rule they don't build any dams. They are just like any other beaver, but I expect they live in the way that is handiest to them." "Yes," said Jack; "'adapt themselves to their environment,' as Uncle George says." "Yes, I reckon that's it," replied Hugh. "But those words are a trifle too long for me to understand. Now," Hugh went on, "this room that the bank beaver lives in is quite a big one, maybe four feet or so across, with a sort of bench or shelf all round it, where the beaver sit and sleep, and, of course, with the water in the middle, where the tunnel that they have dug comes up into the room. Usually there's a growth of willows or other brush on the ground above it, and quite a thickness of earth, so that there's no danger of any animal that walks around on the ground putting his foot through into the room. Of course, these holes are usually dug so that the mouths of them are always under water and so that the water always stands as near as possible at the same level, but if a big flood comes along, these bank beavers sometimes get drowned out, and have to leave their homes and sit around on the bank and in the brush waiting for the water to go down. I remember once, quite a number of years ago, making a big killing of beaver at a time like that." "Where was that, Hugh?" asked Jack. "I'd been hunting through the winter," said Hugh, "supplying meat to some of the forts along the Missouri River near where Bismarck is now; Fort Stephenson, Fort Lincoln, and sometimes Fort Rice. I would kill my meat and then pack it in to the posts. Game was plenty at the heads of all the streams running into the Missouri, and it was no trick at all to get what meat I wanted. There were no buffalo, but plenty of elk, deer, and antelope. I was pretty lucky about my hunting and got meat when the Indians couldn't, and two or three times that winter I came pretty near having a row with them. They had a notion that I had some sort of medicine that brought the game to me and kept it away from them, and some of the village Gros Ventres said they were going to kill me if I didn't leave the country, but, of course, that was just their talk, and I stayed there and kept on hunting." "I wish you'd tell me about that, too, Hugh," said Jack. "Well, I can only tell you about one thing at a time. I thought you wanted to hear about how I got those beaver." "All right," replied Jack, "tell me about that first, and then about the Indians." "Well," Hugh continued, "I was up quite a way on the Little Missouri, not anywhere near the head, of course, but about forty miles from the mouth, when there came a big rain and a warm spell, and all the snow melted at once, and pretty nearly the whole bottom of the river filled up. The beaver on that creek are all bank beaver. There are no houses at all, except maybe a few on some little creeks that run into the river. The weather got so bad and rainy that I started down to go to Berthold, and as I traveled down the river about the first things that I began to see were beaver sitting around on the banks and on driftwood, stupid and confused, and not knowing enough to jump into the water when I came along. Of course, I began to kill them, shooting them through the head, and I soon saw that I had a big job on my hands, and that I could kill more in half a day than I could skin in two or three days. Besides that, I had been out some time and was short of ammunition. What I did was to kill in the morning what beaver I could skin in the rest of the day, and for two or three days I was kept mighty busy, and working hard late into the night. Then the river went down and the beaver disappeared, all going back into their holes again, I suppose. I made quite a bit of money on that trip, and if I had had a man with me to skin all the time I could have got twice as many as I did, maybe three times as many. I think if I'd had a helper I could have killed one hundred and twenty-five beaver without trying very hard. I've often thought if a man could go down the Little Missouri in a boat at such a time, and with one of these little pea rifles, he could get an awful lot of fur." "But I don't understand, Hugh," inquired Jack, "how the beaver let you come right up to them and shoot them." "Well," said Hugh, "of course I didn't walk right up to them, making plenty of noise; I went as quietly as I could and shot as carefully as I could, but the beaver seemed to have lost their wits. They weren't shy and watchful, as beaver 'most always are. They just sat there in the rain and looked miserable." "Dear me," commented Jack; "if you could find beaver as plenty as that only a few years ago, what immense numbers of them there must have been in the old times." "Yes," said Hugh, "it's wonderful to think of it, of course, and yet you must remember that all the regular trapping had stopped more than twenty years before that, and that it was only once in a while a man came along and set some traps, and even then he didn't make a business of trapping. He got just a few beaver and then went on. And it's wonderful how quickly any sort of wild animal increases if they're let alone. I believe that you might trap out all the beaver, except one pair, from a stream, and then leave that stream alone for twenty years and go back there and you'd find just as many beaver there as there were the first time you visited it." "That brings up another thing, Hugh, that I wanted to ask you about," said Jack. "How many young ones do the beaver have?" "I think," replied Hugh, "that they have four, and maybe sometimes six. I know you take any place where there are three or four beaver houses, and if you can go there and watch them, and the beaver are not too shy, you'll see an awful lot of kittens playing around at the right time of the day. I don't believe that the beaver breed until they are two years old, because more than once I've seen what I took to be one family, which consisted of two old ones, four or five nearly as big as the old ones, and four or five only half grown. That makes me think that the young ones stay with their parents until they are considerably more than one year old, but when the young ones are about full grown, I expect the old ones drive them off. Beaver are pretty mean; they're great things to fight among themselves, and I've seen many a one all scarred and cut about his head and neck and shoulders, where he'd been fighting with another one. After the full-grown ones are driven off by their parents, I reckon they start out and either build themselves houses somewhere nearby, or perhaps go on up or down the stream, and either join some other colony, or build a dam for themselves." "I don't understand, Hugh, how it is that the beaver know enough to build these dams which are strong enough to hold back the water in these creeks." "Well, son, I don't believe that I can help you out a bit. All I know is, that the beaver do it, and that their dams are strong and hold back the water, and that if you go and break down a dam, so as to let the water run out of the pond, the beaver will come down that night and mend the dam, and the next morning you'll find the pond full, or nearly full. Somehow or other, they understand just how to put together sticks and stones and mud so that the dam will hold. Sometimes the dam runs straight across the creek, sometimes it curves a little downward, that is to say, the hollow of the dam looks up the stream; sometimes it curves a little the other way, so that the hollow of the dam looks down the stream. You'd think that this was the strongest way to build, and it has seemed to me the dams built in that shape are usually found on the strongest running streams, but I can't be sure about it, because I don't know that I ever took particular notice. Anyhow, I know that all people that I've ever seen, Indians and whites alike, think that the beaver is smart." "I don't wonder," said Jack, "and now I remember," he went on, "that the Blackfeet have a lot of beliefs about the beaver. They think he's strong medicine." "Sure, they do," said Hugh; "they have lots of beliefs about it, and they think it's one of the greatest animal helpers." "I know they do," said Jack. "I remember now, that one time Joe took me to a ceremony where old Iron Shirt unwrapped a beaver bundle. I didn't know whether I would be allowed to see it, but Joe asked Iron Shirt, and he told me to come. I didn't understand what it was all about, but they unwrapped the bundle, which had in it a great lot of the skins of birds and small animals, and while it was being unwrapped, and after it was opened, Iron Shirt prayed and sang, and then two or three women who were present to help, danced around on their knees in the queerest way you ever saw. Joe said they were imitating the beaver." "Yes," said Hugh, "I saw one of those bundles unwrapped one time. It is a big ceremony. You know they have lots of stories about people that have been helped by the beaver. There's one of those stories about a poor young man who loved a certain girl, but he was so badly off and was so homely that she wouldn't have anything to do with him, so he went off and wandered over the prairie, feeling awful badly and wanting to die, and when night came he lay down by the stream to go to sleep, and while he was lying there a strange young man came to him and asked him to go to his father's lodge. The young man walked down to the edge of the stream and the poor boy followed him. When they got to the water's edge, the young man told the poor boy to follow him, and do just as he did. Then the young man dived into the water, and the poor boy followed him, and presently both came up inside of a lodge, and there sitting on the seats about the lodge were the old beaver, and when they got inside of the lodge the young man turned into a beaver, too. Then the old beaver spoke to the poor boy, and told him that he knew all about his trouble and wanted to help him, and asked him to spend the winter in his lodge. The poor boy was glad to do so, and during winter the old beaver taught him all their medicine, and gave him all their power. "Then the next spring the poor boy went out of the lodge and joined a party of his people who were going to war, and by the help of the beaver he killed the first enemy that they met, and scalped him, and this was the first time scalps were ever taken. This gave the poor boy great credit, and soon after he was able to marry the beautiful girl, and to become a head warrior, and later a big chief." "That's a pretty good story, Hugh," said Jack. "Yes," replied Hugh, "it's a pretty good story, but it is like a good many of those Indian stories which often have for their hero some poor, miserable young fellow who, being helped by some animal--his dream, they call it--comes out all right, and gets the thing that he wants." "Of course, the Blackfeet," Hugh went on, "have a great deal of respect for the power of what they call the under-water people--_Suye tuppi_. I reckon you've heard about them." "Yes," replied Jack, "they are people and animals that live at the bottom of lakes and streams, and have great power." "That's it," said Hugh. "But it isn't the Blackfeet alone that have these strong beliefs about the beaver. I guess all Indians are alike in the way they look at these animals. I know the Pawnees and Cheyennes feel the same way. Both tribes have queer stories about them. I reckon I never told you about one thing that is said to have happened to a young Cheyenne man a long time ago." "I don't remember it if you have, Hugh. What was it?" "Well," said Hugh, "in ancient times, the Indians used to kill lots of beaver. They liked the meat, and they used to make robes of the hides. In those days they had no steel traps, and the only way that they could get beaver was either to shoot them with their arrows or to tear down the dams, and when the water had run off, to get them out of their houses. It was a good deal of work to pull down the houses, and they used to train small dogs to go into the holes in the houses and worry the beaver until they would get mad and chase the little dog out through the mouth of the passage way, and there the Indian would be waiting with a club to knock the beaver on the head. Sometimes, however, the beaver would not come out far enough to be hit, and then they'd have to go into the house and kill them there, or pull them out. "Once a party of people had torn down a dam and killed a number of beaver from the houses. But one man was working at a house, and couldn't get the beaver out of it. His dog would go in and bark, but the beaver would not come out to where the young man could kill him; so the young fellow got down and crawled into the passageway, and presently got close enough to the beaver so that he could get hold of its foot. He wasn't strong enough to pull it out, so he backed out of the hole and called to a woman on the bank to bring him a rope. When she had brought it, he crawled into the hole again and tied it to the beaver's foot, and then came out, and three or four people began to pull on the rope, so as to haul the beaver into the daylight. He came very slowly, moving forward only a short distance and then holding on, but at last they began to see something coming, and presently, when they had pulled this thing to the mouth of the hole, they were astonished and frightened to see that instead of being a beaver it was a queer little old white man whom they were pulling out by the rope tied to one of his legs. When they saw what they had at the end of the rope, they were all so frightened that most them ran away; but the young man who had tied on the rope, before running away, went down to the beaver house and took the rope off the old man's leg so that he might be free again. Then he climbed up onto the bank and hung the rope on a tree, and made a prayer, and went away himself." "What do you suppose it was they saw, Hugh?" said Jack. "Bless you, son, I have no more idea than you have. I reckon that what they saw was a beaver, but of course that was not what they thought they saw. You'll find lots of Indians that imagine that they've seen things, or that things have happened to them that you and I would say couldn't possibly have been seen, or couldn't possibly have happened. The Indians have got pretty strong imaginations and then again maybe they have eyes to see things that we white folks can't see. I have seen a whole lot of queer things in Indian camp, things that I couldn't explain, things that I've seen with my own eyes, yet that most white people would say were just my imagination." "I know, Hugh; you told me about some of those things, and, of course, I can't see how they could possibly have happened, and yet because you saw them I believe that they did happen." "Of course, son, you know that I think that they happened; but, of course, maybe I might have been fooled about them. "Well, to go back to the beaver," he went on; "'most all Indians that I ever had anything to do with believe in a big old white beaver that is the chief of all beaver. I guess nobody ever saw him, but lots of people have seen him in dreams, especially in dreams where they went to the lodge of all the beavers. That is a dream that has come to a good many men, at least you often hear stories about people who have had the dream. This old white beaver is of great power. He knows about everything that has happened, and if by any chance he doesn't know about it himself, he calls all the other beaver together and asks them, and it's pretty sure that some one of them has some knowledge about the matter. "You see, the beaver are scattered all over, inhabit all the waters, and are active, and going about all through the hours of darkness, so they are very likely to know about things that have happened, about which all the people are ignorant; such things, for example, as women being captured and carried off at night, or war parties traveling at night. If a man has a beaver for his dream, he is pretty likely to be lucky in everything that he undertakes." "All the animals seem to have been very important to the Indians," said Jack. "They didn't exactly worship them, but they believe that they had great power to help." "Yes," agreed Hugh, "that is true, of course. The Indians pray to the spirits of the animals, and to the spirits of the mountains and rocks and trees, and ask them to help them, but the way I understand it, they don't worship any of these things. They pray to them just the same as white folks pray to saints, but way up above all these different spirits or medicines that the Indians talk about, there is some great person who has the power, and to him all these prayers are carried by the spirits that are prayed to. It's a mighty complicated thing, you see, son," he went on. "I can't understand it, and I reckon the Indians themselves don't understand it much better than I do, and I know they can't explain it. Some of them have tried to, but they get just about as far as I get, and then they are stuck." "Well, I suppose religion is a pretty hard subject anyhow, Hugh," remarked Jack. "I suppose it is," said Hugh, "and I reckon if you were to take a hundred white men out of the same church, and were to ask each one of them just exactly what his beliefs are, you would find that no two of the hundred would exactly agree." They sat for a little while looking at the fire, and then Hugh said, "Well, son, we've had a pretty long day and I reckon it's about time to go to bed." "That will suit me," said Jack, and they turned into their blankets. CHAPTER XII PROSPECTING FOR FUR It was not yet light next morning when Jack was awakened by a dull tapping, not often repeated, and as his senses grew clearer it seemed to him that the sound was like that made by an animal stamping its hoof on the ground. He crept silently out of his blankets, felt about for his cartridge belt and gun, and when he had found both, crept to the door. He had hardly got there when he heard again, more faintly, a stamping of a hoof, and then a snort which he knew was made by a deer. Meantime, Hugh had awakened, and, raised on his elbow, was watching Jack. The light was still so faint that objects could hardly be distinguished, but gradually, as the eastern sky began to flush and the light crept up toward zenith, Jack made out a deer standing fifty or sixty yards away, and looking at the tent, and then heard rather than saw it stamp its foot. Two or three times he put his rifle to his shoulder and glanced along the barrel, but he could not yet see his fore sight. Two or three times the deer stepped forward a little way, and then stopped and again stamped. Evidently the tent, shining white in the dim light of the morning, puzzled her, and she was trying to make out what it was. She had never seen anything like this before. As the light grew, Jack could see that it was a small doe, probably a yearling, and just the meat they needed. At length he put his gun to his shoulder again and found that he could see the sights, though not very clearly, and drawing a coarse sight and aiming low down at the brisket of the animal, which stood facing him, he pulled the trigger. The deer sprang in the air, and then turning, ran swiftly toward the brush and disappeared. "Get it?" asked Hugh, as Jack moved back on his bed and began to put on his trousers and shoes. "I don't know," said Jack, "the light was too dim for me to see much. I ought to have killed her, but I could hardly see my sights. I wouldn't be much surprised, though, if we were to find her. She seemed to me to jump as if she had been hit." In a very few moments Hugh and Jack were both dressed, and while Hugh began to kindle the fire, Jack walked off in the direction where the deer had last been seen. It was now full day, and before he had gone far the brilliant disk of the sun began to show over the eastern horizon. The tracks were plainly seen where the deer had sprung into the air, and then turning, had run swiftly toward the willows. It was easy to follow the trail, but there was no blood, and this gave Jack rather a feeling of chagrin, for he did not like to feel that he had missed. As he went on the tracks were less deeply marked in the ground, rather as if--Jack thought--the animal had recovered from its fright. He had only just begun to think about this, when suddenly he almost fell over the deer lying in front of him. It had run about a hundred yards. Jack turned and looked back toward the tent and at that moment Hugh, who had been putting wood on the fire, turned his head and looked toward his companion. Jack waved his hat as a sign that he had found the animal, and then began to prepare it to take to camp. It was a young doe and quite fat, and Jack felt quite pleased that he had got so good a piece of meat. It did not take long to prepare it for camp, and as the animal was small, and the distance short, Jack took it by the ears and easily dragged it over the smooth grass up to the camp. "Well," said Hugh, as he stooped over and felt of the carcass, "that's good. A nice little white-tailed yearling, and quite fat. From now on we've got to kill bucks or yearlings or dry does, for the old ones that are nursing their young won't be fit to eat." "It's queer, Hugh," said Jack, "I didn't find a bit of blood on the trail. I just followed the tracks, and I was watching them so closely that I almost fell over the deer at last. The bullet entered the breast low down and went through the whole length of the animal, and both where the bullet went in and where it came out, the skin had slipped to one side so as to cover the hole in the flesh. Of course she bled a lot, but not a drop of it came out of her body." "Yes, that happens so every now and then in those shots that go through an animal lengthwise, and they're especially likely to happen if the animal was standing when the shot was fired, and then makes a big effort afterward." Breakfast was nearly ready, and by the time Jack had washed his hands Hugh had poured out the coffee and they both sat down. "Well, Hugh," said Jack, "what are we going to do to-day? Shall we move, or shall we stop here one more night?" "I think," said Hugh, "that the best thing we can do is to take the saddle horses and go on up the creek a few miles on this side and prospect. After we've done that, we can make up our minds what is best to be done, but it's pretty certain that we will want to go over and camp two or three nights by that pond that we saw yesterday." "Yes," said Jack, "I should think that was something that we ought to do, sure." It took but a few minutes to skin the deer and hang the carcass up in one of the cottonwood trees, where it would be safe from any wolf or coyote that might come about the camp, and then catching up their riding horses, they saddled them and started up the stream. For several miles the bottom was wide and usually thickly fringed with willows. Several times they dismounted, tied their horses, and went in as far as they could toward the main stream, but twice they were stopped by water, or mud, or by beaver sloughs that were too wide for them to cross. Hugh said little, but shook his head from time to time as he looked over the valley. It was evident that he was dissatisfied. Jack forebore to ask questions, for he could see that Hugh was occupied in observing, and was thinking hard. They had gone five or six miles up the valley, and it was now about noon, when, on rounding a point of willows, they could see before them quite a large pond. Hugh drew up his horse and for ten or fifteen minutes sat there watching, and then drawing back, he rode up behind the willows, dismounted, and tied his horse. Jack did the same. "This looks better, son," said Hugh. "We'll go in here afoot as far as we can and watch this pond and see what we can see. I think there are beaver here, and probably this is the place we want to camp by." As quietly as possible they made their way toward the edge of the water, passing on the way several trails where the beaver had been dragging brush to the water. The signs showed that this had been done no longer ago than last night, for on the ground were scattered fresh, green willow and cottonwood leaves, and in two or three places the bark had been knocked off willow stems by whatever had been dragged along, and these wounds were absolutely fresh. Presently they came to the edge of the willows, and still keeping themselves concealed, crept up to a little knoll, where they sat down and peered through the tangle of stems out over the pond. There before them was a long dam which Jack, with his experience of the day before fresh in his mind, could see had been recently worked on. Out in the water were a number of the hay-stack-shaped houses of the beaver, and even while they were looking, to Jack's astonishment and delight a beaver appeared on one of them, carrying in his mouth a long, white, peeled stick which he placed among others on the roof. Jack looked at Hugh, wondering if he had seen the beaver, too, and Hugh gave a little motion of his head. At two or three points on the dam animals were at work, beaver, of course, but too far off to be certainly recognized. Jack wished with all his heart that he had brought his glasses. For nearly an hour they sat there, and then crept away as noiselessly as they had come, apparently unobserved by the animals. When they had returned to their horses, Jack felt that he might speak. "Wasn't that a pretty sight, Hugh?" he said. "I don't think I ever saw anything quite as fine as that. I believe it would be a great deal more fun just to get up close to these beaver and watch the way they live, than it will be to trap them and kill them." "So it would, son," said Hugh, "if we were just coming out for fun; and I reckon it's pretty nearly as good fun for me to watch them critters as it is for you. At the same time I feel as if we needed some of that fur that is swimming around there, and as if we were going to get it. It'll be quite a lot of work, but it's work that will be fairly well paid for." "Yes, Hugh, of course you're right. I want to trap some beaver and get some fur, and either take it home or sell it; but didn't we have a good time when we were sitting out there watching those animals? I tell you, when that beaver crept up on the house there and put that white stick in it's place, my heart pretty nearly jumped out of my body. I never expected to see anything like that." [Illustration: A BEAVER APPEARED WITH A LONG STICK, WHICH HE PLACED WITH OTHERS ON THE ROOF.--_Page 130._] "Yes," agreed Hugh, "it was nice. I'll acknowledge that; and we're likely to see lots more of it. Of course we want to see the pleasant sights, and then besides that we want to get something to show for our trip. I think we'll do both. Come on now, let's mount and go on further. The day is only about half gone and I want to learn all I can." From here on for quite a long way up the stream, beaver seemed abundant. The valley had grown much narrower, and instead of being a wide, grass-grown prairie with more or less morass about it, it was a narrow valley filled with beaver ponds, most of which seemed to be occupied. They took a hasty survey of it and had no more opportunity to watch the animals at their work and their play. Several times as they were riding along the edge of the valley they startled white-tailed deer from the willows, but all those they saw were old does. "I reckon," said Hugh, "that the fawns are too little as yet to run with their mothers. The old ones hide them and run away, and then just as soon as the danger is past they circle back and come close to them again. Curious thing, isn't it, son, that these little fawns don't give out any scent?" "Mighty curious if it's so, Hugh." "That's what people say," declared Hugh, "and I reckon likely it's true, because, if you think of it, you'll know that the wolves and coyotes are hunting all the time for these little fawns, and it's pretty sure that they don't find many of them. If they did, the deer wouldn't be half as plenty as they are." "Then I suppose the white tails hide their young ones just as the elk and the antelope do," said Jack. "Yes," said Hugh, "that's just what they do, or for a matter of fact just the way a buffalo cow hides her calf, or a common cow hides hers. You see all these animals seem to have that one instinct. When their young ones are very small and too weak to run fast or far, they hide them, and the plan works well, too, for I guess it carries most of them through. That fawn that those two lynxes were eating the other day was probably either one that they stumbled on by accident, or else perhaps one that had died from some sickness. They do that sometimes." The sun was only a couple of hours high when they turned their horses and, riding out on the prairie, galloped swiftly back to camp. The straight road and good pace made their return journey seem much shorter than it had been in the morning. Supper over, they lounged about the fire, on which Jack had piled so much wood that it gave a bright and cheerful blaze. Hugh was evidently thinking over what he had seen during the day and making up his mind about to-morrow, and Jack, feeling lazy, stretched out on the ground near the fire, and presently went to sleep. A little later Hugh called to him and said, "Rise up, son, and let us talk over what we are going to do. We'd better settle that before we go to bed." Jack rubbed his eyes and sat up sleepily, while Hugh got out his tobacco and filled his pipe, and then sitting cross-legged before the fire and puffing out huge wreaths of smoke, he said to Jack, "Now, son, there are plenty of beaver here, and if we have any luck at all we could load one horse just from this stream. I don't know, though, whether it's going to pay us to spend weeks of time setting traps and skinning beaver. I think it's worth while for us to do some trapping and get some fur, but I doubt if it's worth our while to spend the whole summer doing it. Suppose to-morrow we move up close to that big pond that we found to-day and make camp there and then trap until we get tired of it. When we've had as much as we want of this one place, we can move on and go somewhere else. It isn't quite as if we were trying to make money enough trapping to carry us over the winter. You don't greatly need the money that the fur would bring, and as for me, I've got my job, and it's no matter of life and death to get this fur. We're out here mainly for pleasure and for you to learn something about the country, and the ways of the things that live in it. We are free to do about as we please. What do you think?" "Why, Hugh," replied Jack, "that seems to me a good way to look at it. Let's trap here as long as we want to, and then travel on and go somewhere else. I want to get up into the high mountains, and I suppose you do, too. We want to have a little hunting and to see as much of the country as we can." "All right, son," said Hugh, "we'll let it go at that. And to-morrow morning in good season we'll move camp up the creek. I'll be glad to get these horses onto fresh grass. Of course, they are not working to amount to anything and don't greatly need the food, but I've sort of formed the habit of wanting my horses always to have the best there is going." "All right," rejoined Jack; "the first thing when we get up to-morrow I'll bring in the horses and saddle them, and it won't take so very long to get started." "No," Hugh assented, "that's one good thing about us, we travel pretty light and can go fast and far if we have to." There was a little pause while Hugh knocked the ashes out of his pipe, got his tobacco and lighted the pipe again. Then Jack said to him, "Hugh, there's one thing I want to ask you about; how does it come that these beaver here are so tame and are out swimming around in the water in the middle of the day? I have always heard that in old times it was sometimes possible to see beaver out at their work in the early morning and again in the evening, but that during the day they were always in their holes. I thought that the beaver was a night animal, and that of late years, since it had been trapped and hunted so much, it never came out at all in the daytime." "That is something, son, that I can't understand at all: why we've seen these beaver the way we have. I don't think I ever saw beaver acting just this way, though I've heard of old men, those that were out here trapping in the early days, say that in those times beaver were about all day long. They didn't talk as if the beaver were a night animal, but as if it were going about through the day, just, for example, as prairie dogs do, or whistlers, or others of these gnawing animals that we commonly see. I've an idea that it's only since people began to hunt the beaver that he has took to working nights and sleeping days, but of course I don't know anything about this; that's just my notion. Anyhow, from the way these beaver here are acting, I should say that it was a long time since they had been trapped or disturbed in any way, and that seems queer, for you see we are not very far from the railroad, and there are always idle people lying around a place like Laramie, people that believe they know how to trap, and who, if they knew of a place like this, would think they could make their everlasting fortune here. I wonder some of those fellows haven't found the place. Then, on the other hand, we're not so very far from where the Utes range, and it would seem to me only natural that some of their young men might run across a place like this and try to get the fur. Of course, if they had come they would have made a scatteration of these beaver by tearing down the dams and getting as many of the animals as they could out of the houses. But nothing has been disturbed; there's no sign of white people or Indians, and, what is a great deal better evidence, the beaver are absolutely tame. We'll get some of them before long, I reckon." "I hope so," said Jack, as he rose to his feet and threw another stick or two on the fire. Then squatting down by it, he said: "Three or four days ago, Hugh, I asked you how big beaver were, and you told me, and ever since then I've been trying to think of something that my uncle told me two or three years ago about an old time sort of beaver that doesn't exist any more on the earth. I think it was what you were telling me about the Indians' belief in medicine beavers that made me think of it. Uncle George told me that out in Ohio there was found a skeleton, or part of the skeleton, of a great big animal just like a beaver, but about as big as a black bear. That would mean, I suppose, weighing three or four hundred pounds, wouldn't it?" "Yes," said Hugh, "about that." "Well," said Jack, "this beaver lived in those old times, a good way back, but not nearly as far back as those older times when the coal was made. It lived about the same time that they used to have mastodons in this country." "Hold on," said Hugh, "say that again. What is a mastodon?" "Why," said Jack, "it's a great big animal, a good deal like an elephant. You have seen elephants, haven't you?" "Yes," said Hugh, "once when I was a small boy I saw one. He was a powerful big animal." "Well," said Jack, "a mastodon was like an elephant, only bigger, and he was different in some ways, but I've forgotten how. I think it was something about his teeth. The mastodon didn't live such a very great while ago, because I remember Uncle George said that the bones of those that they have found had not yet turned to stone. Of course all these fossils that come from the older times have changed into regular stone. They are just rocks with the shape of bones or shells or whatever it may be." "Yes," said Hugh, "I know about that, because I've seen a heap of them. They're just rocks in the shape of the different things that they used to be." "Well," said Jack, "anyhow the main thing is that in that time when there were mastodons in this country, there was also a big animal like a beaver, that would weigh several hundred pounds." "He must have had fine fur," said Hugh, "but I reckon it would have been powerful hard work setting traps for that fellow. You'd have to have bear traps to catch him, and it's no joke to set a bear trap. You say all they know about him is that they found his bones?" "That's all," said Jack. "Uncle George showed me a picture of a skull once, and I remember that it was longer than a wolf's skull, and it had two great big gnawing teeth reaching down from the front of the jaw." "Powerful strange things there used to be on this earth a long time ago," said Hugh, in a meditative tone. "Yes, indeed," answered Jack, "and think how little we, any of us, know about those things. Even the smartest men, those who have given up all their time to studying these things, don't seem to know much about those old times. I know it's awful easy to ask them questions that they can't answer." "I suppose a man of that kind doesn't want to say anything unless he's dead sure it's so," said Hugh. "Likely enough he's made his reputation by always being right, and he's afraid to make any guesses." "Maybe that is it," said Jack, "but I remember one time going to New Haven with my uncle, and we went into the Peabody Museum, and one of the professors there, a Mr. Marsh, took us around and showed us the greatest lot of bones you ever saw. He could tell us a great many things about the skeletons and parts of skeletons that he showed us, but I know my uncle asked him a great many questions about other things, and he would just laugh and say he didn't know anything about it, and nobody else did." "Well," said Hugh, "it's each man to his trade. I suppose I can hunt and trap and know something about animals, and these professors work over their birds and their bugs and their bones. Some of the stories they tell are pretty hard to believe, and yet I reckon they are all true." "Oh, I guess so," said Jack. The next morning before daylight had fairly broken, Jack was afoot and on his way out to the horses. They were brought in and tied up to the willows, their saddles put on and ropes coiled, picket pins got together, and all the various property of the camp, which so easily becomes scattered about, was collected before breakfast was ready. The bear skin, which had now been drying for three or four days, was taken from the ground and brought into camp. Hugh, when he looked at it, said that it was in first-class condition and had not been burned by the sun. "Save all these pins, son," he said, "wrap them up in a gunny sack; they may be useful to us later on, and may save us half a day's whittling." "Now," he said, "you take hold of one side of this hide and I'll take hold of the other, and we'll fold it up hair side in and make it small enough to go on top of one of the packs. It won't frighten the horse so much, now that it has lost its fresh smell." They folded the hide as Hugh had said, and it made a small, flat package of convenient size to go in the load. After they had eaten their breakfast, Jack took down the tent and folded it, rolled the beds, and got most of the packs ready. Hugh's kitchen was the last thing to be prepared, and then after a general tightening of the saddles, the loads were lashed on the horses' backs and they set out up the creek. Jack's last duty, and one which he performed at every camp, was to ride carefully about the fire, and about where the tent had stood, and look all over the ground, to see whether anything had been left behind. It was nearly noon when they reached the new camp ground. A pretty spot, raised well above the level of the stream bottom, with a big fringe of willows to the west, which would give shelter from any storm rushing down the mountains, and a little grove of cottonwoods which made a pleasant shade and would furnish fuel. Along a ravine which emptied into the bottom there grew a few box elder trees. "Well, Hugh, this is a good camp," said Jack. "First-class," replied Hugh, "all except the water. Suppose you go down into the willows there and see if you can find a spring. There must be water right close by here, but I haven't seen any." In a few minutes Jack returned, reporting an excellent though small spring right in the edge of the willows close to the camp. "We ought to dig it out, son, and make it bigger, if we are going to water the horses there," remarked Hugh. "All right," said Jack, "I'll do that now." After the tent had been put up, two of the horses picketed, and dinner eaten, Hugh said to Jack, "Now, son, if you want to go off on a prospecting tour this afternoon, you better go. I am going to be busy all the afternoon looking over my traps and making my medicine." "Your medicine, Hugh," asked Jack, "what is that?" "My beaver medicine," Hugh answered; "that is the stuff we are going to use to make the beaver come into the trap." "Oh, yes," said Jack, "I know; I've heard about that. It's a great secret how it's made, isn't it, Hugh? I used to ask the trappers up among the Blackfeet, and they always made some joke about it and never would tell me what it was." "Well," answered Hugh, "you'll find all trappers are just like that, but before we get home I guess you will see me make it, and then if you use your eyes and nose, perhaps you'll learn how to make it yourself. But this afternoon," he went on, "I am going to take out my traps and go over them, see that they work well, and get them ready to set to-morrow. If you want to go hunting or looking around, or studying anything, you go ahead and do it, only I'd get back here an hour or two by sun, so that we can have our supper by daylight." "All right," said Jack. "I think I'll take my rifle and walk on up the creek. We don't greatly need any meat, but I might see something that was worth shooting at." "Well," said Hugh, "if I were you I wouldn't shoot much down in the valley. I'd like to keep everything about camp as quiet as possible for the next two or three days." "I'll remember it," said Jack, and rising he took up his rifle and strode off up the stream. CHAPTER XIII A LION'S LEAP A cool breeze was blowing down from the mountains, and although the sun was warm it was not uncomfortably hot. Here and there little wisps of smoke drifted from points on the mountainside where some old log was still smouldering, but the fire as a whole seemed to have been extinguished by the rain. Away down to the south the mountainsides were all black, and from the border of the burned country great tongues of the same dark color here and there stretched out into the green timber that clothed the unburned mountainside, showing where the onrushing flames had scorched the tops of the pine trees; but to the north of this the timber was still brightly green. Before Jack had gone far, the valley grew narrower and the hills on either side higher. On his side of the stream the bluffs now drew closer to the willows, and were occasionally broken down into Bad Land shapes, where no grass grew and where the clay was deeply guttered by the rain. In the ravines, which at short intervals broke through these steeper bluffs, grew huge old cottonwoods, not very tall, but thick, and with gnarled, twisted branches. Evidently at some seasons of the year great quantities of water passed down through these ravines, for their beds were deeply washed. In the valley and on the hillsides Jack saw many antelope, but there was meat enough in camp to last them for a day or two, and it hardly seemed to him worth while to kill anything. "At least," he thought, "if I do fire a shot, I will wait until I have started back toward the camp, so that I can carry the meat with me as I go in." As he went on he kept watching the willows to his left, thinking that at any time a white-tail deer might appear among them, and he kept an equally good lookout on the bluffs and up the ravines to his right, where there was always a possibility of seeing a black tail or even a mountain sheep. He was standing looking up one of these ravines, watching a doe antelope that had been feeding there, which, having seen him, was trotting off further up the ravine, when, without the slightest warning, as the doe was passing under the branches of a huge old cottonwood that grew on the border of the watercourse, something yellow sprang out from the branches of the tree, and descending on the doe, struck her to the ground. Although she was a long way off, Jack could hear her bawl in fright, and he instantly saw that a panther had been resting among the branches of this tree, and had sprung at the doe as she passed by. The doe and the panther were in plain sight as he stood there, but dropping to the ground he crept swiftly to a little coulée which led down to the bottom of the ravine, and running down this, he started up the ravine as fast as he could. The watercourse was narrow, its sides steep, and its bottom entirely dry. The big cottonwood from which the panther had leaped was the first one in the ravine, and by watching its branches he could tell when it would be necessary for him to begin to go cautiously in order to creep up and get a shot at the great cat. For the most part, the bed of the ravine was covered with sand, over which he could run noiselessly, but every little while he came to a bed of drift pebbles, and here he felt obliged to go more slowly. Presently the towering crown of the great cottonwood came in sight again, now not more than seventy-five yards distant, and Jack began to look for a place where he could climb up the steep banks of the ravine to get a shot. In a moment more a little side wash gave him the opportunity that he sought, and clambering up four or five feet of broken-down clay, he found himself in a coulée, which furnished an easy way to the level ground above. Taking advantage of another little side wash that came in, he presently found himself on the level ground where the cottonwood stood, and looking through the sage brush, he tried to catch a glimpse of the panther. For a moment or two he could see nothing of it, but then something white caught his eye, and raising his head a little higher, he saw the white breast and belly of the doe, and the panther stretched out beside her with his teeth apparently fixed in her neck. The panther's eyes were half closed, almost as if it were asleep, and it was paying no attention to its surroundings. This time Jack thought that he could try to make a close shot, and resting his elbow on his knee, he sighted carefully for the panther's head, and pulled the trigger. The animal did not move, but when the smoke cleared away and Jack looked again he saw that the beast's head was turned a little to one side, and that its cheek was resting on the doe's neck. He felt pretty confident that his ball had gone where he wished it to, and taking two or three loose cartridges in his right hand, he rose to his knees and took a long stare at the panther. Still it did not move, and when, after a slow approach, he had come close to it, he could see just over its eye a little red spot, and circling round to the other side, he saw a larger bleeding hole from which the ball had emerged. When he pulled the panther away from the doe and turned her over to look at her, he saw that the cat must have leaped short, for on her hips were marks of four deep scratches where the sharp claws of one paw had sunk into the antelope's skin, and then on her left side at the shoulder were the marks of the other paw. Except for that the doe was unhurt, save where the panther had bitten her throat. Jack made up his mind that he would take a part of the doe to camp, as well as the panther's skin. It took him some time to skin the cat, and then rolling up the hide, and cutting off the hams and saddle of the doe, he put both on his back and went down the ravine to the valley. It seemed to him that the weather had grown much warmer, but he forgot that he had been first running and then working hard. When he reached the valley, he was undecided whether to go back to camp at once or to keep on a little further up the stream and see if there was anything more worth seeing, but when he looked at the sun he saw that there were yet three or four hours before its setting, and he determined to continue his walk; so he went down to the edge of the willows and among them hid his meat and his panther hide, and then kept on slowly up the stream. A mile or two further on he came to a place where the willows ceased, and the stream bending toward the side up which he was traveling had been dammed and spread out in a pond which reached almost across the valley, and on his side came almost up to the bluffs. It was not a new dam, for along the borders of the pond grew tall rushes, almost as high as his head. He entered them to see if he could get to the water's edge and look out over the pond, but hardly had he stepped among them when, almost from under his feet, a duck sprang up and flapped away through the reeds, as if unable to fly. Jack knew, of course, that he had startled the duck from her nest, and that her pretense of being wounded was only a ruse to draw him away from her precious eggs, and looking down on the spot from which she had sprung he saw something white, and pushing aside the reeds with his hand, saw a mass of pale gray down and feathers, and when he had parted this with his fingers, he saw beneath it half a dozen smooth, cream-colored eggs. He left the nest undisturbed and tried to peer through the reeds to get a look at the duck, which was now swimming about in the water calling excitedly. Presently he got a good glimpse of it and saw that it was a female shoveler duck. A few steps further toward the water's edge he found the ground so soft and miry that he could go no further, and drawing back, he walked toward the bluff through the rushes, and before he had gone far had found three more duck's nests. This seemed to be a great breeding place. A little further on the rushes ended, and as he stepped out of them he startled from the shore, just above the water's edge, a multitude of birds, some of which flew away low over the water, half flying and half running over it, while others swam away, sunk almost below the surface, and after they had gone a little further, disappeared entirely. Jack knew, of course, that the first of these were coots or mud hens, and the others were grebes, and he knew also that somewhere close by would be found their nests. After looking around a little bit he saw in the edges of the rushes, and seemingly floating on the water, little bunches of grass or other vegetation, which he thought must be nests, and as he wanted to see what was in them he looked around to find how he could get out to them. The mud was so deep that he dared not wade to them, for he remembered the narrow escape that he had two or three years ago when he had been caught in the quicksands of the Musselshell River, and had been saved from drowning only by the timely arrival of Hugh. Then he began to look about to see if he could not find a long stick or pole which he could throw on the mud, and on it could wade out to the nests, but nothing of the sort was near. Then it occurred to him that if he went very carefully through the reeds and bent them down to step on, they might keep him from sinking deep into the mud and might support him until he got out to the nests. At all events this was worth trying, though he determined to be very cautious about it. He stripped off his clothes, except his shirt and hat, and then going down through the reeds, bent them over, and stepping on them as he went, and every now and then resting his foot on a bunch of the roots, he managed to get out to the nearest nests. They were loosely built of dead stems of the rushes, roughly piled together and apparently floating on the water, but anchored to the bottom by two or three green stems that grew up through the nest. The eggs were nearly oval, a little bigger than a pigeon's egg, and all of a soiled white color, and lying apparently in the water. These Jack decided must be the nests of the grebes, for he remembered that the eggs of the coots are spotted, and besides, would be larger than these eggs. His footing was so uncertain that he was satisfied with the inspection of two or three of the nests, and then made his way quickly to shore. It took him a long time to get rid of the mud that he had picked up in his journey, but at last he got dressed and kept on around the pond. As he reached a point close to the bluffs where he could see the whole width of the pond, he was astonished to see the great number of birds that were living on it. A few of them were ducks, but the most were smaller birds, coots, grebes, phalaropes, and sandpipers. All of them seemed to be in companies, and Jack concluded that the birds that he could see were probably the males, whose mates were scattered about near at hand, sitting on their nests. Near a little point of tall wire grass which extended out into the pond, Jack saw a pretty sight, a family of little Carolina rails, such as he had often heard his uncle talk about. The mother walked deliberately about the soft mud, bobbing her head and from time to time jerking her absurdly small tail, while following her in single file were nine tiny black objects not much larger, it seemed to him, than bumble bees, black and downy, evidently her newly hatched chicks. Now and then the mother would run hurriedly in one direction or another and catch something in her bill, and then would utter a call which brought the little ones close about her. Then, seemingly she would drop her prey on the ground, and the little ones would scramble for it. Jack lay on the ground for some little time watching this pretty sight, and then suddenly he noticed that the sun was beginning to get low, and realized that it was time for him to start for camp. He hurried back as fast as he could, and before long found his meat and his panther's skin undisturbed, and putting them on his back, went on, reaching camp just before sundown. Hugh had supper cooked and was sitting by the fire, smoking. "Well, son," he said, "I didn't know but what maybe you had got lost. I see that you've been busy. What's that you've got--a piece of antelope meat and a lion?" "That's what, Hugh," said Jack. "I tell you, I've had a great time this afternoon. A whole lot of fun, and a lion's skin." "Well," said Hugh, "you surely have had a good time. I expect I'd have been glad to have gone with you if I had known you were going to see a lion. How did you get him?" So, while they were eating supper, Jack told Hugh the story of the killing of the lion, and then talked with him at great length about the sights he had seen on the beaver pond. "Yes," said Hugh, "there are sure lots of birds on all these ponds, and as we were saying only the other day, they breed here and nothing much disturbs them." "But, Hugh," asked Jack, "why don't the wolves and the coyotes make it their business to hunt around these ponds and catch the old ducks and eat their eggs, too? I should think that a family of coyotes could easily enough clean out all the birds on a pond." "Well," replied Hugh, "that's something that I've often thought about, and I don't know why they don't do it. Once in a long time, of course, you will find a duck's nest or a nest of a sage hen where the old bird has been caught and the eggs eaten, but that is something that you don't often see. I suppose, perhaps, one reason is that the birds are always on the lookout, and if they see or hear an animal they fly off, pretending to be injured, and the animal chases them, just as I remember I once saw you chase an old grouse that led you away from her young ones. Still, all I can say is that I don't know why it is that more nesting birds are not destroyed by wolves, coyotes, foxes, badgers, and skunks." "Now, some of those nests that I found, nests that belonged, I think, to the grebes, were floating out in the water and a little way from the shore," said Jack. "I can understand how they would be safe, because an animal would have to go through deep mud and water to get them; but why the ducks' nests, that are built on the shore, and often up on the high land and at a little distance from the water, are not all of them robbed by these animals, I don't see." "No," said Hugh, "that's a puzzler, I'll confess. You remember how plenty the birds are about some of those little, shallow lakes we passed up in the northern country. There'd be quite a flock of geese and a great lot of ducks and all sorts of wading birds, big and little, living on them all summer, and when autumn came, the water would be nearly covered with the birds, showing, as it seems to me, that the breeding birds had all had pretty good luck in raising their young." "Well, anyhow, Hugh, it was mighty good fun going around the edge of the lake there, and seeing all these birds, and one of the funniest sights I saw was a little mother rail and nine little chickens, each one of them hardly bigger than the end of your finger." "What is this bird you call a rail, son?" asked Hugh. "I reckon I don't know it by that name." "Why," replied Jack, "it's a pretty small bird that lives in the tall grass on the edge of the water. It's sort of greenish brown above, with some white marks, has long legs, a little bit of a tail, a short bill, and a body not much bigger than that of a blackbird." "Why," said Hugh, after a moment's thought, "that must be one of those sacred birds that the Blackfeet Medicine Lodge women put on their sacred bonnets. You mean a little, short-winged bird, don't you, that when you see it, 'most always runs into the grass instead of flying away, and if you do make it fly, it flies very slowly for a short way and then drops down into the grass again?" "Yes, Hugh," Jack answered; "that's the very bird. Back East they shoot them, and they're splendid eating." "Well," said Hugh, "there isn't more than a mouthful of flesh on each one of them. I reckon it would take a good many to make a meal for me." "That's so," said Jack; "they're pretty small, but they're awful good. The way people shoot them is like this. The birds in the autumn come down from the north and live in the tall grass and reeds along the edge of the bays and rivers. They pick up their food among the grass and on the muddy flats, but when the tide rises they are forced up from the ground, and walk among the reeds and grass on the floating vegetation. When the tide gets up nearly to the top, the gunners start out in flat-bottomed boats, two men to a boat. The shooter stands in the bow, and in the stern is a man with a long pole, who shoves the boat through the grass, and as it goes along it disturbs the rails, which have to get up and fly a little way to get out of the boat's road. When they rise out of the grass the gunner shoots at them. In old times they say that there used to be thousands of these rail in the marshes, and sometimes a man would get from a hundred to a hundred and fifty in a tide, that is, in two to three hours. As soon as the tide gets low enough so that the boat can no longer shove easily over the mud flats and through the grass, the rail can run faster than the boat can go, and the shooting is over." "Well," said Hugh, "that seems to me mighty queer--killing these little bits of birds just for the fun of it. It must cost a man quite a lot to do shooting of that kind." "Yes," said Jack. "Of course men do it for amusement, and not for what they make out of it. Why, I think they pay the shover a dollar and a half or two dollars a tide, and then, of course, the ammunition costs something, and perhaps a man has to go quite a long journey on the railroad to get to the rail grounds." "Well," said Hugh, "I don't believe I'd find much fun doing that sort of thing; but then," he continued, "I don't find much fun in hunting nowadays; it's simply a question of getting something to eat." "Yes," said Jack, "I understand what you mean. Out here where game is so plenty the fun of hunting is largely taken away. I expect that it is the doubt in hunting, the uncertainty whether you are going to get a shot or not, that makes hunting interesting." "I reckon that's it," said Hugh. "It's the gamble that there is in it; the chance that there is about it, that makes men like it. But say, son," he continued, "before we forget it I want to tell you something about these little rail birds. You know they've got mighty short wings and it seems hard for them to fly. Now what do you think the Indians up north say about these birds?" "I am sure I don't know, Hugh; what is it?" asked Jack. "Why, they say that these birds make their journeys north and south on the backs of the cranes--not herons, I don't mean, those fellows that live along the water--but regular sandhill cranes; those fellows that make so much noise flying over in spring and fall." "Well," said Jack, "that's funny, and that reminds me of something, too; but first I want to ask how they know that the rail migrate in that way; what makes them think so?" "I've asked that question, too," said Hugh, "and this is what old Saiyeh told me--" "Saiyeh--that's Mad Wolf, isn't it, Hugh?" asked Jack. "Yes," said Hugh; "old Mad Wolf, he said that once when he was out on the prairie with two or three other men, they saw some cranes coming, and hid, and the cranes flew over them and they shot at them and perhaps killed one or two, and when they fell to the prairie, two or three of these little birds came down with them." "That's mighty interesting," said Jack; "and that reminds me of something that I have read, written by some German who studied birds. He said that there were some small birds of Europe that crossed the Mediterranean by riding on the backs of the wild geese." "That's queer, too," said Hugh; "and yet I don't see why it might not be so." "Oh," rejoined Jack, "there was a long, long article about it in one of the New York papers, copied from some paper printed in Europe. I wish I could remember more about it. It gave the names of the different kinds of little birds that were thought to cross that big water in that way, and it also told about some African people, perhaps they were Arabs, who knew and always had known that these little birds made their journeys north and south in that way." "Now, tell me, son, you are a good deal younger than I am; isn't there some white man's story about a dispute among the birds as to which one could fly the highest, and doesn't the story say that the eagle flew highest, but that some small bird got on his back, and after the eagle had turned to come down, flew a little higher still, and then came down and won the prize?" "Yes," said Jack, "there is just such a story. The little bird that beat the eagle was the wren, a tiny little bird." "Well," said Hugh, "I suppose there have been a whole lot of mighty smart men that have been trying for a long time to find out all about birds, but I reckon there are some things left yet that they do not know." "I guess so," said Jack, "a whole lot of things." "Hugh," he went on, after a pause, "the Indians must have a great many beliefs and stories about birds and animals, haven't they? I don't mean sacred stories, or stories where birds and animals help them, but just tales about the animals, and how they live and what they do." "Yes," said Hugh; "they do so. Of course, you know that there are lots of Indians who believe that they can understand the talk of the wolves. If they hear a wolf howling they know that he is speaking, telling them some news or other, and they can understand him and interpret for him to other Indians that don't understand the wolf's speech. Then, there are some Indians, Blackfeet, who say that they can understand what the meadow lark says when he is singing. The Cheyennes say this, too, but they say that the meadow lark says only one thing; that is, the song always repeats, 'I come from Tallow River.' Tallow River, you know, is the South Platte River. The Blackfeet names for the killdee and for the big curlew are in imitation of the cry of each bird. Blackfeet call the little chickadee 'Neo-po-muki,' and that means, according to them, 'summer is coming.' Yes, there are a whole lot of beliefs and stories about birds and animals that are pretty interesting. Of course, the birds and the animals seem a whole lot closer to the Indians than they do to us. They come pretty near to being the Indian's comrades and every day associates. There is one story that old Shell, a Cheyenne Indian, told me once, that I thought was a mighty good story, and if you like I'll try to repeat it to you before we go to bed." "I wish you would, Hugh," said Jack. "I always like to hear those stories, and it seems to me that you know an awful lot of them." "Well," replied Hugh, "I've heard a lot of them in my time, and I wish that I could remember them all. This is what old Shell told me as near as I can remember. He said: 'A long time ago my father was out walking in the hills and he came to a high cut cliff. The cliff was broken and overhung a little, and almost everywhere it was covered with the mud nests of swallows. It was about the time in spring when the eggs hatch, and the swallows were flying about gathering food and bringing it to the young ones. They were thick about the nests, and made a great deal of noise. My father sat there and looked at them for quite a long time. Presently he saw the birds gathering in great numbers about a particular place on the cliff, and when he looked carefully to see what attracted them, he saw a great snake crawling along on a ledge. Presently the snake came close to a lot of nests built all together, and raised its head and put it into one nest after another and ate the young birds. The swallows kept flying at the snake, but they could not stop it. All at once all the birds gathered together and flew in a great throng away to the east. All the old ones were gone; none were left about the nests. While my father sat there wondering where they had gone, he saw the swallows coming back in a great black bunch, and flying in front of them was a swift hawk, which every now and then whistled as it flew along. The birds came on and when they were close to the cliff the hawk whistled loud. When he did that, the snake raised its head and turned it toward the hawk, and the hawk turned aside and flew by the snake and flew away out of sight. When the hawk turned aside and flew by the snake without doing anything to it, the swallows made a great noise and followed him as he flew away, calling as if asking him to come back. So all the birds flew over the hill out of sight, but my father sat there waiting to see what would happen. "'Before long he saw the swallows come back over the hill a second time, and now the bird leading them was a bald eagle, and as it flew it whistled as eagles do. When the eagle drew near to the snake, the snake raised its head and looked at the eagle, and when the snake looked, the eagle seemed to be afraid, and it turned and flew away out of sight, the swallows following it and making still more noise. "'A third time the swallows came back over the hill, and flying in front of them was a gray eagle, and as it drew near, the gray eagle whistled as the bald eagle had done. The gray eagle came up flying swiftly, but when the snake raised its head and looked at the eagle it seemed as if a flash of light blazed from the snake's eyes, and the gray eagle made the same turn as the others had made, and flew away out of sight, while all the swallows made a mournful noise. "'The gray eagle flew out of sight down the creek, and the swallows followed it and were gone a long time. Pretty soon, though, they could be seen coming back just like a black mass, and this time their leader was a heron. When the heron drew near the side of the cliff the snake raised its head and looked at the bird, and it seemed as if blue sparks of fire flew from the snake's eyes. The heron did not turn aside from the snake when it raised its head, but flew straight on, and when he had come close to the snake he ran his bill clear through its body and it fell to the ground and died, and the swallows gathered around the snake in great crowds and trampled all over it.' That is the way old Shell said that the swallows tried to save their children." "That's sure a good story, Hugh," said Jack. "It's got the same old number four in it, hasn't it?" "Yes," said Hugh; "of course we look to find that in every Indian story. You'll have to try four times before you succeed at anything." "Well, son," he said, "let us go to bed. We ought to be starting out in good season to-morrow, for unless I am mistaken we'll have quite a long day of it." CHAPTER XIV SETTING FOR BEAVER "Well, son," said Hugh, as he was cooking breakfast next morning, "we've got a full day's work cut out for us, and we'd better make it as light as possible. You may as well go and catch up the saddle horses and bring them in. We have a load of traps to carry, but we can put them on our saddles. Down in this country, and at this time, we can set our traps without danger, and yet, just as a matter of habit, we'd better take our guns along. Those and the ax and our traps and my bottle of 'medicine' will be all that we'll need." "All right," said Jack; "I'll go now, and bring the horses in and saddle up"; which he did. By the time the horses were saddled, breakfast was ready, and soon after they had finished, the sack of traps was emptied on the ground, and Hugh tied four behind his saddle, and Jack four behind his. "My, but these traps are heavy," observed Jack; "and strong, too. I should think that they would hold any animal except, perhaps, a bear." "Yes," said Hugh, "they're strong enough, and they've got to be to hold a beaver, for he pulls pretty hard when he gets his foot in a trap. However, if they are properly set he doesn't have a chance to struggle long, for he plunges right for deep water and the trap holds him down, so that he drowns." Just as they were about to start, Hugh disappeared into the tent, and rummaging around among the packages there, presently emerged with a good-sized stick of wood in his hand, to one end of which was tied a long buckskin thong forming a loop, which he hung over his head so that the stick rested on his breast. Jack looked at it in some astonishment, and then saw that the stick was apparently a big wooden bottle formed of a birch stick three inches or more in diameter, in which a hole had been bored. This hole was stopped by a wooden plug driven into the hole, thus corking the bottle tightly. Evidently the stick had been used a long time, for it was worn and polished by much handling. "Well, Hugh," said Jack, "I suppose that is your beaver medicine, but I never had any idea that you carried it in a bottle like that." "Yes, son, that's the bottle, and I have used it for a good many years. You know that in old times when I first came out into this country glass bottles and tin cans weren't very plenty here, and glass doesn't last long anyhow. This is the sort of a bottle that everybody used in early days, and I've had this for a long time and had considerable luck with it." "I never dared ask you what the medicine was made of, Hugh," said Jack, "but I suppose when you get to using it you'll let me have a smell of it, won't you?" "Sure," said Hugh. "That's what it's made for, to be smelled of. But before you know what beaver medicine is made of, you'll have to be a real trapper." The two swung themselves into the saddles and started off up the stream. Jack carried the ax, the head of which was protected by a leather case which covered its cutting edge, in his rifle scabbard under his leg. "Now, son," said Hugh, "judging from what you said yesterday about the creek above here, I believe it's worth our while to ride quite a way up and see whether it gets narrow. If it does, we can perhaps set our traps first up there, because they will be easier to handle. I don't want to set around these big ponds if I can help it. There is too much danger of our losing some of our traps, and then if a beaver gets out into deep water it's barely possible that we might lose the float-stick, or else that it might get hidden, and even if we should find it out in deep water there's no way to get at it except to swim for it. You and I don't want to do that if we can help it. This water is pretty cold, for it comes right down from the snow." "That is one of the things I was wondering about, Hugh; how you were going to find your traps or your beaver in case they got out into the water in these ponds a long way from shore." "I'll show you how we fix that sort of thing, son; but as I say, we haven't traps enough to take very much risk." As they went on up the stream Jack pointed out to Hugh where he had killed the panther the day before, and showed him the pond where he had seen the birds. Not very far above this they came to a place where a few willows grew, and where a beaver dam, holding back the water, had made a long, narrow, and rather deep pond running through the meadow. "There," said Hugh, pointing to it, "that looks like a good place to set, but we'll go on further and see what we find." Above this pond the stream for some distance rippled noisily over a rocky bottom, but soon they came to another dam, above which was found another long and narrow pond with two or three houses near its lower end. At two places toward the upper end there were grassy points which projected into the pond, and one of which ran nearly across it. "That looks like a good place for us to set a couple of traps, son," said Hugh. "Now, I wish that you would go into that pine timber just at the edge of the meadow and get me a couple of dead pines if you can find them, six or eight feet long and three inches through at the butt. Then sharpen the butt end so that I can drive it good and deep into the mud, so that it will hold. When you get the sticks, come around by the outer edge of the meadow and then ride in as near the edge of the pond as you can, coming well below me. I am going over now to the edge of the water to sort o' prospect." Jack rode up into the timber and soon found a couple of young, dead trees which he chopped down, and from which he cut the required lengths. Then trimming the branches from the sticks, he sharpened the butt of each, and hanging one of them on either side of the horse, rode slowly back. Hugh's black horse was grazing at the edge of the meadow, and Hugh himself could be seen down close to the water's edge. Jack left Pawnee by Hugh's horse, and taking the sticks on his shoulder walked over to the water's edge, making a circle so as to come toward Hugh from the down-stream side. Before he had reached the water, Hugh signed to him to stop, and then came back toward him and said, "There's a good place here for two traps, and I'll set them, and you may as well come with me and watch what I do." Jack noticed that Hugh had stuck in his belt half a dozen straight willow twigs from a foot and a half to three feet long and about as large around as a lead pencil. "Now, the first thing you want to remember, son, is that you mustn't leave any sign or any scent for the beaver to notice. They're smart animals, and if they see anything unusual, or if they smell anything strange, it puts them on their guard and you're not likely to have them go to your traps. Of course, here it's a little different because these beaver seem so tame, but you may as well try to begin right." "Now I'm going to set two traps, one on each of these little points that you see running out into the pond. We've got to start in here and walk in the water up to where we're going to set, and I think that right close under the bank here we'll find the bottom hard enough for us to travel on. Just away from the bank it drops off sharply, and that is the best kind of water to set in for beaver. Now I will go ahead with these traps and you follow after me, carrying those sticks. You've cut them just about right, and I'll show you pretty soon what they're for. They are what we call float-sticks." Hugh took two of the heavy traps in his hand and entering the water began to wade up the stream. Jack noticed that he kept far enough from the banks so that his clothing did not touch any of the overhanging grass or weeds. The water was not so deep as Jack had supposed, and did not come up within several inches of the tops of his rubber boots. He stepped into the water after Hugh, and tried to imitate all his motions, dragging after him the two float-sticks, but keeping also away from the bank. Presently Hugh stopped at the lower of the two points and waded out a step or two, but the water deepened so rapidly that he at once drew back. He now turned to Jack, and reaching toward him Jack passed Hugh one of the float-sticks. Hugh made a large loop of the long chain which was attached to the trap and passing it over the small end of the pole let it down to within a foot or two of the butt, and then drew the loop close between the stubs of the branches which Jack had cut off in trimming the little tree. Hugh took some pains with this, working on the chain until it tightly encircled the stick and could not be pulled up or down. Then taking the stick by its smaller end, he felt with it for the bottom some six or eight feet out from the bank, and when he had found a place that was satisfactory to him, thrust the sharpened end of the stick into the mud at the bottom. By repeated efforts he drove the stick so deep that the end which he held in his hand was almost submerged. Meantime, the trap, which was fast to the other end of the chain, lay on the bottom close to his foot. He now took the trap, and rolling up his sleeves, stood with one foot on either spring of the trap and by his weight bent these springs down so that he could set the trap. Then holding it by the chain he lifted the trap out of the water and brought it within ten or twelve inches of the grassy margin of the pond. Then he said to Jack, who stood silently near him, "We can't do much talking here, son, but after we get these traps set I'll explain to you what I've been doing, and why. Take notice, though, that I'm putting this trap in pretty shallow water, but that there's deep water just outside." Hugh worked a little while on the bottom until he had scraped out a flat, firm bed in which the trap was placed, then from the up-stream side of the trap he scraped up one or two handfuls of soft mud and scattered it above the trap so that two or three minutes later, when the water had cleared, Jack could barely see the outline of the jaws showing in the mud which covered trap and chain. Then Hugh drew from his belt one of the shorter of the willow twigs, submerged it, and with his knife, also held under water, split the twig in half a dozen places for an inch or two from the end. Then he returned his knife to its sheath, and still holding the twig under water with his other hand, drew the cork from the bottle of beaver medicine, lifted the twig from the water and thrust the split end into the bottle and drew it out dripping with a brownish fluid, the odor of which, as it came to Jack's nostrils, seemed exactly that of a rotten apple. Then Hugh thrust the other end of the willow twig into the bottom on the shoreward side of the trap, so that the split end stood about ten inches above the trap. "There," said Hugh, "that's done. Now let's go on, but be very careful when you come to the trap to keep out from the shore as far as you can, and to step well over the chair." A little further on, when they came to the second point, this operation was repeated almost in the same way, except that here Hugh took eight willow twigs and thrust them into the bottom, running out toward the deep water, four on the up-stream side of the trap and four on the down-stream side, the twigs being so arranged as to form a wide V which might guide the beaver toward the bait-stick which formed the apex of the V. In arranging these guiding wings, Hugh was careful not to touch any part of the twigs which projected above the water with his hand, but when he thrust the twigs into the bottom he held his hand under water, and the portion of the twig that he had touched was also under water. Hugh and Jack now retraced their steps, going down the stream until they reached the point where they had entered it. Then Hugh motioned Jack to go ashore, and after he had done so, Hugh splashed the bank where Jack had stepped, plentifully with water, and passing on a few yards further down the stream left it by a little bay, the shore of which he plentifully wetted with water before he stepped out on the grass. Then the two went over to their horses, mounted, and rode up the stream. Jack had watched closely what Hugh had done and understood why most of the operations that he had gone through with had been performed, yet there were many questions that he felt like asking. "Now, son," said Hugh, after they had reached the upper end of the meadow, "let us go into this little piece of pine timber of yours and cut some more float-sticks; it is worth our while to carry some of them along with us. I don't know whether in trimming those sticks you intended to leave those branches sticking out as long as you did, but whether you meant to do it or not, it was just the right thing." "Yes, Hugh," said Jack, "I understood from what you had told me what you wanted those sticks for, and of course I could see that you wanted them fixed so that the chain in the trap would not slip either way." "That's it, exactly," said Hugh; "and I'm glad you listened so carefully and understood so well. Now, of course, if we couldn't find sticks with the branches just right, as those two sticks had, we might have to cut a notch in the float-stick, or we might have to try to bind the chain to it in some way or another. But there's work enough about beaver trapping at best, and if you can find the right kind of sticks, always better use them." In the pine timber there were plenty of dead young trees, from which they selected four which made good float-sticks. "I don't know, Hugh," said Jack, as they were hanging the sticks on their saddles, "just why you take a dry stick." "Well," said Hugh, "there are two or more reasons for that. In the first place the beaver, if they happen to find the dry float-stick, are less likely to try their teeth on it than they would be if the stick were green. If you used a green cottonwood or willow or birch stick for your float-stick, very likely the beaver might carry it and your trap off into deep water before they got near the trap. Besides that, if a trapped beaver dives for deep water and manages to pull up your float-stick and it floats away, a dry one will float higher than a green stick and will be more easily seen and recovered." "Yes, I see," said Jack. "That's plain enough. I suppose that you kept your hands under water so much in order to wash away the human scent." "Yes," said Hugh, "that is so. There are lots of men who will never hold the trap or the bait-stick or anything connected with the trap, so that the wind will blow from them to it. They believe that the human scent will stick to anything, and that the beaver can smell it. I don't go quite as far as that, but I do know that if there were a hard breeze blowing I'd always get to the leeward of the trap and of all the things I left near the trapping ground." "Well," said Jack, "I wondered as I saw you setting those traps to see how awful careful you were about everything you did." "Well," said Hugh, "I suppose that's habit, but it's necessary. You take a man that is careless, and that leaves sign about everywhere, and you'll find that he never catches any fur. I have been out with men of that kind, and they were always poor trappers." As the two started on Jack looked at the sun and asked, "Do you know what time it is, Hugh?" "About noon, I guess," said Hugh. "I guess so, too," said Jack, "and just think, it's taken us a whole morning to set two traps." "Yes," replied Hugh; "it has taken a long time, and we'll be lucky if we get two or three more set before it's time for us to turn back to camp, but in two or three days you'll find that things will run along a good deal smoother and we won't have to take quite so much time as we have to-day." They went on up the stream, keeping well back from it, but occasionally, where there was an opening in the brush, riding out to the bank. A mile or two further on another dam was found with a pond smaller than the one below, and immediately above this the rise of the valley was sharper so that the stream was swift and shallow. After they had left the horses and were prospecting along the bank for a place to set, Hugh pointed out to Jack a slide from the grassy bank down into the water, which he said had been made, not by the beaver, but by an otter. "Sometime," he said, "we may try to catch that fellow. We're not rigged for it to-day, and I guess we'd better stick to beaver." At a little point near the head of the pond on the east side Hugh set another trap just as he had set the two previous ones, and then going to the head of the pond they crossed over and set another on the west side. Here the main current ran close under the bank, and Hugh was obliged to build up a little bed of stones and gravel on which to rest his trap. "You see, son," he said, "you must have your trap so near to the top of the water that when the beaver makes a kind of a dive with his foot to raise his head up close to the medicine on the bait-stick, he will strike the pan of the trap with a foot and so spring it. Sometimes, if the water is a little deeper over the trap than a man thinks is just right, and he hasn't any way of building up a firm bed for the trap to rest on, he will take a stick and thrust it into the bank, pointing out level into the water about two inches below the surface. The beaver, swimming along toward the medicine, will hit this stick and it will stop him, and then when he makes a strong effort with his foot to get over it he will sink his foot so deep under water as to hit the pan of the trap. "There," he said, as he backed away from the last trap set. "Now let us walk up the stream for a little way, and then go out of it and around to the horses. I have always thought that if a man takes reasonable care in setting his traps, there is more danger that the beaver will notice where he's gone in and out of the stream than there is of their suspecting something about the trap. Of course, you've got to be careful always in setting, but I've always had an idea that when a beaver gets the scent of the medicine in his nose he becomes so intent on that that he doesn't notice other signs right about the trap." They kept on up the stream for quite a little way, and then leaving it, went around to their horses again. Hugh looked at the sun as they mounted, and said, "We have lots of time to get back to camp, and I think it might be worth while for us, on our way back, to go down to the two traps we set below. We might easily have something in one of them, seeing how tame these beaver are, and how they seem to be out all day long." On the way back, they stopped as suggested, but only went near enough to the bank of the stream to see that neither trap had been disturbed, and then returned to camp. Half an hour was spent in stretching the lion's skin that Jack had killed the day before, and while they were at work at this Hugh said, "There seem to be quite a lot of lions in this country, son, and it's worth while to kill one every chance we get. We might run across a camp of Utes down here, and the Utes, like all other Indians that I know anything about, think a great deal of lion's skins. The chances are that you could trade this skin for three or four good beaver, and of course those would be worth a great deal more than a lion's skin, which is good for nothing except to look at. The Indians, you know, like lions' skins to make bow cases and quivers. I have often thought that maybe they have the same idea about the lion's skin that they do about the feathers of hawks or owls." "How do you mean, Hugh?" asked Jack. "Why," said Hugh, "you know that the Indians think a great deal of all the birds that catch their prey; that is, the eagles, hawks, and owls; they value them and their feathers in war, and they think that wearing those things helps them to be successful in war. I suppose the idea is that as the hawk or the eagle is fierce and strong and successful in attacking his enemies, so they, if they wear his feathers, will be fierce and strong and successful. In other words, they think that the qualities of the bird will be given to them if they have about them something that belongs to the bird. "Well, now, here's a mountain lion; he is cunning and cautious, creeping about and scarcely ever being seen, able to catch his prey and hold and kill it with his sharp claws and his strong teeth, and maybe the Indians think that if they have about them something that belongs to him they will also have some of his qualities." "Jerusalem, Hugh," said Jack, "I like to hear you tell about what the Indians believe, and why they believe it. I wonder if most men who have seen much of Indians understand as well as you do how they think about things. Of course, it's fun to hear you tell about their habits and what they do, but it's better fun yet to hear you tell about how they think about the different matters of their living." "Well, son," said Hugh, "I've talked a heap with Indians about all these matters, and I do like to hear how they feel about them. I guess maybe there are lots of other people feel the way you and I do; but most of the old-time hunters and mountain men didn't think about much of anything except gathering a lot of fur and then going in and selling it, and getting their money and spending it as quick as they could, and then starting out to get more fur. "I mind that once your uncle, when I was telling him some story about Indians, said to me, 'The proper study of mankind is man,' and when I told him I thought so, too, he said that that was something that some poet said a couple of hundred years ago." "Well, I guess it's so, Hugh," said Jack, "no matter who it was said it." When the panther skin had been stretched, Hugh told Jack to put around it the same protection that they had stretched about the grizzly bear skin, and soon after this had been done supper was ready. The dishes were washed before the sun had set, and building up the fire, the two companions lounged about it with the comfortable feeling which follows a day of hard work. For setting traps, although it does not sound like very hard work, had really required a good deal of effort. "Now, son," remarked Hugh, "we want to get started to-morrow morning in good season, and we ought to be on our way before it's plain daylight. Of course, I hope that we'll find a beaver in every trap, but it may be that we won't find anything but feet." "How do you mean, Hugh? Is it so that the beaver will gnaw their feet off to get out of a trap?" "Not so," said Hugh. "I don't reckon a beaver knows enough for that in the first place, or could do it in the second. A beaver's foot is made up of a whole lot of pretty strong bones, and I question whether even a beaver could cut through those bones, and then he wouldn't know enough to do it. All a beaver knows when he gets caught is to struggle, and pull, and twist, and turn, and try to get away. Very often, if the traps are not properly set, they do get away, leaving their feet in the trap, but they don't gnaw their feet off; they twist them off. That is something that can be done and often is done, and that's the reason, as maybe I've told you before, that we always try to set our traps so that a beaver as soon as he gets caught, will plunge into deep water, and will be held there by the trap until he drowns. Then he has no opportunity of fighting with the trap and trying to get free. Of course, it often happens that it isn't possible to set your traps so that your beaver will drown, and where that isn't possible, you are likely to lose a good many of the beaver that you catch. It used to be a common thing to catch beaver with only three feet, sometimes with only two, and I once caught one that had only one foot, a hind foot that he got into the trap." "I should think, Hugh, that a beaver that had been caught once and had got away would be mighty hard to catch again." "Yes," said Hugh, "that's so, of course. He's always on the lookout for a trap, and then, too, if a beaver has lost a foot, a quarter of the chance of getting him is gone. If he's lost two feet he's only got two feet that can get into the trap, instead of having four, like an ordinary beaver. Lots of queer things happen in beaver trapping. I reckon I never told you that story of old Jim Beckwourth's about the beaver and the trap that was stolen by a buffalo." "No," answered Jack. "That sounds as if it ought to be a queer story or a pretty good lie." "Well," replied Hugh, "Jim Beckwourth had the name of being the biggest liar that ever traveled these prairies, but I wouldn't be surprised if he told the truth that time, and, anyway, Jim Bridger was with him when he found the trap with the beaver in it out on the high prairie a couple miles from where it was set. "It seems, according to the story--it happened long before my time--that Jim came to a place where he'd set a trap and found that it was gone. There was sign there that some buffalo had crossed the creek just at this point. Jim hunted up and down the stream and couldn't find hair nor hide of the trap. The next day he and Jim Bridger went back again and looked some more, and not being able to find anything, they started on to join their party that was moving, and followed the buffalo trail that led from the place where the trap had been set. They had gone a couple of miles out on the prairie when they saw something, and going up to it found it to be a beaver, still in the trap, with the chain and float-stick all attached. Jim always claimed that one of the buffalo when crossing the creek got his head tangled in the chain of the trap and carried beaver, trap, and float-stick away out to the prairie before dropping it. It's a good story, but I'd hate to swear to it or to anything else that Jim Beckwourth ever said." "That is a good story, Hugh," said Jack. "Isn't it wonderful," he added after a pause, "what strange things happen out here on the prairie, but there are lots of them that people back East wouldn't believe at all." "Well, of course," said Hugh, "we all of us measure things up by what we ourselves have seen and done, and when we hear about things that are outside of the range of our own experience, we think they're wonderful." For an hour or two longer they sat about the fire chatting over various matters, and then on Hugh's repeating the suggestion that to-morrow morning they must be early afoot, they went to bed. CHAPTER XV THEY SKIN BEAVER The crackling of the fire was the first thing to rouse Jack next morning, and when he sat up in bed he saw that it was still dark, and that Hugh was at work cooking breakfast. "Time to be astir, son," said Hugh, who had heard Jack's movement, and in a very short time Jack was dressed and down by the spring dousing himself with the cold water. The air was sharp and Jack crowded close to the fire, but soon a cup of coffee and some hot antelope meat warmed him up. The horses were brought in and saddled, and carrying the four traps on their saddles, and the ax, the two started up the stream. Dawn was beginning to show in the east, and before they had reached the first of the beaver traps the sun was up. As they rode along after it got light, Hugh kept close to the edge of the willows and seemed to be looking for something, which presently he found. This was a willow sapling which forked just above the ground, sending up two sprouts to a height of twelve or fifteen feet. He cut the sapling off below the fork, cut off one of the main branches close to the fork and then trimmed the other branch, having thus a limber pole ten or twelve feet long with a stout hook on its heavier end. This he carried with him. When they left the horses he gave it to Jack, saying: "Pack this for me, son, while I carry the ax and a couple of traps." They approached the stream by the same route that they had followed the day before, and when they had come in sight of the place where the first trap had been, Hugh said, "Something has happened here"; and pointed to the stream just below where the trap had been set, where Jack saw one end of the float-stick projecting above the water. "Well," said Hugh, "I reckon we've got to get back that trap of ours and see what there is in it." When they had come opposite the float stick, Hugh put the ax in the water, and taking the long willow pole from Jack, reached out, caught the float-stick and pulled it in within reach of his hand, and he gave the willow back to Jack and began to drag the trap toward him. Almost at once he said to Jack, "Well, son, we've got a beaver, I reckon"; and a moment or two later, after hauling in the chain, he lifted the trap out of the water, and Jack saw the head and shoulders of a good-sized beaver. "Now," said Hugh, "we'll go up and look at the other trap, and then set over again. These are pretty good places, and we might catch several beaver here." As Jack passed the trap and the beaver, which here lay almost at the surface of the water, he looked down at it with the greatest interest, but there was no time to stop and examine it. Hugh was plowing along through the water toward the other point, and Jack could see the end of the float-stick of the trap there just sticking out of the water, and looking much as it had looked the day before, after the trap had been set. Hugh said nothing, but advanced to the point, and then motioned to Jack to give him the willow pole, with which he felt in the water near the base of the float-stick and after two or three efforts hauled in the trap, in which there was a beaver. "Pretty good luck so far, son," said Hugh. "Now I am going to set this trap over again here, because that float-stick is firm and this is a rattling good place. Suppose you take this beaver and drag it down to the place where we leave the creek, and then maybe take the other beaver down there, too. By the time you've done that, I'll have set the two traps, and then we'll take the two beaver out." Jack took the dead beaver by a fore-paw and walked back along the shore. When he had reached the other trap, he tried to take the other beaver from it, but the springs were too stiff, and so he left it and went on down to the point where they were to go out of the water. As he looked back, he saw Hugh coming down to the trap in which the beaver was, and leaving the animal that he had been dragging at the edge of the water, he went back to Hugh, who by this time had freed the other beaver and was at work resetting the trap. Jack dragged this beaver down to the first one, and in a few moments Hugh had overtaken him, and they started across the meadow, dragging the beaver over the grass. When they reached the horses one of the animals was put on behind each saddle and they started up the creek to visit the other traps. Here their luck had been equally good, and two beaver were taken from these two traps and the traps reset. "Well, son," said Hugh, "if this sort of thing keeps up we'll have to bring a pack horse along with us to carry the beaver into camp. Now let us take all four of these animals up into that pine timber over there and skin them and save ourselves the trouble of carrying them to camp. If we need any of the meat we can take that down, of course." "It looks to me, Hugh," said Jack, "as if the skinning of these four beaver was going to be quite a job." "Well," said Hugh, "so it will. I didn't suppose that we'd get more than two to-day, and figured that we would take them down to camp, but after this I think it would be a good idea for us to carry our skinning knives and whetstones with us." "Our skinning knives, Hugh?" questioned Jack. "Why, we've both got our skinning knives in our belts now." "Yes," said Hugh, "that's so, but those are not the best kind of knives to skin beaver with. They're all right when you are skinning game where you make wide sweeps, and do a lot of stripping; but where you've got to naturally whittle a hide off, as you have to do with a beaver, and at the same time have to be mighty careful not to make any cuts, a smaller, shorter knife is better. It is easier to handle, and you can work more quickly with it. I'll show you the knives we'll use when we get back to camp to-night. Now, if you've got such a thing in your pocket as a jack-knife, and I'm pretty sure you have, you better get that out, and we will look for a couple of whetstones as we go along." They loaded the two additional beaver on their horses, and walked, leading them. After they got out away from the bottom, Hugh stopped three or four times and picked up several stones, most of which he threw away, but at last he seemed to find two that suited him. They had gone some distance from the place where the last beaver were captured, when, at the edge of a little piece of pine timber, Hugh stopped and said, "Here is a good place, son, to tackle this job; throw down those beaver that are on your horse and drop your rope, and we'll let the horses feed while we work." The beaver were drawn off to one side, and then Hugh gave Jack one of the stones that he had picked up and explained to him how to whet the blade of his jack-knife so as to get a keen edge on it. Then the toil of beaver skinning began. It seemed to Jack pretty slow, and he had no more than half finished his first beaver when Hugh threw the hide from his to one side and pushed the carcass away. Jack, however, finished his beaver before Hugh had finished the second one, and the two worked together on Jack's second beaver, and when they started back they had a couple hours' daylight yet before them. "Now," said Hugh, "we'll stop and get some willows on our way back to camp and stretch these hides to-night. Then we'll be able to start in fresh in the morning. If you ever let this work pile up on you, your troubles begin sure. I'd rather skin all night than leave one beaver over till next morning." After they got into camp that night, Hugh gave Jack a lesson in making the hoops on which to stretch the pelts; and the fur that they had taken during the day was hung up in one of the trees to dry. Jack looked at the stretched beaver skins, and thought that they seemed like great furry shields, only that they were about four times as big as any shield that he had ever seen. Jack was tired that night as he sprawled on the ground by the fire, and it did seem to him as if everything in camp smelled of beaver. He said to Hugh: "I wish there was some way of getting rid of this smell of the beaver and the beaver grease." "Oh," laughed Hugh, "you haven't got used to it yet. If you don't like the smell of beaver grease you'll never be a real trapper. That's what the trapper lives in, and after a while he gets so he likes it. If you are going to handle beaver and skin beaver, you can't help but smell of them." "Well," said Jack sleepily, "I think it's a pretty high price to pay for the fur." "Well," replied Hugh, "try it a few days, and if you don't like it better, why, we can quit trapping and turn to something else. I noticed to-day along the creek, son," he went on, "a lot of mink tracks. Now, of course, mink isn't worth much of anything. Not much more than muskrat, but it's fur all the same, and if you feel like it we can make a few dead-falls and get some mink. They ought to be pretty good here, close to the mountains." "You catch them with dead-falls, do you, Hugh?" asked Jack. "Yes, the mink is a pretty simple-minded animal, and he'll go into 'most any kind of a trap. We ought to have some fish or bird for bait, though. I suppose maybe we could get some suckers out of this creek, but I guess the easiest way would be to kill one of those birds that you showed me the other day." "Oh, no, Hugh," said Jack, waking up, "don't let's do that; they're all breeding now, and it would be a pity to break up a family. Wouldn't mink go into a trap baited with beaver meat?" "Maybe," answered Hugh; "I never heard of anybody using that for bait. We'll get something, though, and catch a few if you like, but if the beaver are going to act as they did to-day, why, they'll keep us busy for a little while. To-morrow, if we get time, I want to go round on the other side of that pond and set a couple of traps there, and then come down below and set two traps there. We've got eight traps, and they might as well all be in use." "Well," said Jack, "I can imagine beaver getting too thick. I am surely going to buck if this trip comes down to just plain beaver trapping." "Well, don't make up your mind in too much of a hurry, son," said Hugh. "You'll be able to use your hands a little better after two or three days' practice, and I am sure you'd like to take a nice pack of beaver back East to show to your friends." They went to bed early that night, but again next morning Hugh had Jack up before dawn. He was rested now, and felt more interested in the work of trapping than he had the night before. The two got away from camp before sun-up, and on visiting their traps again found that each one contained a beaver. Hugh showed Jack how to set a trap, and Jack readily learned that it was knack rather than strength that was required to compress these powerful springs. The work went on a little faster than it had the day before. They took the beaver over to the same place and skinned them there. Before they reached it, however, Hugh said to Jack, "Look out, son, something has been here interfering with our pile," and sure enough when they got to the place they saw that two of the beaver had been dragged off down the ravine. Following the trail a little way, it appeared that three bears had found the carcasses and had made away with two of them. The tracks showed a good-sized grizzly and two quite small cubs. "Well," said Hugh, "I don't care very much to be feeding these bears, but it's less trouble for us to skin here than to carry the beaver to camp. Now these bears are our meat, son, if we want them. We can build a trap and catch the old one, or we can come here and sit around and watch for them, and kill them with our guns. I am inclined to think that would be the better way, because it's a whole lot of trouble to build a bear trap, and we haven't got the tools, and we haven't got the timber right here. At least," he said, looking around, "no such timber as I would like." "Well," he went on, "let's skin our beaver and then to-morrow we'll see what has happened." To-day Jack found that skinning a beaver was much easier than it had been yesterday. He learned how to grip and turn over the hide, and how to make his knife strokes longer and more effective. This day Hugh had not forgotten to bring the little skinning knives of which he had previously spoken. It was not yet noon when the work of skinning was ended and they had wiped the grease off their knives and hands and tied the bundle of fur behind one of the saddles. "It goes better to-day, son, doesn't it?" said Hugh. "Why, yes," replied Jack; "that wasn't such very hard work. I could skin another beaver and not mind it greatly." "Well," said Hugh, "instead of doing that let us go out here and cross the creek and go down on the the other side and set these other traps. Do you want to take any of this meat along? There's one young beaver there that might be good and tender, but as far as I'm concerned, I'd just as soon have antelope meat." "So would I, Hugh," said Jack. "But now look here, I'm thinking about those bears. Can we not fix this meat here in some fashion so that they can't carry it away, or if not that, can't we fix it so that it will give some trouble, and they'll make more sign than they did yesterday?" "Why, yes," said Hugh, "we can stake it down and maybe that will make them stop and eat it here. We can hang it up in a tree, and that will make them stay around here and get them used to the place." Jack smiled at Hugh's joke, and then proposed that they should hang one of the beaver up in a tree out of reach of the bears. Hugh agreed, and Jack climbed up into the pine tree, where Hugh threw him a rope by which he hauled up the carcass of a beaver, which he hung over a limb in such fashion that it could not be shaken out by the wind. "There," said Hugh, "I reckon before we get through we'll have those bears regularly wonted to this place, but I'd rather not shoot at them, or fire any guns until we have finished our trapping." "Well," said Jack, "we can be pretty sure that the bears won't go away as long as we leave something for them to eat here every day." "No," said Hugh, "they won't leave the place as long as there's food." "Do you know, son," he went on, "what the best thing in the world is to drag, if you want to make a trail around a trap to bring a bear to it?" "No," said Jack, "what is it?" "Why, it's a beaver. I don't know whether it is that bears are especially fond of beaver, or whether its just the strong smell, but if you take a beaver carcass and drag that, every bear that crosses the trail will follow it up. We'll have to try that in case we set a bear trap anywhere." "Why, Hugh," replied Jack, "that's just what a wolfer told me on the boat that year we went to Benton; or at least he told me a beaver made the best kind of a drag for wolves." "Well," said Hugh, "he told you true." Mounting, they rode to the stream, and crossing, followed it down on the west bank. Hugh set two more traps in the pond where they had taken the last beaver, and on the west side of the pond below he set two, and in another pond still lower down, two more, near its head. Now all the eight traps were set. As they rode back to camp, Hugh said to Jack, "I'm beginning to feel sorry for you already, son, for you're liable to have a day of pretty hard work to-morrow. If we should get eight beaver, I reckon you'd think you had your hands full. Besides that, I'm beginning to feel a little touch of rheumatism in my right arm, and I don't know whether I'll be able to use a knife to-morrow or not. This wading around in the water, even in rubber boots, isn't good for a man as old as I am." Jack looked hard at Hugh to see whether he was joking or not, and did not answer, but looked away, and then quickly looking back again caught the twinkle in Hugh's eye, which told him that his friend was just making fun of him. "Tired to-night, son?" said Hugh, after supper had been eaten and they were comfortably sitting by the fire. "No, Hugh," replied Jack, "not as tired as I was last night." "Well, son, you've heard lots about the old trappers and the life they led, and how full it was of danger and excitement, and maybe romance, but this thing that we're doing now is just about the old life, except that we don't have to keep our guns in our hands all the time, and our eyes peeled for Blackfeet. The old trapper got up in the morning, went to his traps, set them, brought in his fur and skinned and stretched it, and then went to bed and slept. Of course, every little while he killed a deer or a buffalo to eat, but most of his life was hard work, and all he got for it was money enough to buy powder and lead and traps for his next season's work, and a few days or a week or two of what he called a good time at the post. They say cow punching is hard work, but I don't believe any man ever worked harder than the trapper of the old days, and he was always in danger of being rubbed out. I tell you that these ranchmen and cowhands nowadays that are always bellyaching about how hard they have to work, have a mighty easy time, and don't you forget it." "I guess that's so, Hugh. I guess a good deal of those wonderful good times that we think other people have, exists only in our imagination." "You bet they do," said Hugh. "Now, fur is good, it brings money and we all like to have it, but I tell you it's like every other thing in this world, it's got to be paid for. If you go into a store back East and want to buy beaver skin, you've got to pay so much money for it. If you want a beaver skin here you've got to start out, find where there are beaver, splash around in the water setting your traps, skin and stretch your beaver hide, and then carry it back in to the railroad. The price you pay for a beaver skin back East isn't very much, considering all the work that's been done before that beaver skin came into the store of the man that sells it to you." "I never thought of it just in that way before, Hugh," said Jack. "I know I've heard people in the East grumble because furs were so expensive, but, of course, those people didn't know any more than I knew what it cost to get them." "No," said Hugh, "I reckon they didn't, but if you think about it you'll see that I'm right. Every good thing has got to be paid for by somebody. "Well, now, we'd better go to bed," Hugh went on, "and to-morrow when we go to our traps, I think we'll take a couple of pack horses. We may have good luck, and if we should get five or six beaver, they will be more than we'll want to pack on our riding horses. In fact, I don't know but that we might as well separate, and one go up on each side of the creek, looking at the traps; do you suppose you could set some of these traps yourself?" "I don't know," said Jack, "I think I understand the theory of it all right, but whether I can really do it is a question; and besides that, we've only one bottle of beaver medicine." "That's so," said Hugh. "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll make an early start and look at the traps together, and I'll have you set them all, and then we'll go and skin whatever beaver we have taken." "I guess that will be better," said Jack. The next morning they picketed one of the pack horses and took the other two with them. The horse left in camp was uneasy, and long after they got out of sight they could hear him neighing for his companions, but it grew light before long, and just before they turned into the stream bottom, Jack rode up on a little knoll from which the camp could be seen, and on his return reported to Hugh that the horse was feeding contentedly enough. They crossed the stream to the west bank, and to Hugh's great satisfaction found that each one of the traps on that side held a beaver. These they loaded on one of the pack horses, and then crossing the stream at the head of the upper pond, they found two more beaver. As they passed the various traps, Hugh had Jack set them, explaining again the importance of keeping the human scent away from the traps and from the bait-sticks, and showing him that washing in water was the best way to get rid of that scent. "If you have to handle anything above water," said Hugh, "do it with gloves on and see that these gloves are often smoked on the outside. That will kill the scent." After they had crossed the stream, Hugh said, "Now, suppose I go up to our skinning ground and go to work on these beaver, and you take this other pack horse and go on down and lift the other traps. You ought to be able to set them, and if you happen to find anything in them you can get it out to where the pack horse is and put it on him and bring it up here. You see we have six beaver now, and it's going to take quite a little while to skin them, and I'd better be busy at that than wasting an hour to go down to these other traps." "Yes," said Jack, "I think I can manage all right. Anyhow, I'll try. I think I've got clearly in my head just how the traps ought to be set." "Yes," said Hugh, "I reckon you have. If I were going down with you, I would move those traps a little bit, but perhaps you had better not try that; but do as you like about it. Anyhow, get back as soon as you can." The morning had only half passed when they parted, and half an hour later Jack had taken two beaver from the other traps and was struggling with the problem of setting them. It was not very easy to do this alone--not nearly so easy as it had been when Hugh was by to make a suggestion to him if he began to do something in the wrong way. However, he set both traps, but had some difficulty in thrusting the float-stick of the lower one into the bottom. He remembered in dipping the bait-stick into the medicine to hold the stick close to its sharpened end, and not to touch any portion of it that was to stand above water with his hand or his clothing. After the traps had been set, he dragged the two beaver over the meadow to where the horse stood, and fastened a sling rope about the neck of one of the beaver, and the other end of the rope about the root of its tail, and then pulling steadily and evenly on the ropes from the other side of the pack horse, he raised first one and then the other beaver up on the saddle and lashed them firmly there. Then with the animal's hackamore in his hand, he mounted and rode to join Hugh. Hugh was found sitting cross-legged on the pine needles, and hard at work. Already he had stripped the skin from one beaver, and another was almost finished. "Hello," said Hugh, "we're surely in great luck to-day. If this was in old times, I'd say we would have to look out for Indians to-night. So much good luck is likely to be followed by some that is bad. "Say," he went on, "we haven't time to look around much now, but after we get through skinning these beaver I want you to see what the bears did here last night. They regularly cleaned up all the meat we left here, and one of them has been up that tree trying to get at the carcass that you hung up there." Jack dropped his load off the pack horse and pulled the beaver over near to Hugh, and while he did so he was looking at the tree and could see the scratches on the bark where some animal had climbed up. "But, Hugh," he said, "they are grizzly bears, and I thought that grizzlies never climbed trees." "Well," said Hugh, "the big ones don't. I reckon it's because they're too heavy and their front claws are too long, but the little fellows can scramble up a tree pretty well, and often do. Many a time I've come on an old bear with cubs and seen the young ones race up a tree while the mother footed it off through the timber." "Then you think it was a cub that climbed up this tree?" "Yes," said Hugh, "a cub, and a little one, too. If you look at the claw marks on the tree, you'll think the same thing." "Well," said Jack, "we'll have to take these bears in, I guess." "Yes," said Hugh, "we'll do that, and we can try it 'most any time. You see that little knoll over there on the prairie? By coming down that ravine beyond it, and creeping up to the edge of the knoll, we can get a shot at them any time, if they are here." "So we can," said Jack. In fact, whether by accident or by Hugh's choosing, the position was a strategic one. A ravine led from the upper prairie to the stream bottom, and just above it was a high, rounded knoll, only a short rifle shot from where they were sitting. "Have you any idea, Hugh, about what time the bears come here?" "No," Hugh responded, "I haven't; but judging from the way all game here acts, they ought to be right tame, and to be about any time of the day, except about midday when the sun is hot." "Well," asked Jack, "what's the matter with trying them to-morrow morning before we got to the traps?" "No harm in it at all," said Hugh; "but if we should get one or two bears and four or five beaver, it would give us a whole day's hard work, but then if we get too tired we can rest the next day." "Well," Jack suggested, "we might try the bears to-morrow, and then go to the traps, and let whatever luck we have determine what we'll do next day." "All right," said Hugh; "say we do." After a pause, he went on, "As we were saying the other night, son, we don't want to make a labor of this trip. We've got sixteen beaver now in three days; they ought to be worth fifty dollars, and I don't know but that we've stayed here about long enough. If we should make another good catch to-morrow, we might pack up as soon as our fur is dry enough and go along further. Of course, I reckon that by staying here and working hard, we should get three or four hundred dollars' worth of fur out of this stream. You can see we haven't half gone over it yet; we haven't touched that big pond down below where there must be plenty of beaver. But as I said before, we are not out here to make a grub stake for winter." "I think with you," said Jack, "that perhaps it would be just as well to move camp to some other place." "Well," said Hugh, "we'll see what happens to-morrow." And now for a while nothing was said, and the silence was broken only by the occasional whetting of a knife. Hugh peeled off the beaver skins pretty rapidly, and by this time Jack was becoming quite skillful. Nevertheless, the afternoon was well advanced before the last of the pelts was freed from its carcass and they were ready to go. The eight skins spread out on the ground made a fine showing. "Notice that pelt, son," said Hugh, pointing to one of the hides that was very much darker than the rest. "It isn't often you see as good a beaver pelt as that. That one is worth any three of the others, perhaps any four. Color counts for an awful lot in any fur, and it isn't often that you see one so nearly black as that one, though I've seen one or two." The pelt in question was not only very dark, but was peculiarly fine and silky, and on parting the hair, Jack saw that the fur beneath was also very dark. "We'll have to take special care of that pelt," said Hugh. "It's valuable." It was nearly sundown when they got to camp, and by the time they had finished supper, night was falling. Jack felt pretty tired, but no amount of exertion ever seemed to weary Hugh. "Your muscles must be made of wire," said Jack. "Here am I nearly tired to death, and you seem just as fresh as you did this morning. I wish I could stand as much as you can." "It isn't that I'm any stronger than other people," said Hugh, "but I'm doing work that I'm used to, and have been used to all my life; so it isn't as hard on me as if I were doing some new job. Now, if you were to sit me down by a table and make me write letters for two or three hours, I expect I'd get fearful tired, and yet I've seen your uncle sit down and write all day long, from morning until supper time at night, and it never seemed to tire him a bit. It's all in being used to your work." "Yes," said Jack, "I expect there's a whole lot in that." "Now, son," said Hugh, "if we're going to try those bears to-morrow we'll have to go up on the prairie and make a circle to get into that ravine, and then come down to the place we're going to shoot from. Of course, it may be that the bears won't be there, and in that case we'll just go on to our traps. We'll have to leave the horses somewhere up in the ravine, where they'll be out of sight, and then go back for them. Of course, if by any chance the wind should be wrong, we won't see anything of the bears, but if it's right still, or if the wind is from the west, we may get a shot. I don't think we need to start out specially early, but, of course, we want to get there soon after sun-up." It was quite light next morning when they rode up on the prairie and headed north to cross the ravine, from which they hoped to approach the bears, and the sun had risen some time before they reached it. From time to time they got glimpses of the stream valley, which showed them where they were, and at last Hugh turned to the left and rode down a little ravine which soon became deeper. Presently he stopped and said to Jack, "Son, you stay here with the horses and let me go ahead and look down at the stream, so that I can find out just where we are. I think this is the coulée we were looking for, but I'm not quite sure of it"; and he strode off down the gulch. A little later he came back, saying, "This is the place, and down here only a short distance is a clump of brush where we can tie up our horses." After leaving the horses, they went forward on foot, walking in the bottom of the ravine, whose high banks on either side concealed them, and as they approached the stream Jack began to recognize the different features of the landscape and knew just where their skinning ground was. Soon the little knoll that they had spoken of the day before came in sight, and there they left the ravine and walked toward the hill's crest. There was no wind, and Jack felt sure that if the bears were there they would get a shot. As they cautiously lifted their bared heads above the fringe of grass on the crest of the hill, they saw the place where they had been sitting yesterday lighted up by the clear rays of the newly risen sun. Under one of the trees was a tawny bundle, of which Jack could make nothing. He was only sure that it had not been there the day before, but a little to the right of this bundle was a bear sitting on her haunches and looking out down the stream and almost directly at them, and Jack heard Hugh whisper, "Better shoot quick, son, she's liable to see us any second. I'll take one of the cubs." [Illustration: A BEAR, SITTING ON HER HAUNCHES, WAS LOOKING ALMOST DIRECTLY AT THEM.--_Page 186._] Jack slowly raised his rifle to his shoulder, but even his deliberate movement must have been seen by the bear, for she sprang to her feet just as he pulled the trigger, and he felt certain that he had scored a miss. At the instant that he fired, the bundle under the tree separated itself into two little bears, one of which instantly scrambled up the tree, while the other ran toward its mother. A shot rang out from Hugh's rifle, but Jack's eyes were fixed on the old bear and he could not see the result. At Jack's shot, the old bear had started directly toward the crest of the knoll from which it had come, and Jack was astonished at the speed with which she approached. He slipped another cartridge into his rifle and fired again, apparently without effect, and again, but still the bear came on, and by this time she was not more than thirty yards off, coming up the gentle slope at railroad speed. Jack heard Hugh say, "Steady, son, steady. Keep your wits about you. Run off a few yards to your left and I'll go to the right, and let the next shot be plumb center." Jack made a couple of jumps to the left and whirled and again threw up his gun. As he did so he saw that the bear was running toward Hugh, who was at some little distance to the right. Jack fired well in advance of the bear's shoulder, and at the shot she fell to the ground, but instantly sprang to her feet and continued her course toward Hugh. She had come within two or three jumps of him when his rifle spoke, and the bear collapsed upon the prairie. Hugh had reloaded and sprung to one side and stood waiting. He called out to Jack, "Hold on a bit, son, don't go near her. She is dead enough, but we'll give her time to finish dying." In a moment or two the bear gave a few convulsive struggles and stretched out her legs and was indeed dead. "How came it you didn't stop her with your first shot, son?" said Hugh. "Why," said Jack, "didn't you notice that she saw us and moved just as I fired?" "Well," said Hugh, "she surely kept coming. I want to see where all those shots went, and why she didn't die quicker. Your last shot would have killed her in a short time, but she might have run fifty or sixty yards, and have torn up two or three men before she died. Let's look at her." As they took hold of the animal to turn her over she did not seem very large, yet they found her so heavy that it was not easy to turn her on to her back, and they could not have lifted her from the ground. In the forehead, over and just inside of the right eye, the ball that had stopped her final rush had entered and had passed through the brain. Jack's last ball had struck her just behind the elbow, and had passed through the heart. A wound was found where a ball had cut across the belly just back of the ribs, and Jack concluded that this was his first shot. They could not find his other balls, but those, if they had hit her, would be seen when the bear was skinned. "What became of the cubs, Hugh?" said Jack, as they arose from their examination. As he spoke, there was a scraping sound behind them, and turning their eyes toward the timber, the little bear that had been up a tree was seen to reach the ground and to disappear among the trees before there was time for either of them to pick up his rifle. "Well," said Hugh, "that little cuss rather played it on us, didn't he? One of us ought to have gone down there and killed him--that is, if we wanted him--of course, his hide wouldn't be of any special use; it's only that it sounds more like something to kill three bears than it does to kill two." "Then you got the other cub, did you, Hugh?" asked Jack. "Yes," said Hugh, "he sort o' stopped to look when his mother began to run, and I killed him." "Well," said Jack, "we've got quite a job on our hands now with two bears to skin and our traps to take up." "Right you are," agreed Hugh, "we've got a full day's work. Now, what do you think? I believe the best thing for us to do is to take up these traps, skin these bears and whatever beaver we get, and then to move along?" "Yes," said Jack, "I guess that's the best thing to do. As you said the other night, we didn't come out here to do hard work all summer, and it's certainly better fun to be traveling around than it is to be skinning beaver all day. We ought to get some more beaver on other creeks, I should think, but even if we don't, we've got enough to make a half dozen beaver robes." "Well," said Hugh, "we don't want to be wasting any more time than we have to. Now, shall I sit here and skin this bear, and leave you to go and pick up the traps, or will you skin the bear and let me go for the traps?" "Which do you think would be better, Hugh?" asked Jack. "Well, there's hard work enough in either job," said Hugh, "but I think if I were you I'd sit here and do the skinning, and let me go for the traps. If we get any beaver, there'll be quite a lot of pulling and hauling and carrying to do, getting the beaver and the traps both out and loading them onto the horses." "All right," said Jack, "I'll go at this old lady at once, then, and when you go back for the horses, bring Pawnee along and leave him here with me." Jack got out his skinning knife and whetstone and at once set himself at the task of skinning the bear, while Hugh returned up the ravine, and before long came back leading the two pack horses and Jack's riding horse. CHAPTER XVI OFF FOR NEW TRAPPING GROUND The morning seemed a long one to Jack, and the hide seemed to stick very close to the old bear. As the day advanced, the sun broiled down hotter and hotter, while Jack cut and pulled and sweated over the carcass, and seemed to make very slow progress. Gradually, however, the hide fell away more and more from the flesh, until it only clung to the body under the line of the back. Jack worked as far under the body on either side as he could, and then pushing the carcass over, freed the hide from it almost everywhere, except under the shoulders. Try as he might, he could not lift the body so that he could make the final cuts here. At last, however, it occurred to him to call his horse to his aid, and tying his lariat about the forelegs of the bear, he took a turn of it about the horn of his saddle and started Pawnee away, dragging the carcass a few feet to one side, and then leaving his horse standing there to hold the carcass in position, he went back and with a few more cuts separated the hide from the carcass, and then dragged the latter off the hide. It had been a hard job, and Jack was covered with bear's oil and perspiration, but he felt that it would not do to stop here, so turning the bear's hide flesh side down upon the grass, he went down to where the cub lay. First, however, he looked to see where the balls had gone from the other shots that he had fired at the bear. One of them he found slightly imbedded in the muscles of the foreleg, but there was no trace whatever of the other, which must have been a clean miss. He could hardly believe that a ball from his powerful gun would have stopped and flattened on the muscles of the bear's leg, as he found this one had done, but the evidence was plain there under his eyes. The work of skinning the little bear was trifling, compared to the labor that he had put on the old one. Its skin was thinner and its fat softer, and it took him only about an hour to get the hide off. When he had done this, he took it up and spread it out by the old one. He was just about to get on his horse and ride up to the top of the bluff to see whether he could see anything of Hugh, when down in the valley below him he heard a sound of breaking sticks and crushing undergrowth, and a moment later, to his amazement, a little bunch of buffalo broke out of the willows, raced across the valley, plunged into the stream, crossed it, and, with the activity of cats climbed the bluffs and disappeared. There were five of them, two old cows with their calves, and another that looked like a heifer. At no time had they been within easy rifle shot, and as a matter of fact, Jack was so astonished at their appearance that he did not think of shooting. Afterward he was very glad that this had been so, because at that distance he might well enough have wounded an animal which he could not afterward recover. Besides that, they did not need the meat. Before he had recovered from his astonishment at the appearance of these buffalo, Jack saw Hugh approaching, and he saw that each of the pack horses that followed him had a load, and when he saw it Jack almost groaned at the thought of having to do more skinning. When Hugh had come close, Jack mounted and they rode over to the place where they usually did this work, and on unloading the pack horses it was seen that there were six beaver. "Well, Hugh," said Jack, "it seems to me we're having a little too much luck." "More than you bargained for, eh, son?" said Hugh with a smile. "Well, it's certainly a fact that everybody in this world has got something to growl about. It's either not enough, or the wrong kind, or sometimes it's too much. Now, suppose I'd told you before we left the ranch that we'd get more beaver than you would feel like skinning; I guess you would have laughed at me a little, wouldn't you?" "Of course I would!" exclaimed Jack. "We've got to learn about all these things by having them happen to us, I suppose. I never would have believed that we could catch more fur than we wanted." "No," said Hugh, "I reckon not." "Well, at least," said Jack, "I've got the skin off both these bears." "So I see," replied Hugh, "and you did mighty well. I didn't suppose you'd have skinned more than one of them; in fact, I didn't feel sure but that the old one would tire you out, and I might have to help you when I got back. You stuck to that job well, son, and I'm glad you did." It made Jack feel good to have Hugh say that, for he was not much accustomed to speak words of praise. "Did you have any trouble with your traps, Hugh?" said Jack. "I thought you were gone a long time, but perhaps it was only because I got so tired of what I was doing." "Well," said Hugh, "it took quite a while to make the rounds and to pick up the traps and get the beaver out, and then one of those traps you set yesterday wasn't very well fixed, and the beaver had pulled up the float-stick and got ashore on a mud bank, and got away, just leaving his paw in the trap. If we were going to stop here and trap for a while, you would see that that would make quite a difference in our trapping. That beaver will warn all the others in his pond, and maybe all the others in other ponds, and they'll be a heap shyer from now on. Then there was one trap that hadn't been sprung. However, we've got six beaver, and it will take us till pretty near night to skin them; so we better start in and not spend any more time in chinwhack." "Good enough," said Jack; "but I mean bad enough." In a few moments they were hard at work and before they had finished their task the sun had sunk close to the tops of the western mountains. The beaver skins and the traps were packed on one of the horses, and then taking the other pack animal up to the top of the knoll, Hugh tied his coat over his head. They made a bundle of the bears' skins and lashed them on the pack saddle. When they had finished, Hugh said, "Now tie up this rope, son, and let me start on with the other pack horse and you stay behind and watch this fellow. Likely he'll buck when we take the blind off, but after he gets tired he'll follow." Hugh mounted, holding the rope of the other pack horse, and then riding up to windward of the blinded horse, took his coat from its head and rode on. The horse started quietly enough, until a turn in the trail carried to its nostrils the scent of its load. When it realized that the hateful thing that it smelt was on its back it was panic stricken for a while, and began to try to get rid of it by bucking. But after tiring itself out by pitching and by running, first in one direction, and then in another, it followed the other horse toward camp. Jack, who had stayed behind it, had to do some riding from side to side to keep it from running off over the prairie, or up the stream. When they reached camp it was not easy to catch the pack horse, the more so because none of the other horses was willing to go anywhere near it, especially from the leeward side. "Well," said Jack, after they had finally got the load off and turned the horses loose, "this business of packing green bear hides on horses doesn't seem to be all that it is cracked up to be." "It's always so," replied Hugh. "No horse likes to pack a bear hide, or rather no horse likes a bear or the smell of a bear. Of course there are some old plugs that will tote 'most anything, but these young horses haven't had experience enough to be willing to pack bears." "Well, Hugh," said Jack, that evening after supper, "we've got a day more to spend here, anyhow, for we've got to dry these hides." "Yes," replied Hugh, "we've go to do that, of course. We'll do well if we get off the day after to-morrow." A little later Hugh said, "By the way, son, I saw tracks of a little bunch of buffalo down the creek to-day. I knew there were a few down here in these parks, and I thought maybe we might see some of them, but I didn't expect to run on them right here." "Oh!" exclaimed Jack; "I meant to speak to you about that. I saw five buffalo to-day. They came out of the brush and crossed the creek right below where I was skinning the bear." "You did, eh?" asked Hugh interestedly. "Were there two calves with them?" "Yes," said Jack: "two calves and two cows, and I thought a heifer." "That's the bunch," declared Hugh. "The tracks I saw were right fresh, and there were two calves and two cows and one smaller track. Now, I wonder where they came from. I reckon the fire must have driven them out of the mountains, and they must have crossed over and got into the brush below here, and just been working up the creek, sticking to the timber all the time. You know, these buffalo down here are what mountain men call bison, that is, they're buffalo that live in the timber. There used to be lots of them all through the mountains." "Are they just like the plains buffalo, Hugh?" asked Jack, "or are they different?" "Well," said Hugh, "most people say they are different, but I never could see any more difference between them and the plains buffalo than there is between a mountain beaver and, say, a Missouri River beaver. These bison are darker and look to be a little heavier set than the plains buffalo, but I don't think that except for the color there is any great difference, and the difference in color is easily accounted for, because they live in the timber and don't get sunburned as the plains buffalo do, which are always out in the sunlight. Maybe we'll kill one before the trip is over, and then you can look at it and compare it in your mind with the buffalo you've seen on the prairie. I'd like to know what you think about it yourself." The next day immediately after breakfast Hugh and Jack stretched the bear hide, and while Hugh went over it with a dull knife and scraped from it all the fat that he could, Jack busied himself in stretching the beaver hides and hanging them up to dry in the shade. This work occupied them both till noon, and after dinner they sat about and rested, for now they had been hard at work for a number of days. "I reckon, son," said Hugh, "that we'll not make a very long march to-morrow. We can't do anything toward packing our fur until morning, and likely enough we won't get started until about noon. Then, however, we can make a march that will at least take us to another creek. I've half an idea that the best place for us to go now is back to the Platte, and perhaps, from there to the Michigan." "What's the Michigan, Hugh--a place or a stream?" "It's a creek," said Hugh, "and a good-sized one, that comes down out of the mountains from the east. There are some beaver on it. Maybe you'd like to stop there and trap." "I don't know," said Jack; "but I've an idea that I've had trapping enough to last me for two or three days. Maybe I'll look at it differently, though, when we get on the Michigan." The next morning Hugh looked at the bear hide and declared that he believed that by noon it would be set sufficiently so that they could take it up and pack it and move on, and that the last of the beaver hides could be handled in the same way. During the morning they took the beaver pelts that were already dry and folding them once made a pack of them, which, when tightly lashed, they covered with gunny sacking. These, with the first bear hide, were to make a top pack for one of the animals. About the middle of the day the pins which held the bears' hides were pulled up, the hides folded over, and after the beaver pelts had been taken from the hoops and each one folded once, these were put together to make a second pack, which also was to go on top of a load. The hides were not dry, but could be spread out again at the next camp. The morning had been dull and lowering and by the time their packs were made up and dinner eaten, a heavy mist was creeping down the mountainside toward the valley. Jack brought in the horses and saddled them all, and the work of packing was soon accomplished. By the time the little train was in motion a heavy mist was upon them, which sometimes was almost a rain. To one who is used to travel on the plains or the mountains it makes but little difference whether the march is through rain or sunshine. If it rains, the traveler protects himself as well as possible, and goes on his way as cheerfully as he can, consoled by a certain philosophy which may be only habit, or may be a disregard for discomfort which he knows is but temporary. If the sun is clear and bright, on the other hand, he is still more cheerful; but under no circumstances are his spirits greatly lowered. Men who have not had experience in life out of doors are likely to be depressed by a march through rain. One becomes more or less wet, and it seems hard not to have a house to go into to dry one's self. Tents have to be pitched on wet grounds, blankets are damp, meals must be cooked in the rain and are likely to be cold and wet, so that for one who is not used to outdoor life a rainy day is a real misfortune. On the open prairie a low hanging mist makes objects at a distance look like something quite different from what they are. Antelope seen through fog appear as large as horses, and a coyote may be taken for a gray wolf. If the fog is confusing to the human being who rides through it, it is, sometimes, not less so to the game. Even the keen eyes of the antelope are sometimes deceived at such a time. Jack was just riding over a low ridge behind the pack horses when over another ridge close at hand appeared two antelope cantering briskly toward him. They did not see him until they had come within a hundred yards, and then instead of turning and running away, they put on a burst of speed and ran directly in front of him, passing between himself and the last pack horse, and not more than thirty steps from him. Just as they were about to pass in front of him, Jack shouted at them and one of the two turned and ran directly toward him, crossing before his horse so close that it almost seemed as if the horse would run over it. Again Jack shouted just as the antelope was in front of him and the animal turned sharp to the right, and darted by him, going like the wind. If his rope had been free Jack could have easily caught the antelope, or if his gun had been in his hand he could have touched it with the barrel. Hugh did not loiter on the ride, but kept his horse going at a little jog-trot, and generally Jack kept the pack horses close behind him. By the middle of the afternoon the rain had ceased and the fog lifted, and when they rode down among the willows at the bottom of the Platte they were warm and dry again. The valley was plentifully dotted with feeding antelope. After a camp had been made Jack asked Hugh if it would not be well to kill something, for the last of the fresh meat had been consumed that morning, and unless something was killed they would have to eat bacon to-night. Hugh agreed that meat was needed, and as soon as the horses had been attended to and the tent put up, he advised Jack to go off and get a buck, saying that he himself would attend to the hides and spread them out to dry for the few hours of daylight that still remained. Down below the camp there was a large group of antelope which were widely scattered out, so that the prospect of getting within range was not very good, but after a little careful maneuvering Jack found himself on the creek bottom with about thirty yards of level grass land to cross before he could reach the willows, under cover of which the herd might be approached. A single old doe was staring at him very intently, and he wished to wait until she should move out of sight. The other animals, however, were already beginning to feed toward the bluffs, and after waiting for a few moments he saw that if he was to get a shot he could delay no longer. He dropped on his hands and knees, therefore, and crept through the grass toward the willows. He was in plain sight of the doe, which continued to look at him, and he could only hope that she might take him for some animal feeding in the bottom. There were numbers of cattle along the creek, and it was altogether possible that the antelope might take him for a cow or a calf. What he had hoped for happened, and before he had reached the willows he saw that the old doe was feeding once more. He crept carefully through the willows and got up close to a big buck, and feeling absolutely sure of it, threw up his gun to his shoulder and fired, making a clean miss, shooting well over the antelope. He was much mortified at his failure, so much so that he returned to camp depressed in spirit, and when Hugh asked him where his meat was he replied only by the Indian sign for "all gone," and did not speak until supper was ready. After the dishes were washed up and they were sitting by the fire taking the comfort that follows a day's travel, Jack burst out, "Say, Hugh, I don't suppose you ever make a perfect fool of yourself; but did you ever do so when you were a young man?" "Why, yes, lots of times, I expect, son," said Hugh. "What do you mean?" "Why," said Jack, "this afternoon I crawled up within fifty yards of a big fat buck and had a standing broadside shot at him, and I thought the work was all done, except carrying in the meat, and when I shot at him the ball must have gone four or five inches above his back." "How?" said Hugh. "I reckon I know how it was. You were so sure of him that you didn't take the trouble to sight your gun." "Yes," said Jack; "I guess that's just about what happened. I never had any question but that I would kill him, and I suppose I was so sure I forgot to look at my sights." "Well," said Hugh, "I guess that has happened to all of us at one time or another, but after it's happened a few times, we get to understand that you can't hit things with a rifle ball unless you shoot straight every time." "My! I felt cheap when I missed," said Jack. "It was not so much that I should have to come and tell you what a stupid thing I had done, but it was the change from being so sure and so confident that I had what I wanted, to seeing it slip through my fingers and skip off." "Well," said Hugh, "I was astonished to hear your shot and then see you come into camp without anything, because, of course, I know as well as you do that usually you shoot pretty carefully, and you've been mighty lucky in your hunting. I sort o' fixed my palate for some fried antelope liver to-night, and it seemed like quite a drop to come down to bacon." "Well, the next shot I fire," declared Jack, "you bet I'll take care and try to send the ball where it belongs. I don't want to have this thing repeated." "Well," replied Hugh, "if you are going to shoot a rifle you've got to give it your attention first, last, and all the time. You never can be sure of hitting anything unless you keep your mind fixed on what you're doing. A careless man is neither a good hunter nor a good rifle shot." "Well," said Jack, "you bet I'm going to remember that after this." During the afternoon Hugh had spread out the green hides in his bundle and given them an opportunity to dry a little more, and then had repacked them, so that bright and early the next morning they were on their way again. Soon after noon they reached the crossing of the Michigan, and on the way there Jack got a shot at a fine buck antelope and killed it, and put the hams and sirloins on his horse. They made a pleasant camp in a grassy bottom of the Michigan, and after eating, Jack set out to walk a little distance down the creek in search of adventure. While strolling along the bluffs overlooking the narrow river bottom, he came upon a little slough in and near which was several sorts of water birds. Of these the most interesting was a family of green-winged teal, an old mother, followed by eight tiny young. As soon as the old bird saw Jack she swam to the margin of the pool and ran off into the grass with the eight little ones strung out in a line and pattering over the mud behind her. The scene was a pretty one, and much as Jack would have enjoyed seeing one of the little fellows closer at hand, he did not go near the grass which she had entered, to disturb the small family. A little further down the river in a quiet pool he saw, a hundred yards below him, a duck swimming about in plain sight. Making a little round back from the water, so as to get out of sight of it, he crept up and tried to see the bird in order to find out what it was, but it had disappeared. Going on down the river, he happened to look back and he saw in the same place what seemed to be the same duck doing the same things. Again he went away from the water and returned to the place, and tried to see the bird, but again it disappeared. Jack wondered if it might not be one of the medicine birds about which the Indians had talked, a spirit which took the form of a bird and then, perhaps, changed into some other object of the landscape. It was not nearly supper time when he returned to camp. He found that Hugh had spent the afternoon busying himself about the hides, and that these, except the bear's skin, were by this time all dried. Hugh declared that there was no reason now why they might not go on and make a full day's march, because the bear hide could finish drying at any time. "If we're going into the mountains, son," said Hugh, "there is a good road into them not far from here. I don't know what game we'll find. Very likely nothing, except a few deer, or possibly, if we get up high enough, a sheep or two, but anyhow I mind that it's a pretty country on the Michigan, and we might as well go up there as anywhere else." "I would like to do it, Hugh, and if you say so, we will." "Let it be so," said Hugh. "Now, son," he continued, "down here in the park is one of the greatest summer ranges for antelope that ever was, but we've got meat enough to do us for a few days, now, and unless you see something extraordinary in the way of a head, it seems to me I wouldn't bother with these antelope." "No," said Jack, "I don't think it's worth while to, and I don't mean to. The only reason for shooting at them now would be to see whether I could hit them, and if I want to find out about that I can stick a chip up against a tree and shoot at it." "That's right," said Hugh. "Of course, if you need an animal, kill it, but don't kill it just to gratify your curiosity or your love for hitting things." After an early start next morning a hunter's trail was followed up toward the mountains. The way led through dense pine forests alternating with pretty, park-like openings, and some miles nearer to the main range they camped by some little springs. As Hugh had said, the antelope here were extremely abundant and very tame. In the timber there were many signs of deer, occasionally a snowshoe rabbit was seen, and more than one brood of blue grouse was startled from its feeding ground among the low brush. The young were about the size of quail, and after being flushed the first time lay very hard. Jack amused himself several times by getting off and walking in the direction which the birds had taken, and then finding them, one after another, crouched close to the ground, looking almost like so many stones or sticks and permitting him to come quite near to them before again taking wing. The timber on the Michigan was burning in several places, but the rains of the past few days had for the most part extinguished the flames. Now only a few smoldering logs sent up their pillars of smoke through the still, clear air. In some places the fire had run down the mountains out onto the plain, burning the sage brush and sometimes even crossing the creek bottom, killing the willows which everywhere grew very thickly. In one place, as Jack was riding down the bluffs into the brush, a large bob-cat or bay lynx ran out from the bushes, stopped and stared at him when it saw him, but before he could draw his rifle from the scabbard it bounded back into the willows and was not seen again. They had some trouble in crossing the Michigan where it came out from the mountains. The bottom was wide and level, and was full of old beaver meadows and ditches. Everywhere it was so thickly overgrown with willows that it was with difficulty that the horses could be forced through them. At every few steps they came upon mud holes, beaver sloughs, and other evidences of old beaver ponds, and it was necessary to wind about to avoid these obstacles. There are few things more troublesome and even dangerous than to ride through an old beaver meadow, for if one's horse gets fairly mired in a beaver slough it may be very difficult to get him out again. Hugh and Jack spent more than two hours in crossing from one bank to the other, though the distance was only about half a mile. A little beyond this they went into camp, but just before passing into the little park where they were to camp, Hugh stopped his horse and said to Jack: "There's a queer looking antelope; ride on ahead, son, and see if you can't kill it." As he reached the edge of the little park, Jack stopped in the fringe of timber and looking through, saw a half a dozen antelope scattered about feeding. The head of one of the bucks that was nearest to him had an odd appearance, and even looked as if it had two sets of horns. It was a good-sized animal, and Jack slipped from his horse, and creeping out to the edge of the timber, where he had a clear, open sight, raised his rifle to shoot. The motion caught the buck's eye and he turned about and stood facing Jack, looking at him. Jack drew a careful sight and fired, and the antelope reared up straight on his hind legs and then fell over backward. Jack reloaded, and going back, mounted and rode out to the buck, which he found dead, the ball having passed lengthwise through the body. The curious appearance of the animal's head was explained as soon as he reached it, for this buck actually had four horns; the two usual ones, and, growing from the skin behind each one, at a distance of a couple of inches from the horns, were two other stout, black horns about three inches long and an inch thick. These were not attached to the skull, but were mere outgrowths from the skin and moved about with the skin when it was moved. Jack had seen nothing like this before, and he was very much surprised at it. While he was preparing the antelope to take into camp, Hugh and the animals came along and passed him, stopping at the edge of the stream not more than a hundred yards from where he was skinning the antelope. Jack stripped the hide from the beast, and, cutting off the skin of the neck low down at the breast and shoulders, placed the carcass across his saddle, and carrying the head in his hand, walked into camp. The horses were already unpacked and feeding about, dragging their ropes, and Hugh had started his fire and brought the water. It took but a short time to put up the tent, and then to picket the horses. "I want to tie up the horses for the present, son," said Hugh, "because here in the timber it's pretty easy for us to lose them. They may wander off only a short distance, but if they keep quiet in the brush or timber it may take us a long time to find them. It's different down on the open prairie, where you can see a long way." Each horse, therefore, was tied up, either made fast to a picket pin driven firmly in the ground, or to some stout tuft of sage brush. After supper Jack brought out his antelope head and asked Hugh about it. "Yes," said Hugh, "I've seen antelope like this before, but I don't know that I can explain to you why this fellow has these extra horns. I reckon they're something like the horns you'll often see on a doe antelope. Some does--maybe most of them--have no horns at all, but others will have a little knob of horn, perhaps not more than half an inch long, just sort o' capping the little bunch on each side of the head that corresponds with the big bony cores of the buck antelope's head; and others may have right long horns, maybe four or six inches long, with a little sign of a prong on the horn, but I've never seen a doe's horns that were firm on the skull and that had a bony core inside them as a buck's horns always have. The doe's horns always seem to just grow on the skin like these extra horns on this head. I have often seen buck antelope that had little, hard, black bunches looking just like the stuff the horns are made of, growing on the skin of the head somewhere near the horns, but I don't know what it means, no more than I know what it means when a rabbit has a horn or a pair of horns." "What do you mean, Hugh?" said Jack. "Do rabbits ever have horns? I never heard of anything like that." "Oh, yes," said Hugh; "sometimes they have horns, but I don't know why, nor do I know what the horns mean. I've had rabbits with horns, both jackrabbits and cottontails, shown to me a good many times." "What!" said Jack; "real horns, you mean, growing out of the head like an antelope's horns or a cow's horns?" "Well, yes, and no," said Hugh. "The horns look like real horns, that is to say, they seem to be made of horny matter, but they don't always grow on the head. Sometimes they grow on the neck, sometimes in the forehead. I've heard of cases where there were four or five growing on different parts of the animal's body. I never saw more than two on one animal, one of them grew out of the top of his head and another from the side of his neck." "Well," said Jack, "that beats me entirely." "This whole business of horns," said Hugh, "is something that, as I say, I don't understand. Now, of course, we know that a deer sheds his horns every spring or winter, and that an antelope sheds his horns every autumn, but, of course, the way an antelope sheds his horn is very different from the way a deer sheds his, just as an antelope horn is different from a deer's horn. I was talking about this with your uncle one time and he told me that the antelope was the only animal that had a bony core to the horn that regularly shed the horn, but, as I say, the antelope don't shed his whole horn, like the deer; the sheath that covers the horn core just slips off. When it slips off you find the core of the horn covered with skin and all over this skin grow long, white hairs, except at the very top, where there's a little black knob of horn. After the sheath has been shed, the skin and the white hairs covering it seem gradually to turn into the black horn, the change traveling down from the tip of the horn to the animal's head. Often at the base of the horn you can see where the hairs of the head join the horn and seem to be mixed up with it. In other words, there's a place where the horn sheath is part horn sheath and part antelope skin and hair. Your uncle once told me that hair, horns, hoofs, scales, nails, claws, and feathers were all different forms of the same thing, and it seems to me that in the antelope's horn sheath and the way it changes from the time the old sheath is shed until the new sheath is formed we can see hair changing into horn." "Of course, it's easy to see," said Jack, "that horn and nails and hoofs are the same thing; they are just the same substance put on different parts of the body. I can understand, too, how feathers are the same, because we can look at the quill of a feather and see that that isn't very different from the fingernail or the claw of a small animal, but scales seem to me a little different." "Well, I don't know," said Hugh. "You take the scales of a beaver or a muskrat tail, and in places they're all mixed up with the hair, and the hair seems gradually to change into scales. Look at a beaver's foot and you'll see the same thing going on. Anyway, I guess if your uncle said that was so, it is so, for I don't think he's the kind of a man to talk positively about things that he doesn't know of." "No, indeed, he isn't, Hugh, and he knows a whole lot, and yet, you'd never find it out unless you get talking to him and asking him questions about things." "That's so," said Hugh. "He's a mighty quiet man, but he knows a heap." CHAPTER XVII TRAPPING THE MINK The next morning it was full daylight before the camp was astir, and the sun had risen before breakfast was over. Jack had brought in the horses and put the saddles on them, and they stood tied to the brush waiting for their loads. Neither Jack nor Hugh seemed to be in a hurry, and after the packs had been pretty well made up, Hugh said, "Now, son, let us cut up this antelope and throw away the bones that we don't need and put the meat in a couple of sacks. No use to pack anything more than we have to, even if the horses are lightly loaded." Accordingly they set to work and very soon had the meat stripped from the antelope's bones, cut into pieces of convenient size, and put in the sacks. The night had been cool and the meat had become chilled all through. While they were at work, the gray jays gathered about them in considerable numbers, hopping up within a few feet of them, and sometimes flying down close over the carcass. Occasionally Hugh and Jack would cut off a little piece of waste meat and throw it to one side, when it was instantly pounced upon by a bird and carried off. The fortunate one would be followed by half a dozen of his fellows, which would try to snatch his prize from him. So fearless were the birds that Jack took great pleasure in watching them and in throwing bits of food to them. "You don't have the name of Whiskey Jack for these birds out here, do you, Hugh?" said Jack. "I have never heard it." "No," said Hugh; "I've heard the Indians away up north call them by a name that sounds something like that, but I reckon it's not the same name. The one I have heard is an Indian word--'Wis-kaysh-on.' Maybe the word you are talking of is only another way of pronouncing it. Out here we call them meat hawks and camp robbers. They're so cheeky that I always rather liked them, but they're a mean bird in winter, especially if a man is trapping marten; they will spring his traps, steal his bait, and maybe tear his pelts, but they are nowhere near as bad as the magpies, or even as the blue jays. It always amuses me to see how, after they have eaten what they want to, they will pack off all the food they can get and cache it in the trees, in the crevices in the bark, and in the moss that grows on the limbs. They are great fellows to hide things. Look at that one there," he went on, pointing, and Jack saw a jay picking up shred after shred of meat that had been thrown out, and noticed that the bird, instead of swallowing it, seemed to hold it in its throat. Presently it flew up into the branches of the pine tree, and after moving about a little, went to a bunch of the gray moss, and, after seeming to make a hole in it with its bill, deposited there the contents of its mouth and throat, and then flew back and began to gather more meat. "Well," said Jack, "what do you suppose they do that for? Do they store up food in that way and go back to it when they are hungry?" "You can't prove it by me," said Hugh. "I've an idea that they're just natural thieves and misers, and love to steal and hide things." The work of loading the animals was soon finished, and they set out up the stream. The trail which they followed was a faint one and kept on the hillside on the north bank of the stream, always through heavy pine forests. There was little underbrush. The ground under foot was soft; the air was fragrant with odors of spruce, pine, and balsam, and with the perfume of the many wild flowers that brightened the gloom of the dense woods with vivid colors of red, blue, and yellow. As they advanced, it was evident the snow had not been very long gone; the ground became more and more damp, little rills that trickled down the hillsides were full of water, and occasionally when an open spot in the timber gave them a view of the peaks toward which they were journeying they could see that they were still snowclad. Occasionally Hugh started a brown pine rabbit which hopped away from the trail far enough to avoid the horse's feet, and sat up on his haunches with his huge ears erect, watching the procession that passed before him with an air of meditation. Pine squirrels were everywhere, and their chattering was heard almost continually. Another familiar sound of the mountains was the shrill whistle of the mountain woodchuck, called from its cry, "whistler." It could not have been so very long since these animals came out from their winter homes, but they were now abroad and in full voice, and each one as he saw the train, or indeed as he saw any other unusual object, gave vent to his shrill cry. Altogether, the day's journey, while it lacked any especial incident, was one of very great pleasure to Jack. Late in the afternoon they camped in a beautiful opening surrounded by giant spruces and firs, where rich grass stood waist high, and the steep sides of the mountains rose sharply from the narrow valley. After camp had been made and supper eaten, Hugh said to Jack, "Now, son. I'm going up the creek a little way to see if I can see any sign of beaver or other fur. What are you going to do?" "Well," said Jack, "I don't know; I think I'll go up this little valley through which this side creek comes and see whether I can see anything there." "All right," said Hugh; "we'll get back here, then, before dark;" and they started on their different ways. Hugh went slowly up the stream and before he had gone very far came to a place where the valley widened out and there were meadows on either side of the stream. Here was beaver work, and fresh. A dam across the stream held back the water until it was several feet deep, making a pond that was long and narrow, but not high enough to flood the meadows. Along the banks were willows on which the beaver had been working lately, and many freshly cut twigs and barked sticks were floating in the water. Hugh saw no beaver, but found abundant signs of them, and made up his mind that it would be well for them to stop here and trap for a day or two. There were mink sign along the stream, and at its head he saw fresh elk tracks, those of cows and calves. Going quietly through undergrowth he came at length to a place where the trees stood apart, and here suddenly he saw three cow elk, which a moment later saw him and crashed off through the trees, but at which he did not shoot. Jack, on his part, had followed up the still narrower valley of the side stream. The mountains rose steeply on either hand, and to walk with any comfort he was obliged to keep either in the bed of the creek or close to it. On little sand bars by the stream he saw many tracks of small animals which he thought might be mink, and in one place where there was a deep pool he came upon what he believed to be the slide of an otter. All along the stream dippers were feeding, the curious little slate-colored birds with which he had been so familiar in other parts of the mountains. Here they were as active as he had always seen them, flying up or down the stream or diving in the water or walking briskly about on the rocks, or, if for a moment they stayed in one place, making the curious bobbing or dipping movement from which, perhaps, the name dipper has been given them. They were singing now with a sweet, clear note that reminded Jack somewhat of the robin's song. From time to time Jack stopped to watch these little friends, and then went on. He moved as quietly as he could, and for the most part the babble of the stream drowned the slight noises that he made, but, as bad luck would have it, as he was rounding a point of the stream and had to make a long spring to cross the water, he caught an alder stem on the other side, and it came away in his hand with a sharp crack. Instantly there was a crash in the brush just above him on the stream, and as he turned his head he saw a good-sized bear plunge across the stream and disappear into the undergrowth. He had no time to whirl around, and still less to throw his gun to his shoulder, and yet he wanted to shoot. He ran twenty or thirty steps up the hillside as hard as he could to a little open place from which he thought he might possibly see the game, but nothing was visible save the undergrowth and the trees, and he was reluctantly obliged to come down the slope without seeing the bear. What made him feel the worse about it was that he felt that it was his own carelessness that had made the noise that had startled the bear. If he had kept on in his silent, stealthy way he might have had the shot. Very much disgusted and disappointed, he turned about and went down the valley again, reaching camp just as Hugh got there. "Well, son, what luck?" said Hugh. "Bad," replied Jack. "I got quite close to a bear, and, not expecting any game, I made a little noise and he dodged off, giving me only a glimpse, at which I didn't have time to fire." "That's bad," said Hugh. "A man always feels worse if he knows that it was through some carelessness of his own that he missed a chance." "Yes," said Jack, "that's what I was thinking only a little while ago. If I had done my best, and the wind had changed, or something had frightened the bear, I wouldn't mind it so much. What did you see, Hugh?" "Well," said Hugh, "I found some beaver, and I saw a little bunch of cow elk. I expect there are calves hidden in the valley just above us, but they don't interest us much." "No," said Jack, "we don't need any calf elk, certainly." "I think, son," said Hugh, "we'd better stop here for a day or so and set some traps. We may get a few beaver, and there are some mink here, too." "All right," said Jack; "I'll go you; but we haven't time to set the traps to-night, have we?" "No," said Hugh, "we'll have to wait until to-morrow for that, but I'll tell you what we can do. We can start in to rigging our dead-falls for mink to-night. It'll take us some little time to fix them. We ought to have at least a half a dozen of them scattered up and down the creek here." "Well," said Jack, "what do you want me to do? I'm ready for anything." "Get the ax," said Hugh, "and we'll go up on the hillside and cut down some of these small, dead pines and get them ready for work to-morrow." The two went up on the hill, and Hugh soon cut down a dozen slim, dead, young pines, not much thicker than his wrist at the butt, and trimmed the branches off. Jack taking a part of them on his shoulders and Hugh following with the rest, they carried them down to camp. Here the butts of the trees were carefully trimmed and smoothed so that they were well rounded. Half a dozen smooth, round sticks nearly as thick as the butts of the pine trees and about fifteen inches long were cut out for bed-sticks, and then a considerable number of sharp-pointed, stout sticks prepared. Then--for by this time it had become dark--Hugh explained to Jack at some length how these traps were to be set. "You see, son," he said; "as I have told you before, a mink is a pretty simple-minded creature. He hasn't much sense or keenness, and probably these mink here have never been trapped. We have got to rig the bait in these dead-falls so that a mink will come at it from the right end, and so that the log will fall on him and kill him. Now, we drive these sharp-pointed sticks into the ground, close together, in the shape of a V. The only way the mink can get in is to go through the open part of the V. Just inside of that open part we put down the bed-stick and on both arms of the V we leave out a stick or two so that the bed-stick goes through these open spaces, and it's down through these open spaces that the fall-log comes--in fact the sticks on either side of the open spaces are guides so that it falls square on the bed-log. The fall-log must be heavy enough so that it will come down hard and kill the mink at once. The bait is put on the end of a smooth spindle which supports the trigger-stick. When the animal passes in and pulls at the bait, he jerks out the spindle, the trigger-stick falls out of place and lets the fall-log down. The fall-log comes down onto the bed-log, and if the mink's there he's bound to be crushed flat. The success of the trap depends altogether on the speed with which the fall-log comes down. If it does not drop quickly the mink has time to see it coming and to get away. I reckon we'll have to use beaver medicine for bait for these traps; maybe put a little of it on some antelope meat or on some frogs if we can catch any." "Well, Hugh," said Jack, "I expect this is all right about the dead-falls, but I don't know as I understand just exactly how it's to be set, but I reckon if you will show me to-morrow I'll do what I can to help." "Well, it's mighty simple," said Hugh, "and just as soon as you've seen it done once, you'll know how to do it. Now, we've got to fix some spindles and some trigger-sticks to-night, and I'm going to make one of each now, and after you've seen me do it you can take hold and make some yourself." Hugh took out his jack-knife and began to whittle, and before long he had made a slender stick shaped not unlike a lead pencil and about eight inches long. It was round and smooth. Then taking a much thicker stick, one perhaps an inch in diameter, he smoothed this off, removing all bark, twigs, and inequalities, making it as nearly round as possible and pointing it bluntly at both ends. Then he took a bed-stick, put it on the ground between his feet, and laying the butt of the spindle upon it and at right angles to it, he placed upon the butt of the spindle the trigger-stick, and pressed it down on the spindle with his left hand. Then giving the spindle a little pull toward the bed-stick it slipped out from under the trigger-stick and the trigger-stick fell over. "There, son," he said, "do you see the philosophy of it now? Suppose my hand had been a heavy log and that it had fallen across the body of a mink, wouldn't it have killed him?" "Yes, that's so, Hugh," Jack replied. "I think I begin to see now how the thing will work." For an hour or two after dark Jack and Hugh whittled faithfully and by that time they had prepared a dozen spindles and as many trigger-sticks, and Hugh said that the first thing in the morning they would set a lot of mink traps along both streams. After the work was done, they sat dreamily before the fire, Hugh smoking vigorously, and Jack saying and doing nothing, but just giving himself up to the charm of his surroundings. There is a great delight in a camp among the green timber. The fragrant needles of the evergreens spread thick upon the ground form a soft, dry couch, which would woo sleep to any traveler. A great fire of resinous logs sends up spouts of flame which almost reach the tufted twigs of the great firs that overhang the camp, while clouds of black smoke, and sometimes showers of sparks wind in and out among the branches. The yellow and brown trunks of the trees flicker in the changeful glow of the red light and send queer shadows out behind them into the depths of the timber. Just at the edge of the circle of light are seen the shadowy and uncertain forms of some of the horses which have ceased feeding and have moved closer to the camp to share the cheery sociability of the fire. Soon after darkness fell in the valley it grew colder, and both Jack and Hugh drew closer to the fire, and before very long both sought the warmth of their blankets. The morning sun peeping over the snowy tops of the neighboring mountains found Jack and Hugh eating their breakfast and almost ready to start out on their trapping expedition. Soon after they had finished eating, Hugh hung his bottle of beaver medicine about his neck, filled his pockets and those of Jack with trigger-sticks and spindles, and then with half a dozen of the fall-logs under his arm and a bundle of bed-sticks on his back, he started down the stream, followed by Jack, similarly loaded. Hugh pointed out to Jack places along the stream where mink had passed, and before the morning was half gone they had set twelve falls, eight on the main stream and four on the little creek that Jack had followed up the day before. Hugh set the traps in the way he had explained the night before. He drove the sharpened sticks into the ground near the border of the creek, sometimes up above in the grass, and at others down at the very margin of the water. When his V was about a foot long he left an opening two inches wide in each arm, and then in each arm drove three or four more sticks close together. On the ground and passing through the openings in the arms he placed the bed-stick, setting it well into the soil so that its top was nearly level with the ground. Sometimes he had to dig out a place for the bed-stick and at others he could pound it down to the proper level. Now he placed the fall-log, which passed through both openings in the arms, on top of the bed-stick and then put a spindle and a trigger-stick on the ground by them. Now he tied a stone, if he could find a good one, to the thicker end of the fall-log, or if he could not find a stone, he got three or four slender tree trunks which he rested on the butt of the fall-log at right angles to it. Meantime he had sent Jack off down the creek to look for frogs, and presently Jack returned with a dozen that he had killed with a stick. Hugh now impaled one of the dead frogs on the pointed end of a spindle, which was notched so that the bait could not be pulled either way. Then with a willow twig he dropped a little of the beaver medicine on the frog, and then telling Jack to raise the fall-log, he placed the butt of the spindle on the bed-log, one end of the trigger-stick on the spindle, and then told Jack to very carefully lower the fall-log until it rested on the trigger-stick. Before this, with his knife he had smoothed away the sides of the fall-log where it passed between the upright sticks in both arms of the V, and had smoothed off the sticks between which the fall-log passed and which were to serve as the guides to the fall-log, which would meet the bed-stick with an even blow. "There," said Hugh, as he very carefully removed his hands from the spindle and trigger-stick, "that ought to catch a mink if he'll only come and give a tug at that bait." "Yes," said Jack, "I think it ought. It seems to me there's a good deal more science and pleasure in setting a trap of that kind than there is in just spreading the jaws of a beaver trap." "Maybe you're right, son," said Hugh, standing back and looking at his trap. "It does look fairly ship-shape, doesn't it?" "Yes," said Jack, "that looks to me like something that had some science and style about it." The greater part of the day was devoted to setting these traps, but toward evening Jack and Hugh put on their rubber boots and walked off up to the beaver pond, where four traps were set. After they had finished this, Hugh said, "Son, I believe we might as well go down and look at those mink traps of ours. If anything has been caught we want to take it out and reset. Just as like as not we'll find something." Jack was eager to learn the result of their morning efforts and wanted to press ahead of Hugh, but did not do so until they had almost reached the first of the dead-falls. Then he ran ahead a few steps, stopping and calling back to Hugh, "That first trap is sprung." When they got up to it they could see a pair of brown hips and a tail sticking out from under the fall-log, and lifting it, a good dark mink was found there, caught just as he should have been. The next two traps yielded nothing; the fourth another mink; the last two on the main stream were empty, but the four set on the little side creek had each a mink. They reset all of their traps and returning to camp began to skin the mink, which Hugh explained must not be skinned open, but must be cased. "Oh, yes, Hugh, I know what you mean," said Jack. "You split them between the hind legs and then turn the skins inside out. You don't split them along the belly." "That's right," said Hugh, "and then you've got to have stretchers to dry them on. Of course, what we ought to have is boards, but I guess we'll have to do with willow twigs. They don't make quite so nice looking a skin, but they'll serve our purpose, I guess. You may think, son," he went on, "that skinning mink is worse than skinning beaver. These little fellows can smell fearful bad if you're careless about skinning them and cut into these glands that lie near the tail. Be careful not to do that. If you do you won't get rid of the smell in a long time. Watch me skin this first one and then you can go ahead for yourself. You won't lose anything by watching me do it." The sun had disappeared over the mountains before they had stripped the pelts off their mink, and it was dusk by the time they had eaten supper. "Now," said Hugh, "we ought to have finished this job up before supper, but I wanted to cook by daylight. Suppose you go over to that bunch of willows there and cut me a dozen straight and pretty stiff willow shoots, then bring them back here." Jack went over as directed, and in a little while returned with the shoots. "It was pretty dark, Hugh," he said, "and I had to do it all by feeling. I don't know whether these are what you want." Hugh took the twigs in his hand and looked them over, and after discarding two or three said, "These are all right. Now let's strip the leaves and twigs off them and make them as smooth as we can. It is not necessary to take off the bark." When the twigs had been stripped off, Hugh showed Jack how to gradually bend them so that the two ends of the bent twig came together in the shape of a very long and flattened O. He took one of the mink skins--all of which were, of course, wrong side out--and slipped the middle of the doubled twig into the opening in the skin, slowly pushing it down toward the animal's head. The opening of the mouth was too small for the doubled twig to pass through, and the spring of the bent twig kept the sides of the pelt pushed out and stretched. This operation was repeated with each of the skins, and to overcome any shrinking of the pelt, Hugh cut a number of short sticks which he forced between the two ends of each twig which projected from the skin where the hind legs of the mink had been. The operations had taken but a short time, and when they were over Hugh bundled the skins together and placed them just within the tent. "There," he said, "now, to-morrow morning we'll hang those out where the air will get at them, and before night they will be dry." They were sitting by the fire, saying but little, when suddenly Hugh, who for some moments had been staring into the darkness in the direction of the horses, leaned over and held his ear near to the ground as if listening. "What is it, Hugh?" asked Jack. "Why," said Hugh, "there's some people coming. Put your ear to the ground and listen." Jack did so, and could hear faintly the tread of something on the ground. "Yes, I hear it," he said. "Are those horses coming?" "Sure," said Hugh, "I've been watching Pawnee and that black of mine for quite a little while, and I knew that they heard or smelt something. They've been looking off down the creek for some minutes. I reckon this is a party of travelers, and they'll either come here or camp just below us to-night." As they sat there, presently the tramp of horses began to be heard and occasionally a call from some man shouting at the animals, and after a little while the people could be heard talking and making remarks about the camp that they saw just ahead of them. A few moments later the horses seemed to come to a standstill, and a man rode up to the circle of the fire and said, "Good-evening." "Good-evening," said Hugh, "won't you light down and sit?" "Thank you," said the stranger; "we've got our pack train just here, and we would like to camp by you, if you have no objection." "Not the least in the world," said Hugh. "The bottom is free to anybody that wants to camp here, and we would like to have you stop. Is there anything we can do for you?" "It's a little dark to find a good camping place, but the wood and water are handy, and I guess our animals will find the grass. Good-evening"; and he rode away. After the horse's footsteps had died away, Hugh turned to Jack and said: "Englishmen, I reckon. Likely out here hunting. We'll know more about them in the morning." "Well," said Jack, "I hope they won't interfere with any of our traps." "No, I guess not," said Hugh. "The worst they could do would be to blunder into them, and I don't believe they'll do that." A little later another fire shone out in the little park and lit up another tent not far from theirs. Still later, they received another call from their new neighbors, who turned out to be an Englishman and his son, a boy about Jack's age, and a packer, a young man from one of the little towns in the mountains west of Denver. The Englishman was a very pleasant-spoken man, greatly interested in the country and all that it contained. His son sat down by Jack, and for a time the two listened to the conversation of their elders, but gradually the English boy's curiosity overcame his shyness and he began to talk to Jack, and ask him questions about the mountains and the hunting. The packer sat by the fire and said little for a time, only occasionally volunteering a remark, but at last he said to Hugh: "Partner, I'd like to have you tell me where we are. I've never been in this part of the country before, and don't claim to know anything about it, but I know east and west and north and south when the sun is shining. Mr. Clifford here hired me to pack for him, not to guide, because I told him that I wasn't a guide in a strange country. He wants to get back to the other side of the mountains, and I told him that I thought maybe if we followed up this creek we'd find a pass over onto the head of one of the streams running the other way. Can you tell me if we'll do that, because unless we do we better get back down onto the flat and hunt some other way across the mountains?" "Yes," said Hugh, "you can get across this way. This creek is called the Michigan, and if you follow it up you'll come to a pass that will take you onto the head of the Grand River. Of course, now you're on the east side of the main range, that is to say, the water you're on now flows into the Atlantic Ocean; when you get across these mountains you'll be on water flowing into the Pacific Ocean; but all the same you'll be over in Middle Park, and if you want to get back to Denver, that's the way you've got to go." "Yes," said the Englishman; "I told our friend Jones that I felt sure that if we could get across this spur of the mountains, our way back would be an easy one, and we would see something of mountain travel, which is what I wish. You see, America is wholly new to my boy and myself, and this part of America, so wild and free and independent, and so full of beautiful forms of animal life, is quite unlike anything that we have ever seen. We find it very interesting." "Why, yes," said Hugh, "I should think you would. It surely is a pleasant country, and with good weather anyone ought to have a mighty pleasant trip." The Englishman had many questions to ask Hugh about distances and about the time required for going from one point to another. Meantime, his son was questioning Jack. "I say," he said, "do you live out here?" "No," said Jack, "I'm only out here for the summer. My home is in New York." "Oh," said the English boy, "then perhaps all these things are as strange to you as they are to me." "No, not quite, I guess," said Jack; "because this is the fifth summer that I've been coming out into this western country and traveling around with Hugh--that's my friend over there. Every summer since I was a little fellow I've been coming out and we've traveled back and forth over a great deal of country." "Is it possible!" said the English boy. "Why, you are pretty nearly what they call an 'old timer' out here, aren't you? I notice that the people out here are divided into two sorts, 'pilgrims,' who don't know anything about the country, and 'old timers,' who know all about it." Jack laughed as he said, "That's about right, and I think that maybe I'm an 'old timer.'" "Where are you going now?" said the English boy. "But first tell me your name, and I'll tell you mine. I am Henry Clifford of Chester, England, and my father and I are going around the world. We're going to spend this summer in America, and then go to China and India." "My," said Jack, "that's a nice trip. I would like to make it, but, of course, what I've got to do is to get ready to go to college." "Yes," said Henry, "I've got to do that, too, but not until I get back to England." "My name is Jack Danvers," said Jack, "and Hugh and I have come down here from my uncle's ranch to spend the summer trapping here in the mountains. There is quite a lot of fur here, and we've got quite a pack of beaver already. We've got some traps set out here in the creek now, and if we have any luck you'll see us skin some beaver to-morrow morning." "How awfully interesting," said Henry. "Of course, I've read about trapping beaver, but I never expected to see it done." "Well, you'll see it to-morrow morning, unless you pull out mighty early." "I hope we won't," said Henry; "I shall ask my father to lie over here to-morrow if he feels like it. How long are you going to be here?" "Oh, well," said Jack, "of course, I don't know about that. It'll depend on what luck we have trapping. If we have any luck, we may be up here for several days, if not, we may go on. We were talking about going up to the head of the stream and perhaps hunting there for a day or two. There ought to be sheep up there." "Sheep," said Henry. "What are those?" "Why," said Jack, "don't you know the wild mountain sheep?" "Those fellows that have the big horns? You mean bighorns?" said Henry. "Yes, sometimes they are called bighorns." "I know, I know," said the English boy; "I saw some heads in Denver, but I never supposed that we could get anywhere near where they lived." "Well," said Jack, "there are plenty of them in these mountains, I guess; in fact, there is lots of game here. Only this morning Hugh ran across a little bunch of cow elk only two or three hundred yards from the camp." "Is it possible!" said Henry. "We've seen lots of antelope on the prairie, and I shot at them a good many times, but I could not seem to hit them. I don't know why." "What sort of a gun is yours?" asked Jack. "It's a Sharp's rifle," was the reply. "Why," said Jack, "that's a first-class gun. You ought to be able to hit anything with that, if you know the gun. Have you tried it at a target?" "No," said Henry, "I never shot it off, except at these antelope, and neither my father nor I were able to hit them." "Well," said Jack, "you can't expect to hit anything unless you have tried your gun and know just how to hold your sights to make your bullet go to a particular spot. That's one of the first things I was taught in rifle shooting, to fire my gun at a mark until I understood just how the sights ought to look to hit the mark at different distances. If we were going to travel together for a while, I could teach you how to shoot, I expect, just as Hugh taught me a good many years ago." "My word," said Henry. "I wish we were going to travel together. I'm going to see what my father means to do to-morrow." While the boys were talking, Mr. Clifford had been questioning Hugh, as his son had been questioning Jack, and had expressed to Hugh so much interest in what he and Jack were doing that Hugh had suggested that they lie over a day and rest their horses. After the strangers had left the camp and gone back to their own, Hugh told Jack what he had suggested to the Englishman. "You see, son," he said, "these people are regular pilgrims, and they don't know anything about the country, and they want to know a heap. That young fellow they have with them is a nice young chap, but he doesn't know any more than they know. The man is mighty pleasant spoken for an Englishman, and just as common as you and me. He don't put on any lugs at all. If they choose to lie over to-morrow and watch you and me doing our chores round camp, it won't do us any harm, and it may give them some pleasure and teach them something. If after a day or two they aren't just the kind of people we want to have 'round, we're always free to pack up and strike out. They can't follow us." "How do you mean can't follow us, Hugh?" said Jack. "Why, what I mean is," said Hugh, "if they want to stick with us, and we don't want them, it wouldn't take us half a day to lose them in this timber, and we could go off where we wanted to." "Well," said Jack, "I like that boy Henry very much. He seemed to want to know all about things, and didn't seem to be ashamed to say that he didn't know anything. He's very much interested in trapping, and wants to see us at work, and I told him if they didn't pull out too early to-morrow they would probably see us skin beaver." "Well," said Hugh, "I don't know what they're going to do, but whatever they do, it won't make much difference to us. Now, we've done a whole lot of visiting to-night, and you and I had better go to bed." CHAPTER XVIII THE ENGLISH PILGRIMS Jack felt a little reluctant to crawl out of his warm blankets next morning when he heard the snapping and crackling of the fire, but habit was too strong for sleepiness, and he got up and hurried into his shoes and clothing as rapidly as he could, and then went out to the fire. It was still dark, and even the first signs of dawn had not begun to appear in the east. "Now, son," said Hugh, "go out just as quick as you can, and get a pack horse and bring him in and put the saddle on him. We may as well walk this morning, but if we get a couple of beaver we ought to have a horse. By the time you get a saddle on him, grub will be ready, and mighty soon after that it will be light." Hugh was quite right, and by the time they had finished eating it was light enough to see, and a few moments later they were on their way to visit the traps. The English party had camped quite close to where the first trap was set, and it had not been disturbed. Hugh declared that the white tent, set back on the bank not far from the stream, had frightened the beaver away. The next trap, a little lower down, contained a beaver, and so with the other two across the pond. The beaver were loaded on the pack horse, and then a round was made of the dead-falls, from which five mink were taken. "Quite a bunch of fur for the traps we set," said Hugh, as they returned to camp. As they passed the camp of the Englishmen, the packer was seen building a fire, having apparently just gotten up, but the Englishman and his son had not yet arisen, and Jack called out to the packer, asking him to tell Henry Clifford to come over to their camp after he had finished breakfast, and a muffled call from the inside of the tent showed that the boy had heard the message. A moment later he was seen peering out of the tent door, and staring with greatest intentness at the pack horse and its load of fur-bearing animals. Hugh and Jack returned to their camp, but when they reached it, Hugh said to Jack, "Now, son, if we're going to stay here three or four days, we don't want to litter up this camp with a lot of carcasses. Let's go off back into the timber a little way, and do our skinning there instead of doing it in the camp." "I think so, too, Hugh," answered Jack. "It'll be a great deal more comfortable for us, and it's really no more trouble to go up there a short distance than to dump the load out here." "All right," said Hugh, "we'll go up there, and we can choose a place from which we can see camp, and then if that young Englishman comes over, you can call him up to where we are, if he wants to see what we're doing." Accordingly, they got their skinning knives and whetstones, and, going up the side of the valley, sat down on the hillside just within the pine timber. Both the camps were in sight from there. They were both hard at work, each one on his first beaver, when Jack happened to look down toward the camp and saw the English boy and his father standing in front of the tent and gazing around as if looking for the owners of the camp. "There are our friends down in camp, Hugh," said Jack. "Well," said Hugh, "call them up here if you want to, or, at all events, let them see where we are, and then they can come if they feel like it." Jack stepped out on the open hillside and whooped, and, when the strangers looked at him, waved his hat, and father and son started towards them, while Jack went back to resume his work. Presently the two Englishmen came up to where they were, panting a little from the exertion of the climb. The son had his eyes fast on the beaver and the skinning, but his father, as soon as he reached the place, turned about and looked up and down the valley and across at the opposite mountains. "An extraordinarily beautiful spot you've chosen for your work," he said to Hugh, and Hugh nodded without speaking. And, indeed, it was a lovely place. Opposite, the mountainside rose steeply, clothed with dark green timber to its crest. Away to the northeast lay the valley of the stream, with little parks and openings through which flowed the shining waters, amid groves of pale aspens, which, as the valley met the hillside, changed to dark pines. Up the valley the view was cut off by the hills, but where the company was gathered there was bright sunshine, and a lovely view. "Are those beavers?" said Mr. Clifford, pointing to the animals that lay on the ground. "My son told me that you were trapping, and we came over to see what your success had been." "Yes," said Hugh, "those are beaver, and this is a part of the work of getting them." "How very interesting," said Mr. Clifford. "But, is not the work very hard?" "Well," said Hugh, "that depends a little on how you look at it. Work that a man is used to does not seem hard to him, while a new job may seem very hard." "True, true," said Mr. Clifford. "But I think the work of skinning these animals, to say nothing of trapping them and bringing them to this place, would seem to me very difficult." "That is what Jack thought for the first two or three days that we were at work, but he's got so used to it now that he can skin a beaver pretty nearly as fast as I, and I don't think he minds the work nearly as much as he did." Henry Clifford had seated himself on the ground close to Jack, and was watching the operation of skinning with the utmost interest. "You seem to do that wonderfully well," he said, "and very fast. I wonder if I could learn how to do it?" "Of course you could," said Jack, "if you feel like it; but it's greasy work, as you can see for yourself." "Oh, I shouldn't mind that," said Henry. "I should like to try and see if I could do it." "Well," said Jack, "you have to be pretty careful not to cut the skin. If you make a hole in it, that takes away from its value, and every particle of the skin has got to be cut loose from the fat. You can not strip it off, as you can the hide of a deer." "Would you mind if I tried to help you?" said Henry. "Not a bit," said Jack, "I'd rather like to have you. If you like, I'll give you this knife that I'm using, and I'll take my jack-knife, and we can work together on this beaver. Perhaps if we do that we'll be able to beat Hugh, and get the hide off before he finishes his." Jack whetted his knife on the whetstone and gave it to Henry, showing him how to take hold of the knife, and how to cut through the fat. "You had better roll up your sleeves," he said, "before you begin, for this grease gets all over everything." Henry did so, and Jack took his jack-knife out of his pocket, and they both set to work. Of course Jack had to watch Henry, to see that he did not cut the hide and that he did not leave too much fat on it, and that made him work more slowly than he otherwise would have done, but Henry took hold very well, and seemed to remember everything that Jack told him, and before long it was only necessary for Jack to give an occasional glance at the other's work. Hugh had only just pulled the hide free from his beaver when the two boys threw aside the carcass at which they had been working. "Ah, Hugh," said Jack, "since I've got an assistant here I can work nearly as fast as you." Hugh looked around and saw that both boys had been skinning, and seemed surprised and pleased, as did also Mr. Clifford, who said, "Why, Henry, I had no idea you knew anything about skinning an animal. Where did you learn?" "I've learned all I know since we've been sitting here, father. Jack explained to me how it was done, and he and I have been working together ever since we got here." Mr. Clifford, who had been talking continuously with Hugh in a low tone of voice, seemed greatly interested in him, and finally asked him if he was willing that he and his party should stay with him and Jack so long as they were here in the valley. Hugh had replied that they would be glad to have them do so, but had said also that it was uncertain how long they would be here. They had proposed to go only up as far as the pass at the head of the stream, and then to return and to go south, into Middle Park, by way of Arapaho Pass. The English people seemed very pleasant, and very much interested in all that they saw, and were evidently anxious to learn from Hugh and Jack all that they could about the country and the ways of life in it. It was not yet the middle of the day when they had finished their skinning, and dragging the beaver carcasses off to one side, left them on a little bench of flat meadow, above which a spring trickled out of the hillside. Good-sized pine trees grew on the knolls on either side of this little meadow. As all hands started down for Hugh's camp, Hugh said to Jack, "We'll keep a lookout on those carcasses, and maybe before we go back we'll get a bear there." "Why, Hugh," said Jack, "have you seen any sign?" "Yes," said Hugh, "the day we got here I saw a little sign up the creek, and you know you started a bear yourself that same day." "That's so," said Jack. "I don't expect, though, that bears will come down in the daytime to feed right in sight of the tents." "No," said Hugh, "they won't. We've got to build a dead-fall here, and very likely we won't catch anything until we've moved." Mr. Clifford and his son, who had heard this conversation, were more or less mystified by it, and Mr. Clifford asked Hugh, "Are there really bears about here, Mr. Johnson?" "Yes," said Hugh, "there are plenty of bears, but, of course, you might travel a long time in these mountains without ever seeing one. There is no animal in all the hills that is as shy as the bear, and it's always likely to see and hear and smell you before you see it." "And what is a dead-fall?" said Mr. Clifford. "Why," said Hugh, "if you and your boy will come with us now you'll be able to see some, and can understand what it is better by looking at it than by having me explain it." They stopped at the tent, and while Hugh prepared to cook the noon meal, Jack brought some water and chopped some wood and built the fire. Their friends sat down on the ground near at hand, and talked about their trapping. "How very fortunate we are to have met you," said Mr. Clifford. "All this life and all the creatures of the mountains seem to be known to you. Then, too, your eyes are trained; you see a thousand things that we do not see, and never would see unless they were pointed out to us. I have read in books so many stories about the wonderful skill of the western mountain man in reading the signs of the prairie. I feel that we are very fortunate to have met people who can do that." So Mr. Clifford and Hugh talked over many things, and Jack was somewhat astonished to hear Hugh speak freely about matters connected with Hugh's early life of which he himself had known only within two or three years. "I should like to see a trap built to catch a bear," said Henry. "Well," said Jack, "I never saw a big dead-fall built, but it must be a lot of work to make one. You see, a bear is a powerfully strong animal, and a very heavy weight would be needed to crush it. I have seen quite a number of grizzly bears, and it seems to me that they're the most powerful animal that there is. I believe that a grizzly bear, nine times out of ten, would be able to kill a buffalo, and a buffalo is about the biggest and strongest thing that we have in this country." After the four had eaten, Hugh and Jack quickly washed up the dishes, and then Hugh said to Jack, "Son, let us go and look at those mink traps of ours. You and Henry can go ahead, if you like, and Mr. Clifford and I will follow. If you find anything in the traps, reset them, and if the bait is gone, get some more and I will bring the medicine along." Hugh got his bottle of beaver medicine and hung it around his neck, and then the two older men followed the boys, who had started off. When they passed the Cliffords' camp, their packer was seen sitting under the shade of a bush, and when the boys came in sight he walked over to meet them, and said, "Well, I'm glad to see you again. I tell you it's been a mighty lonely morning, with nothing to do and nobody to see." "Come on with us," said Jack. "We're going to look at some traps we've set along the creek." "I'd be right glad to," said the young man, and the three walked briskly along. At the first dead-fall the bait was undisturbed, but in the second a mink was found. Jack stopped and explained the principle of the dead-fall to Henry, illustrating it by what was now before their eyes. While they were talking, Hugh and Mr. Clifford came up and the lesson had to be gone over again, this time by Hugh, for the benefit of the older man. Hugh took the mink, and, slitting it across from one heel to the other under the tail, skinned away a little bit from the hams, and cutting out the two glands about which he had warned Jack when they first began to skin minks, he cut one of them open and smeared it over the bait. The odor of the cut gland was very offensive, but Hugh declared that it was the best kind of medicine for mink. A round of the traps gave them two more mink, and Hugh declared that mink must be pretty plenty, since, during the morning, three had gone into the traps. By midafternoon they had made their rounds, and on their way back to camp stopped at the Cliffords' tent, and here Mr. Clifford and Henry asked them in, showed them a number of things that they had brought with them from England, among them a huge knife nearly a foot long, which to Jack seemed to have a hundred blades and implements. Mr. Clifford gave Hugh a package of tobacco, and Henry presented Jack with a volume which contained six books of Homer's Iliad. Then the two Americans went on to their tent, having promised to come back and eat supper with the Cliffords. "That was a wonderful knife Mr. Clifford had, wasn't it, Hugh?" said Jack, as they approached their tent. "Yes," said Hugh, "it was sure a wonderful thing. It seemed to me fit to be stuck up in a museum. I wouldn't pack around a piece of hardware as big as that if one would give it to me. There are, maybe, three or four useful tools in it, and the rest of it is just so much wood and iron." "That's just what I was thinking, Hugh, that more than half of the things there were no good, and that you'd pretty nearly have to have an extra horse to carry it around with you." "Yes," said Hugh, "that's just one of those things that storekeepers get up to sell to pilgrims. The storekeepers don't know what is needed out in this country, and the pilgrims don't, either, but the storekeepers pretend they know, and the pilgrims believe them. That's mighty pleasant tobacco that Mr. Clifford gave me," he continued. "I tried some of it this morning. I don't know as I like it as well as my plug, but it was mighty kind of him to give it to me, for I reckon it costs a good lot of money." "Yes," said Jack, "that was nice, and it was nice in Henry to give me this book. I am a fool not to have brought two or three good books out with me into this country. A man has lots of time when he might read, and instead of that I always lie down and go to sleep. I'm going to try and read a lot of this book before our trip is over." That afternoon Jack read for an hour in his book, and then proposed to Hugh, who was working over one of the newly stretched beaver skins, that they should take their rifles and walk up the creek for an hour. "I don't mean to hunt," said Jack, "but just to see how the trail is." "That's good," said Hugh, "I'd like to go, and we can just as well walk as ride." They set out, following the dim trail, which soon went into the green timber. After they had gone a mile or more up the valley, they came upon abundant sign of deer and elk, and a little later, as they paused, just before stepping out into a park, Hugh touched Jack on the shoulder and pointed to the mountain side far above him, where, after looking for a moment, Jack saw half a dozen elk walking across a little opening in the timber. "I reckon," said Hugh, "there's lots of elk right here close. Of course, those that are down low are all cows and calves, but I reckon that if we get up high we will find the bulls. I expect likely these Britishers would like mighty well to kill an elk, and I expect, also, that we can take them right up to one." "My," said Jack, "I would like to do that. I would like to watch that boy when he got close to game and see what he does. But, Hugh," he went on, "he tells me that he never shot his gun at anything. He hasn't any idea where it shoots, nor how." "Well," said Hugh, "why don't you take him out and give him a lesson in shooting?" "Well," said Jack, "so I might, but, of course, I can't do it around the camp. It would scare the beaver, and we'd scare the bear, and we might scare the elk." "Well," said Hugh, "take him down the creek three or four miles to some little park there, far enough off so that the guns won't sound like much, and give him a lesson. You know very well he'll never be able to hit anything until he has learned how his gun shoots." "I believe I'll try that to-morrow, Hugh," said Jack. It was soon time for them to turn back, and immediately after reaching camp they went over to the Cliffords and supped with them. During the evening Jack proposed to Henry that on the following day, after the work was over, they should go down the stream a short distance and try their guns, and Mr. Clifford, when he heard what they were talking of, asked to be of the party, also. After some discussion, it was agreed that all hands should start as soon as possible next morning, and that the rifles of both the Cliffords should be tried, so that later, if possible, they might be able to kill some game, but the events of the next day somewhat modified this program. Jack and Hugh had reached their first beaver trap in the gray of the next morning, and after they had made the rounds they found themselves with two beaver and seven mink. The loaded pack horse was taken up to the place where they had skinned the day before, and the loads thrown down; but before Hugh began work he stepped over to where he could look down on the little meadow where the beaver carcasses had been thrown yesterday. After he had looked, he returned to where Jack had already split his beaver, and said, "Well, son, the bears have been down at our meat below, and I reckon that instead of going down the creek to teach the boy how to shoot, two or three of us will have to stay here and build that trap." "It will be quite a job, won't it, Hugh?" said Jack. "A lot of trees will have to be cut and hauled and put up. We're in better shape now to do it than we would have been before these strangers came, but still, it's going to be quite a lot of work, isn't it?" "Yes," said Hugh, "of course it will be some work, but maybe not so very much. If this young man Jones is any kind of an axman, he and I can cut the trees and build the pen in half a day. We ought to begin that right away, and if possible get the pen built to-night. Then, if we put these carcasses in it without setting it to-night, we'll have a mighty good show of catching something to-morrow night." "Well, Hugh, I don't see why we couldn't do it," said Jack. "We certainly need another bear hide or two." "Yes," said Hugh, "so we do. Of course, though, if these strangers help us to build the pen, why, the fur has got to be divided up with them." "That's so," said Jack, "but just think what fun it will be for them to help build the trap and to get the bear, if we do get one. They'll think that they're right in it, won't they; that they're real old trappers?" "Yes," said Hugh, "I reckon they will. They seem to be mightily taken with all this life out here, and we'd both be glad to show them anything that we can." "Of course we would," said Jack. "I think they're having a bully time, and it seems to me that Mr. Clifford is having about as good a time as his son." "Yes," said Hugh, "I think they both like it. I reckon before long they'll both of them be up here, and then we can talk over the bear trap matter." As Hugh had predicted, it was not long before Mr. Clifford and Henry were seen walking over, first to Hugh's camp, and then, when they found that deserted, up to the hill where Hugh and Jack were skinning. After a little talk, the subject of the bear trap was broached, and both the Englishmen were delighted with the idea of putting it up. "But how long will it take to build it?" said Mr. Clifford. "Oh," said Hugh, "I reckon we can get it in shape before night; that is to say, if we all work at it, and, in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if we could finish it two or three hours before sundown. Do you know what sort of an axman Jones is?" "No," said Mr. Clifford, "I do not; but I can handle an ax myself. I have chopped down a good many trees back in the old country." "Why," said Hugh, "that's better yet. But I don't know if we've got axes enough for three people to handle; we've only one in our camp." "I think we have two," said Mr. Clifford. "Well," said Hugh, "if you have two, why don't you and Henry go down and get your man and the three axes and come up here, and then just as soon as we've finished our work we can go and cut some timber. There's lots of it here, and it's right handy to snake down. Then, while we are chopping, the boys can get the horses, and they can snake the logs out to where we'll need them." "Good enough," said Jack. "I'll bet we'll get those logs down faster than they can cut and trim them." Mr. Clifford and his son started on their errand, and not long after their return with Jones and the three axes the work of skinning the fur was over, and the beaver carcasses were ready to be used for bait. Hugh now led the way up on the hillside to where there were a number of tall, slender pines, and he and Mr. Clifford and Jones each attacked one. The trees were eight or ten inches through, and were soon brought to the ground. Then they were cut in twenty-foot lengths, and the branches trimmed from them. Meantime, Jack and Henry had gone down to the camp, saddled four of the riding horses, which were brought back to where they were chopping, and Jack, putting a lariat around one end of a log, and taking a turn of the other about his saddle horn, started off to draw the stick out to the place where the trap was to be built. Hugh showed Henry how to do the same thing, and thus the logs were gradually brought out of the timber and to the meadow. Once in a while the end of a stick would catch on a root, and it would be necessary to dismount and lift it over, but after a while a trail was worn, in which the logs slipped smoothly. Before long Hugh declared that enough sticks had been cut, and then, going to the tops of the trees which had been cut down, he cut a number of stakes about eight feet long, which he sharpened at one end, Mr. Clifford and Jones helping him in this work. Then the boys snaked bundles of these stakes down to the building ground, and waited to see Hugh make his trap. He built his pen in the shape of a narrow V, driving these sharpened sticks into the meadow and piling the logs against them so as to make a wall of logs. Shorter logs and brush were then piled on top of the V nearly to its opening. A bed-stick was laid across the opening, just as had been done with the mink dead-fall, and the fall-log was arranged to run between four tall stakes, two on either side. All this was not done without much use of the ax, much lifting of logs, and much expense of strength and perspiration; but at last, when it was done, Hugh seemed satisfied, and said, "There, I guess that will do. Now," he said, "we will lift up this fall-log and prop it so that the bears cannot pull it down. They may not feel like going in the first night, but if there should be any young, foolish ones in the family they'll go in, and when the old ones see that they are not hurt, they'll come in, too. Then the next night we'll see what will happen." The trigger and spindle for the trap were not yet prepared, but Hugh had cut two sticks from which they were to be made, and declared that he would do that work in camp. The carcasses of the beaver were now thrown into the traps so that they lay about four feet inside of the bed-stick, and were fastened there by a stout stick driven through them into the ground. "There," said Hugh, "I guess now we can quit. That job is all right, and if we get some beaver to-morrow, we're likely to have bear the next morning." They all felt better when they had returned to camp and washed off the grime of their work and were sitting around the fire. It was not yet supper time, and yet there was not time for the boys to go off on the target-shooting trip which Jack had planned. He spoke of this to Henry, and explained to him over again how hopeless it was for him to do any hunting unless he had learned just how his gun shot, and just how the trigger pulled off. Mr. Clifford, who was listening, seemed interested, and said, "I can understand, Jack, something of what you say. I have never shot a rifle until I came to America, but it is easy to understand why the muscles of the shoulders and arms and of the fingers must all work together perfectly to send a bit of lead over a great distance to a particular spot. We are learning a great deal in these last two or three days, are we not, Henry?" "Yes, indeed, we are, father," his son replied. "I think, if you will let me, Jack, I will go with you to-morrow and try my gun when Henry tries his." "Why, of course, Mr. Clifford," said Jack. "I'd be mighty glad if you would. I was talking about that with Hugh only this morning, and telling him I didn't see how it would be possible for you to have any luck hunting until you had learned these things. You see, I am now telling you only just what Hugh told me years ago, when I first came out here. These are not discoveries that I have made, but things that I've been taught, and that I suppose everybody must be taught, or must learn for himself." "Well," said Hugh, "I've always said that you took hold of this rifle shooting, almost from the start, son, better than anybody that I ever saw begin. Just as soon as you had learned something about shooting, you were always steady and a good shot." "Well," said Mr. Clifford, "why should we not all go off to-morrow to this place where Jack is going to try Henry's gun, and then both of us can take a lesson? Why will you not come, Mr. Johnson, and teach me while Jack teaches my boy?" "Why, surely, I'd like to," said Hugh. "No reason why I should stay in camp to-morrow afternoon." Hugh asked Mr. Clifford and his son and Jones to eat supper with them that night, and they did so, and after the visitors had returned to their camp, Hugh said to Jack, "Son, we are poor for meat again; you or I will have to go up in the hills and kill something, or else we'll have to eat beaver." "Well," said Jack, "let's wait and see what happens to-morrow. Perhaps we might run on something when we go down the creek." "We might," said Hugh, "but I don't think we'll go down far enough to see any antelope, and we're not likely to run on any game down here in the valley." "Well," said Jack sleepily, "we've got to have something to eat, of course," and they went to bed. Jack was pretty anxious to go up to the bear trap the first thing next morning and see what had been there, but, as usual, they went down over the trapping ground, and this morning their luck was bad. Only one beaver was found, and in the dead-falls there were but three mink. "Time for us to move, I guess, son," said Hugh. "Looks that way, doesn't it?" said Jack. "Well, never mind; we've done pretty well here, and there are lots more creeks here in the mountains." "Well, yes," said Hugh; "we can load up both horses with beaver, if we want to, but I don't believe you do." "No," replied Jack, "I don't believe I do." When they had reached the skinning ground, Jack looked down on the bear trap and could see that something had been there; in fact, it looked as if a regular trail led through the grass up to the entrance to the pen. "I declare, Hugh," he said, "it looks to me as if there had been a whole drove of bears down there by the opening of that pen. There seems to be more sign than we saw yesterday, a good deal." "I wouldn't be surprised," said Hugh, "if quite a lot of bears had come down there. Animals learn soon about good feeding places; I don't know how, but they do." "Well, now, if you will skin these three mink, I'll take this beaver, and we'll see which gets through first." They had almost finished skinning, when their friends came up. "I'll tell you, Henry," said Jack, "you've got to get up earlier in the morning if you're going to be a sure enough mountain man. I like mighty well to stay abed in the morning, but this trip Hugh has me up long before light every day, and I'm getting so I don't mind it a bit." "Well," said Hugh, "if you are trapping, you want to get to your traps just as early in the day as you can see. Many a man has saved a beaver by doing that. You see, a beaver often gets caught when it's going home just before daylight, and it takes him some little time to thresh around and twist his feet off." "Why, of course, rising in the morning is all a habit," said Mr. Clifford. "It's just as easy to get up at one hour as it is at another. In India, where, on account of the heat, we slept through the middle of the day, we used to get up before light, always." "Well, Henry," said Hugh, "Jack tells me that there are lots of bear sign down at the pen, and I reckon we better do down and see what happened there." They went down there, and even Hugh was surprised at the amount of sign they found. Not the smallest vestige of the beaver remained, and all about the stick which had been thrust through them the ground was dug up and rooted over, as if the bears had suspected that something was buried there. "Well, son," said Hugh, "I don't know but we've got more of a contract here than we reckoned on. We'll have to get a fresh bait for to-morrow night, sure. For as many bears as there are here, we ought to be able to catch two or three of them. You run down to the camp and bring up those sticks for the trigger and spindle, that I took down last night, and we'll fix them and set the trap now." Jack brought the sticks, and some little time was devoted to arranging the trap. The beaver carcass was put on the end of the spindle and firmly tied there; a stake was driven into the ground just behind the bait, to hold in place the point of the spindle. A branch an inch long, standing out from the side of this stake at right angles to it, was smoothed so that the spindle, if pulled on, might easily slip out from under it. Then the other end of the spindle was rested on the bed-stick projecting out six or eight inches toward the mouth of the pen. "Now," said Hugh, "this fall-log is heavy, and we've got to handle it pretty carefully. We don't want any of us to get caught in our own bear trap." He drove a stout stake into the ground just outside of the front one of the two stakes that were to guide the fall-log, and then, getting a long pole for a lever, the fall-log was lifted, the stake which had supported it was knocked away, and then the fall-log lowered until it was about four feet above the bait-stick. Then leaving Jones to hold the fall-log in position with the lever, Hugh went inside, and, resting one end of the trigger-stick on the portion of the spindle which projected beyond the bed-stick toward the mouth of the pen, he told Jones to lower the fall-log very slowly. Jones obeyed instructions, and after raising and lowering it several times, the fall-log and the spindle were held apart by the trigger-stick, and so delicately balanced that it looked to the boys almost as if a breath would disarrange them and bring the heavy fall-log down. "There," said Hugh. "Now let's get out of this as quick as we can. I'm hungry and want something to eat." And indeed it was time that they should eat, for in their earnestness to set the trap the noon hour had long passed. CHAPTER XIX THE FIRST BIGHORN After they had eaten, it was still the middle of the afternoon, and Jack said to Hugh, "Hugh, why shouldn't we all set off and go down the creek and help the Cliffords try their guns this afternoon? There is plenty of time to do that before dark, and then if we have any chance to hunt right soon those people will know something about where they are shooting." "No reason at all why we shouldn't do it. If you'll fetch in the saddle horses, we'll start over and get the Cliffords now." It took but a few moments to get the horses and saddle them. When the suggestion was made to Mr. Clifford and Henry, they, too, saddled up, and a few moments later the four were trotting down the trail. In an open park, a couple of miles below the camp, Jack slashed the bark from a tree trunk, making a target, and then, stepping off a hundred yards, he said to Henry, "Now let me have your gun and I will fire three or four sighting shots, so that I can find out just how to hold it, and then you can shoot, and very few shots will tell you how you ought to hold your gun to hit the mark, or, at least, to come very close to it." The shots fired by Jack showed him that, as is usually the case, Henry's gun was sighted to shoot high, but by drawing the fore sight down very fine, he put the last two shots within an inch and a half of each other at the center of the target. Then he explained to Henry what it was necessary for him to do; that he should draw the sight down, so fine that only the tip of the foresight could be seen in the notch of the rear sight; that he should not try to hold his rifle steadily for a time on the target, but should aim at the center and should pull the trigger just as the sight was about to pass over the center of the target. After three or four shots, and comments and criticisms by Hugh and Jack, Henry was able to bunch his bullets very close around the center of the mark he was shooting at, and quickly came to understand the process of handling the gun so that his bullets would go close to where he wished them to. After Henry had finished, Hugh took Mr. Clifford in hand, and he, having had the benefit of seeing what his son had done, learned still more easily what was required of him, and in a very few shots seemed to have mastered the art of short-range rifle shooting, which is so often very difficult of acquirement. The sun was yet an hour high when they finished their work and, mounting, rode back to the camp. The two boys galloped ahead, while the older men followed, also riding fast. They had almost reached the Clifford camp when Jack heard a dull sound, followed by a faint cry, a sort of squall which he did not recognize. Instantly he pulled up his horse and sat there listening, and in a moment Hugh and Mr. Clifford had overtaken the boys and stopped. Jack called back, "Did you hear that, Hugh? What was it?" "Yes," said Hugh, "I heard something, and I suspect our dead-fall is sprung, and sprung by some animal, too." "That's what it sounded like to me. That heavy noise was something falling. Let's ride up there and see what it is." They pushed on by the camps, and presently came in sight of the dead-fall and could see that the fall-log had dropped. A moment later Jack saw a little bear on the hillside, which sat up and looked for a moment, and then ran away into the timber. When they had come close to the dead-fall they saw the fall-log lay across the body of a bear, and, dismounting at a little distance, they approached it. The bear was a large female, and the dead-fall had fallen across its shoulders and apparently broken the neck. "I don't understand this, Hugh," said Jack. "The log ought to have struck her farther back. She could not reach the bait from this position. Could she have touched the bait and then jumped back while the log was falling?" "No, son," said Hugh. "This bear did not spring the trap." As he spoke, he stepped over the fall-log and entered the pen, and after looking about a moment he turned and said, "She had a cub with her, and the cub pushed in ahead and got hold of the bait and sprung the trap just in time to catch the old one." Then he pointed out to the others the tracks made by the little bear, and showed how it had grasped the bait, pulled it to one side, and then, frightened by the noise of the falling log, had bolted out of the pen. "I only see tracks of one cub," said Hugh, "but very likely there may have been two. Did you see more than the one as we came up, son?" he asked Jack. "No," answered Jack, "I saw only one." "Well," said Hugh, "let us get this bear out and skin it if we can before dark, and set the trap again. We're likely to catch another bear to-night." All hands took hold of the fall-log, lifted it off the bear, and then propped it up and hauled the bear out in front of the pen. "Now," said Hugh, "it's going to be a job to skin this bear, and unless we all take hold of it we can't get it done to-night. If we leave it here, and the bears come down to the trap again, they will eat it up, and we'll lose the hide, and very likely they won't go into the trap. What do you say, Mr. Clifford?" turning to the Englishman. "Are you willing to lend a hand to skin this bear?" "Why, yes," said Mr. Clifford, after a moment's hesitation. "I shall be glad to. We came out into this country to gain new experience, and we may as well take part in all the work that presents itself." "All right," said Hugh, "let's go at it right now. And Jack, son," he went on, "you go down to our camp and get the beaver knives and whetstones, and then go down to Mr. Clifford's camp and get Jones to come here and help." Jack turned his horse and rode off without a word. Hugh called out to him, "Bring the ax with you when you come back." Jack signed that he understood, and went on. When he returned with Jones, the bear had been slit and the three companions were hard at work at it, the Englishmen working very slowly and clumsily, and Hugh very quickly. When Jack and Jones took hold, the work proceeded much more rapidly, and just about sunset the last cuts were made, and the hide freed from the carcass. Then Hugh had everyone take hold and pull the body of the bear back into the very end of the pen beyond the bait, and then all hands went to work and reset the trap. The bear hide was rolled up and thrown across Jack's saddle, and he led the snorting Pawnee down to the camp, while Henry and Jones walked on either side, holding the hide in place. "You men had better stop and eat with me," said Hugh. "Our grub is getting pretty low; we haven't anything but bread and bacon and coffee, but to-morrow, if nothing happens, we shall have some fresh meat." The conversation that evening was much about bears, Mr. Clifford and his son asking a multitude of questions, to which Hugh replied as best he could. Mr. Clifford seemed to have an absorbing thirst for knowledge, and never grew weary of asking Hugh questions about the country and its life and the ways of its inhabitants. Before the English party went to their camp, Hugh said, "Now, I think, to-morrow, as soon as we get done with whatever work we may find, we'd better move on up the creek and see if we can get into the high mountains where there's game. We're plumb out of meat, and then, I reckon, you all would like a day or two of hunting. We can kill some meat and dry some of it, and then I expect Mr. Clifford and his folks will go on down Grand River, and we'll come back and go down toward Middle Park by way of the Rabbit Ears." Everybody seemed to think that to go hunting would be very pleasant, but Mr. Clifford made no reply to the suggestion that they would go down Grand River. The round of the traps next morning yielded only one beaver and a couple of mink. "Well, son," said Hugh, "I reckon there's not much more for us here in the way of fur, and we'll get this beaver skinned early and move on up the creek, unless we have a bear, and about that we'll know in a few moments now." They rode over to the skinning place, and from that looked down on the bear trap. It was sprung, but when they went down, there was nothing in it. The beaver which had served as bait, however, was gone, and a considerable part of the old bear was eaten. There were fresh tracks and other sign all about, showing that several bears had been in the pen during the night. "It's those durned cubs," said Hugh. "They come in here and pull at the bait and spring the trap and then get scared and run away, and later the bigger bears come down and eat the bait. I don't know that we'll do anything more with this trap, and, any way, it won't pay to set it just as we're going away. If we were going to be near enough so that we could come down here every day and look at it, it would be different; but it's quite a long ride up to the pass, and if we're going to hunt, we won't feel much like riding down here." Before they had finished skinning the beaver, the Cliffords had come up the hill, and after the work was over Hugh and Jack took them down to the bear trap and explained the situation. Then Hugh proposed that they should all pack up and start up the stream for the pass, and before noon the pack train, now more than doubled in numbers, was climbing toward the summit. It was a delightful ride through the green timber, with frequent glimpses of the brawling stream, which grew constantly smaller, steeper, and more noisy. Hugh led the way, followed by a couple of horses, and the strangers rode among the pack animals, each with one or more of the horses in front of him. Jack brought up the rear, having been told to do so by Hugh, and kept watch of the trail and of the animals ahead of him. Hugh had thought that they might reach the pass before night, but in this he was mistaken. The sun had already disappeared behind the overshadowing mountains when they reached a little level opening in the timber, and here Hugh turned aside and declared that they would camp. Just as he was about to swing himself out of the saddle, a white-tailed deer walked out from a bunch of willows along the stream and stood looking curiously at the strange visitors, and Hugh, slipping a cartridge into his gun, shot at it, and it fell. It proved to be a yearling doe, and was in good order. Before Hugh had returned with the meat and the hide, camp had been made, the tents were up, and the fires going and the horses short picketed on the grass. There were many hands, and the work went quickly. The night was cold, and all hands were early astir and clustered about the fire. There was frost on the grass, on the willows, and on the horses' manes. The ropes were frozen, and there was a skim of ice over the quiet water of the pool in front of the camp. As the sun rose, however, everything warmed up; the frost melted, the high grass and willow bushes began to drip with moisture, and the ropes to dry; and, after the sun had been shining for an hour or two, the horses were packed and the train started out again. It was interesting to Jack and to the English boy to notice in the shaded spots how the beautiful summer flowers, that they had so much admired the day before, were wilted and cut down by the frost, but in the open spaces where the sun shone on them the flowers seemed to speedily recover and once more held up their heads. As the train proceeded, the valley became more narrow and rough, and the impetuous force of the stream, which was now only a brook, increased. Sometimes it fell down in a sheer cascade for ten or fifteen feet, and at such points the trail left the stream and wound about in the timber, zig-zagging up the hill until the ascent was overcome, when it returned near to the water's edge. Some of the slopes were steep and some seemed dangerous, places where a misstep by the horse might throw the rider down forty or fifty feet into the stream below. One or two of the horses, whose packs, though light, were bulky and stood up high above the saddle, looked, as they climbed the steep places, as if they must be overbalanced by their load and fall backward. To Mr. Clifford and his son this method of traveling was absolutely novel and at first really alarming. Neither said anything, however, but watched Hugh and Jack. They saw that these two rode along unconcernedly, and from this inferred that the danger was more apparent than real. At last the valley through which they were traveling became a mere gorge, and at length, after climbing a few hundred feet up a very steep slope, they found themselves at the edge of the large timber. The view here was something to make even Jack catch his breath, accustomed as he was to mountain scenery. Before them lay a gently rising alpine meadow, intersected by ravines, in which a few stunted spruces flourished, and then above this was a wide amphitheater surrounded on all sides by rugged and towering rock summits. The floor of the amphitheater sloped smoothly down to a brook which flowed through its midst, and this brook came from a lake lying far above among the snow fields, from which, in turn, it drew its waters. Along the brook were low willows for a little distance, and then the altitude proved too much for them, and only grass grew. On the left-hand side, for several thousand feet above them, rose bare rocks streaked with vertical lines of red and yellow, while off to the south was the pass, showing as a deep sag two or three thousand feet below the general crest of the mountains, and up to this sag the amphitheater which they were entering rose with a gradual ascent. On the south and west side of the pass the mountains rose to a great height, terminating in a confused mass of rocks, from which three slender pinnacles towered toward the sky. The open meadow which they were now crossing was carpeted with soft, green grass, and with an astonishing profusion of flowers, red, yellow, blue, purple; columbines, harebells, asters, and a multitude of other flowers grew here, or higher up, close to and even among the snow banks. It was a wild-flower garden such as perhaps few people except those who have traveled in the high mountains have ever seen. As they climbed higher and approached the pass, the ascent became steeper, and presently a cool breeze swept down the mountain side, showing that they were nearing the pass. A few hundred feet more of climbing and they reached the summit, where they halted to rest and look down on the lower land before and behind them. In front, to the south and east, they could see a great part of Middle Park and of the rugged and broken mountains which surrounded it. Almost at their feet a little lake nestled in the mountains. A few hundred feet below, the north fork of Grand River takes its rise and flows down through the narrow, wooded gorge, whose length they saw as far as the plains of Middle Park. High above, to the right, in a saddle, was a huge snowdrift, whose melting waters flowed from one extremity into the stream they had been ascending, and so on into the North Platte, and into the Missouri River; while from the other end another stream leaped out to join Grand River, which after a long course joins the Green to form that mighty stream of the West, the Colorado River, and so to reach the Pacific. Looking backward the whole course of the Michigan lay before them, and away beyond it the gray sagebrush flats of North Park, with here and there a little lake gleaming in the sun like a bit of burnished silver. "Great show, isn't it, Henry?" said Jack. "Yes," said the English boy. "It is a marvelous view." They had no time for further talk, for Hugh had started his horse down the pass on the other side, and following an old game trail he rode by the little lake until he reached the first few spruces that grew on that side of the range. Here camp was made, and as there were still a few hours of daylight, Jack proposed to Henry that they should climb up on the high mountains to the north and east of camp. "I don't know how long Hugh will want to stay," he said to Henry, "but we better make the most of our time. If we can get up pretty high we may see a sheep or possibly a bull elk, and I guess you'd like a shot at either one, wouldn't you?" "Indeed, I would," said Henry. The boys started out, breasting the steep, rocky slope with courage. After climbing to a point a few hundred feet above the level of the pass, all vegetation disappeared except a gray lichen which clung to the rocks which were scattered everywhere over the ground. The mountainside was very steep. The loose rocks did not always give a firm foothold, and at that altitude the air was so rare that the boys were frequently obliged to stop and take breath. A cold wind had sprung up, but by the time they had reached the summit they were wet with perspiration. Jack quickly led the way to the lee of a huge mass of rock, and here, sheltered from the wind, the boys reclined and basked in the warm sunshine. Nearby was the edge of a tall precipice which almost overhung the camp, and going to the edge the two looked over, trying to guess how far they were above the camp. They could see a man in the camp, but could not recognize him, and the horses scattered in a little meadow seemed very small. "Well," said Jack, "this isn't hunting. Come on;" and turning to one side, he struck off along the ridge of the mountain, followed by Henry. This ridge was smooth, rounded, and undulating, though constantly ascending. To the left was a deep, wide valley, in which grew many low willows, where Jack felt sure must be ptarmigan, while to the right were far-stretching mountains, most of them pine-covered and dark green, but one or two bristling with dead timber, whose white and weather-worn trunks gleamed and shone when touched by the sun. Jack saw a lot of things that he would have been glad to point out to Henry, but if they were to hunt, they must be about it. For some distance nothing was seen except a single little bird, which walked about the rocks, and then, as it was approached, rose on wing and flew a little further on, only to rise again. Now and then, from the rocks which lay on either side of the ridge, the plaintive cry of the little chief hare was heard. At one place Jack saw some freshly shed white feathers, which showed that some ptarmigan had passed by not long before, but he merely pointed to them with his hand as he passed them. Presently, however, as the boys were crossing a little saddle, Jack noticed in some loose sand the tracks of two mountain sheep. He followed them carefully, going very slowly as he came to each ridge, but for some time saw nothing of the animals. Then, presently, on raising his head slightly over a ridge, he saw, almost on the crest of the next ridge, a ewe walking along, and a moment later a good ram came in sight following her. As he saw them he crouched down lower and lower, motioning with his hand to his companion to imitate his actions. The sheep stopped on the crest of the ridge, and looked about them and then passed on, unfrightened. As they disappeared, Jack slowly arose, first to his knees and then to his feet, and whispered to Henry, "Come on, now, here's a chance for a shot." They ran as hard as they could across the little hollow and up the slope where the sheep had just passed. As they approached the ridge, Jack slackened his pace a little, and falling back beside Henry, said, "You'll probably get a shot from this ridge. Go slowly now; get control of your wind, if you can; remember to shoot low down and just behind the foreshoulder. Low down, I tell you, and don't forget how to look through your sights. Now go carefully. I'll go ahead and take the look, and you load your gun and follow. Do just what you see me do." Jack approached the crest with extreme caution, for he was anxious that Henry should get a shot. It was well that he did so, for the sheep had paused in the little hollow beyond and were only now climbing the next hill, and scarcely seventy yards away. Jack threw himself flat on the ground and motioned Henry up beside him, and then whispered, "Take the ram, the one with the big horns. You have plenty of time; don't make any sudden motions, and wait a moment. They may stop." Lying full length on the ground, resting his elbows on it, Henry leveled his rifle, and a moment later the ram, which was behind, turned aside to nibble some bit of vegetation and gave a broadside shot. "Now," said Jack. "Remember, low down, and let him have it." A moment later the gun cracked, the ram plunged forward, and both sheep ran quickly over the ridge. "By Jove, I believe you got him. I know he was hit, and I think hit right," and they raced along. "Oh," said Henry, as they pantingly staggered up the slope, "I'm afraid I didn't hit him. My gun kept moving around so; but when I pulled the trigger, I thought it was moving toward the right spot, and I knew I never could hold it still." As they topped the ridge, Jack saw lying among the rocks below them something brown and curved, which he was sure was one of the ram's horns. "Hurrah!" he yelled, and they plunged down among the broken stones, leaping from one to another like a pair of young goats. Jack was much more active among the rocks than Henry, and reached the ram first. It was quite dead, for the bullet had gone just to the right spot, and through the great beast's heart. When Henry came up, Jack shook his hands in cordial congratulation, and then, drawing his butcher knife, prepared to bleed the ram. "My," he said, "but we've got a job now. You and I can never carry this animal into camp. We'll have to take what we can, and come up here to-morrow with help. Possibly we can get a pack horse up here, though I doubt it. I know we can't get one up the way we came, but there may be some other road. Well, come on," he continued, "we've got no time to fool; it will be dark in a couple of hours, and we must hurry." As they were at work removing the animal's entrails, Jack said, "Now, what shall we try to carry back?" "Oh, Jack," said Henry, "whatever we leave here, let us take the head with us. I would not lose that for anything. Just think, it's the first sheep I ever saw, the first I ever shot at, and the first I ever killed. I do want to take that in and show it to my governor. My, won't he be delighted!" "Well," said Jack, "if we carry the head we can't carry anything else. That head as it is, without any of the neck, will weigh not less than forty or fifty pounds, and we've got quite a way to go. Moreover, it's such an unhandy thing that we can't both of us carry it. We've got to spell each other." "Let's try to take it, anyhow, Jack," said Henry. "All right," said Jack, "we'll try," and cutting the skin of the neck low down to breast and shoulders, the boys quickly skinned away the hide from the flesh, cutting the head off at the first joint. "Now," said Jack, "we must start back." He took a red silk handkerchief out of his pocket, and putting it on the top of a high rock close to the sheep, placed a stone on the corner in such a way that when the breeze blew the handkerchief would flutter almost over the sheep's carcass. "That may keep away the eagles and the magpies," he said. Then he gave both rifles to Henry, handed him the sheep's liver to carry in his other hand, and, hoisting the sheep's head on his back, set out on the return to camp. Half a dozen times on the return journey the two boys changed loads, but at last they reached the end of the ridge and could look down on the camp. By a little search they found an easier place to go down than that by which they had ascended, and Jack thought that still further to the right he saw a still easier way, one up which a pack horse could perhaps be led. The sun had already hidden itself behind the western mountains when the two tired boys reached camp. Jack, who had the ram's head on his shoulders, dropped it to the ground with a groan of relief, and said, "Well, Henry, I don't know who else I would have done this for." The story of their success was soon told, and Mr. Clifford was delighted with the trophy, while Hugh praised Henry's shot and prophesied that he would become a good hunter. Henry told the story of his shot, of the hopes and fears connected with it, and of his final despair as the ram rushed off, and then of the rebound of his spirits at Jack's declaration that he believed the ram had been hit. Altogether it was a very pleasant evening. After the talk had a little quieted down, and supper was being cooked for the boys, Jack asked Hugh, "Where does this meat come from, Hugh?" "Why," said Hugh, "Mr. Clifford and I went out and took a little walk, and he killed a good fat bull elk. We're going out to get the meat in the morning." "Well," said Jack, "this seems to be a great day for the Clifford family," a remark which both Mr. Clifford and his son seemed to find very amusing, for they shouted with laughter at it. The next morning Hugh and Mr. Clifford, with one of the pack horses, went off to bring in the bull, while Jack, Henry, and Jones, with another animal, climbed the ridge to get the ram. On their way back the two boys were fortunate enough to come upon a little brood of ptarmigan, the young now almost full grown and the mother beginning to be touched with white on various parts of her body. The little birds were quite tame, and permitted a near approach, but at length one after another they flew away, pitching down the mountainside with the high-pitched cackle that this bird always utters. That afternoon the boys were too tired to go out and hunt, and Mr. Clifford seemed satisfied with his success of the day before. The next day, however, Jack and Henry climbed the mountains on the other side of the pass. They soon found themselves among peaks much higher and more rugged and difficult than they had yet seen. They found some sheep and were endeavoring to stalk them when, without any warning, a blanket of white fog settled down over the mountain top, hiding the sheep and everything else, except things very close at hand. They tried to get a little closer to the sheep, but the fog was so dense and so confusing that Jack put a veto on their moving, and they sat there waiting for the fog to lift. Curious sounds were constantly coming to them from the mountainside. Rattling of rocks, calls of birds and of small mammals, and other sounds which they could not recognize. Once the fog lifted for a little, and Jack thought he saw standing at a distance three rams. He stared to see whether they actually were rams or only small rifts in the fog, and then before he could determine, the mist shut down again and blotted them out. As the boys sat there, there was a whirl of wings in the air, and presently all about them alighted curious little birds with gray crowns, brown bodies, and rosy breasts, active, noisy, and constantly searching for food among the rocks, while they constantly uttered a shrill, musical whistle. After a while Henry seemed to tire of this inaction, and said to Jack, "What are we going to do, Jack? Can't we go on?" "Why, yes," said Jack, "we can go on, but where do you want to go?" "Why," said Henry, "let's keep on hunting, or if we can't hunt, let's go to camp." "Well," said Jack, "where do you want to hunt, and what are you going to hunt when you can't see much more than arm's length ahead of you? Anything you might come near would be certain to see you before you saw it, and one jump would take it out of sight. A man's got to have the use of his eyes if he's going to hunt, and in this fog we haven't the use of ours. Moreover, we can't go back to camp, because we don't know where camp is, at least I don't. I think it's in one direction, but I'm not sure. Where do you think it is?" he said. "It's over there," said Henry, pointing. "Well," said Jack, "I think it's over there," and he pointed almost exactly in the opposite direction. But he went on, "Even if we knew just where it is, I don't want to stir around much on the side of this mountain while the fog is as thick as it is. It would be easy enough for a fellow to tumble over the edge of a cliff and break some of his bones, and if he did that the other people in his party wouldn't have a very good time, would they?" "No," said Henry, "I don't think they would; but is there any danger?" "I don't know that there's any real danger," said Jack, "but I don't think it's worth while to run any risks unless there's something to be gained by doing it." "No," said Henry, "I suppose not, but I hate to sit here doing nothing." "So do I," agreed Jack; "I hate it just as badly as you do, I guess; but I think it's better to do that than to do something that might make a whole lot of trouble for all of us. Hugh has been preaching patience to me for the last five years, and though I haven't learned very fast, I've got it partly learned, I think; and I know it's best for us to sit here until this fog lifts, or until we get some idea of where we'd better go." They sat there for quite a long time, and then gradually the fog grew brighter, and presently slowly rolled away from them and up the cliffs toward the peak, and the sun shone over the mountainside. Jack crawled out from the shelter of the rock and scanned the peaks above him for sheep, but could see nothing, and as it was well on toward the middle of the afternoon, he told Henry that they had better go to camp. Hugh and Mr. Clifford had also been out climbing for sheep, and had also been overtaken by the fog, but as they had not been so high up as the boys, it did not stop them so long. No game had been killed. Jones had been busy all day long drying the flesh of the elk, which Hugh had shown him how to cut into thin flakes and hang out in the sun and wind. That afternoon Hugh took Jack apart and told him that they would do well to return down the Michigan and continue their journey toward Middle Park, and Jack assented. "I like these English folks," said Hugh, "and if they were going our way, we'd be well pleased to have them travel with us, but we certainly are not going their way, and can't follow them. If they feel like turning 'round and coming back with us, I'll say 'come.'" Later in the afternoon, as they were sitting around the campfire, Hugh said, "Well, Mr. Clifford, son and I calculated to start back to-morrow. We want to go on down into Middle Park, and maybe get a little more fur, and if, as I understand, you're going down this creek here and going to Middle Park that way, why, we've got to separate." For a moment after Hugh had spoken there was silence, and then Mr. Clifford spoke rather slowly and hesitatingly, and said, "Mr. Johnson, we have greatly enjoyed the few days that we have been with you and your young friend, and in that short time both my son and myself have seen more and learned more about this western country than we ever could have done in any other way. We would take it as a great favor if you would permit us to turn around and travel back with you. We value your company very highly, and if we might go with you, it would be a great favor to us, and one for which I should be willing to pay well. Of course, I understand that if we were with you, you would not be so free as if you were alone; that we would take up some of your time; that we might interfere with your trapping arrangements, and taking all that into consideration, I should be glad to pay any reasonable sum per day for the privilege of camping with you." For a moment or two Hugh said nothing, and then he spoke and said, "Mr. Clifford, son here and I like you all very much, and it's a pleasure to us to have you around. If you feel like turning back with us, we'll be glad to have you. We are not out here traveling around in the mountains altogether as a matter of business. It's partly for pleasure, although, of course, we have been trapping and we expect to sell the fur that we may get. If you feel like turning around and coming back with us, we'd be glad to have you do so. I don't reckon there need be any question of paying for anybody's time. We like to have you about, and as long as we keep on feeling that way, you better come. If we should disagree about anything, why, then we could stop and separate any time." "We are very much obliged to you," said Mr. Clifford. "You have done us a great favor. If at any time you should feel that you and your young friend prefer to be alone, tell me and we will leave you at once." Bright and early the next morning the little train was packed, and by afternoon it had reached the old camp where the bear trap stood. The train was stopped, and all four men rode up to look at the trap. Bears had been there in numbers, and of the old carcass that had been left in the pen, nothing was left except a few gnawed bones. "If we had time to fool with them," said Hugh, "we could get another bear or two here, but I don't reckon it's worth while. Let's go on and get down the creek as far as we can to-night." They hurried on, crossed the broad beaver meadow of the Michigan before dark, and camped on the other side. CHAPTER XX DANGER FROM THE UTES From the Michigan they went on south, following the road which led to the Owl Creek Mines. The way over the rolling plateau of North Park passed at a considerable distance from the mountains, and no large game except antelope was seen. There were many coyotes, and Jack took pleasure in telling Henry some of the curious facts about these cunning animals. At the crossing of Owl Creek they met a prospector who was driving a couple of little jacks loaded with provisions and tools, and with him Hugh gossiped about the washings along the stream. The prospector said that some of the placer diggings here paid good wages, but that as yet no one had struck anything that was rich. "I am about sick of this country," said the prospector. "The mines don't pay, and sometime I reckon we're going to have trouble with these Indians. They come around and look at us, and if we say anything to them, they talk back mighty sassy. I expect they don't much like to have white folks coming into the country and driving off the game." "No," said Hugh, "I reckon maybe they don't, but then, the Utes have always been mighty friendly, except when they broke out and killed their agent, and then had that fight with Thornburgh." After the prospector had passed on, Mr. Clifford asked Hugh whether he supposed that there was any danger from the Indians. "No," said Hugh, "I don't think there is. I used to know some of these people, and always found them mighty good people if they were treated right, but on the other hand, they have always been a race of mountain hunters, and I can understand that it might make them pretty mad to see the whites coming in here and killing and driving off what they have always regarded as their food." The road led them over a timbered spur, and then after crossing another creek, headed almost directly toward Arapaho Peak. The weather was cold and blustering, with occasional snow flurries, some of them so severe that it was impossible to see any distance. Just after one of these had ceased, Hugh, who had reached the top of a ridge, stopped his horse and waved those behind up to his side. Looking over the ridge, Jack saw, a long way off, a black object, which he at once recognized as a buffalo, and when Hugh told Mr. Clifford and Henry what the animal was, they were wild to kill it, for neither had ever before seen a wild buffalo. Hugh and Jack looked the country over, and after a little study it appeared that by going back and taking a ravine it would be possible to get close to the buffalo, and it was decided that Jack should take the Cliffords and go back and around, and should try to take them up near enough to the bull to kill it. The stalk was successfully made, and at last a point was reached where a shot could be had at the animal at about a hundred yards distant, but just as the Cliffords were about to shoot, the wind changed, and their scent must have reached the bull, for with astonishing activity he wheeled about and plunged into a fringe of quaking aspens near which he stood. Both the Cliffords shot after him, but without effect, and Jack, who followed the track for some little distance, could see no evidence that it had been hit. The three then returned to the pack train, which had started on as soon as the buffalo had been alarmed. The two Cliffords were very much depressed by their lack of success, but Mr. Clifford was a little cheered by a good shot made at an antelope before the pack train was joined. A band of twenty antelope ran up and stood on the bluff about three hundred yards off, and Jack suggested that Mr. Clifford should fire at one of the bucks which stood a little apart. The distance was great, and Mr. Clifford asked Jack how he should hold. "If I were you," said Jack, "I would not raise my sights, but would aim at the tips of the antelope's horns and then move my sight over his shoulders and fire." After long and careful aiming, the rifle sounded, and the ball seemed to strike the bluff just beyond the buck. "That was a close call for that fellow, Mr. Clifford," said Jack, "and I thought I heard the ball strike, but it must have been just striking the earth." The band of antelope rushed up the hillside and presently disappeared, but before that the buck that had been shot at turned about and dashed back again almost to the place where he had been standing when the shot was fired, and fell. The ball had pierced both shoulders. They camped that night on Buffalo Creek, and not far from them was an Indian camp of the year before, where many bones and great piles of hair showed that much meat had been brought in and many hides tanned. The next day they crossed through the Arapaho Pass and camped near Whiteley's Peak on Muddy Creek in Middle Park. After camp had been made, Hugh said to Jack, "Now, son, get out your fishing rod if you like, and try for the trout in this little stream." Jack did so, and to his great satisfaction took fifteen trout, all of them small ones, but all greatly enjoyed by people who had been for months living on flesh. The next day they started for the Hermitage Ranch, the home of Old Jack Rand, long a resident of these mountains. The march had but just begun when Hugh saw ahead of him a rider coming at good speed. As the man approached, he began to make signs to Hugh, who halted, and when the rider came up, he was seen to have been riding hard and far. "You better turn around, partners," he said. "There is trouble down below. The Utes have gone to war again, and swear they're going to clean out the settlements. We have sent a courier to ask for help from Denver, and I'm riding up to Laramie to try to get some troops to come in from there. I reckon we're going to have another Meeker massacre, but I hope not another Thornburgh killing. They say the Utes are mad, and are going to clean out all the settlers. You'd better turn 'round, and get out of this, unless you are looking for trouble." "Well," said Hugh, "we're not looking for trouble, and I don't want any Indian fighting, without it's thrust upon me. What do you know yourself about these people? Have you seen any of the Indians?" "No," said the man, "I haven't. I heard that a lot of gamblers went up to the Ute reservation and took two or three race horses with them. First they ran their slow horses against the Utes', and the Utes beat them all; but finally they brought out a part thoroughbred that was swift, and that they thought would beat the Utes' ponies, but they got fooled on that. The Utes brought out a new pony that got away with their fast horse, and then the gamblers would not pay what they bet, and started in to try to take away the horses that the Utes had won. That made the Utes mad, and they threatened to kill the gamblers. They say some shots were fired, and some say some white men were killed, and some say some Utes were killed. Anyhow, there's going to be trouble, and you ought to know it before you go on." "Well," said Hugh, "we're mightily obliged to you for giving us this warning. I'll talk to my party here, and we'll decide what to do." "Well, so long," said the rider; and he spurred up his horse and disappeared on the road toward Laramie. Hugh spoke to the members of the party, all of whom had gathered around the stranger, and said, "This is bad news, and I reckon we better turn around and make tracks for the railroad. Of course, if we had any quarrel with the Utes and wanted to fight them, why, we could keep on, but I reckon there's nobody here wants to get into trouble. Certainly I don't, and I don't want Jack to, and you men who are out traveling for pleasure don't want to, either. As for you, Jones, the Indians, if they do make any trouble, will be between here and the place you want to go to, and you don't want to risk your animals and your life down there if there's going to be any fight." "No," said Jones, "I certainly do not." "Well, but, Mr. Johnson, all our things are in Denver, and we must get back there," said Mr. Clifford. "You can do that by way of the railroad," answered Hugh, "if you want to. That's better than riding down through the parks and running into a fight, as you might do if you kept on." "Yes," said Mr. Clifford, "I think it is. I certainly don't want to get into trouble of any sort." "Well," said Hugh, "whatever you others decide, Jack and I will go back. I would not take the responsibility of getting him into any Indian fighting. He and I can take care of ourselves well enough if we have to, but we are not looking for trouble." Hugh turned about and rode back the way that they had come, and the others followed him without further discussion. The day's march was a long one, and they camped on Buffalo Creek in North Park. That evening, after supper, Hugh said: "Now, I want you all to understand how I feel about this report that we've had to-day. Likely enough the message that that rider gave us was just a simple scare story that hasn't any foundation in fact; but then again, it may be true. My position is just this: I've brought son here out for a summer's trip, and it's understood that I shall use my best judgment to make him have a good time, and to make him learn things, but it is also understood that I shall not let him get into any danger if I can help it. I propose to have any mistakes that I may make, made on the safe side; so I would rather run away from a rumor than go ahead and investigate that rumor and then find that it was true and that we had met some danger. "Jack knows how to take care of himself a good deal better than most young men. He has been in danger a good many times, but I do not want to have him get into danger if he can avoid it. Now, I propose to get started before day to-morrow morning, and make a long, hard ride. If the Indians break out, we are likely to see them any time while we're here in North Park, but after we have passed Pinkham's, I don't think there is any danger. They won't go as far north as that." It was long before light next morning when breakfast was cooked, and before the first dawn, the train was in motion. While they were packing, Hugh spoke to Jack and said, "Son, there's no use to talk much about it, but you and I are the only men in this outfit that know much of anything about the prairie, and we must do the best we can to keep the others out of trouble. I don't much expect that we will have any trouble, but we must both be on the lookout for it all the time. Now, I want you to ride behind, and to keep the packs up close, and I want you also to watch the back trail closely, and if you see anybody following us, or in fact coming from any direction behind, let me know as soon as you can. It may be that there are little camps of Utes scattered out all through the mountains. You and I haven't seen any signs of them, but that doesn't mean that they are not there. If this trouble is serious and came up suddenly, the Indians will send out runners to all these little camps, the men will get back as fast as they can to where the trouble is, and the women and children will go through the mountains keeping themselves hidden. So you see it's possible that at any time a little bunch of Indians may jump out of the mountains close to us, and if there are wild young men among them, they may come down and try to take what we've got. I don't reckon they care much for our scalps, but they'd like our horses and guns, and this fur, too, if they knew we had it. "Now, as I say, you and I have got to be the eyes of this outfit, and if by any chance it should come to fighting, we've got to do the fighting, too. Those Englishmen and that ranchman that they've hired won't be of any use at all." When they set out, Hugh traveled more rapidly than he had at any time on the trip, and Jack, who, as directed, brought up the rear, kept the last horses well up with the bunch. By noon they had covered a good distance and had crossed the Michigan. Two or three hours later, Jack began to think that if they kept on they would certainly reach Pinkham's that night. All during the day he had been particularly alert, watching the back trail and the prairie on either side. He had just been looking back and was turning his eyes to the front again, when off to the west he saw some black dots appear from behind a hill two or three miles away. A moment later he could see that there were fifteen or twenty of these dots, which he at once made out to be riders coming directly toward them. Jack gave a whoop, and waved his hand to the left as Hugh looked back, and a moment later Hugh called to the others to keep the horses up close, and started ahead on a good lope. Jack kept watching the group of pursuers, and it was not long before he could see that they were Indians. It was not, perhaps, so much any one thing about them, for they were much too distant for him to see how they were clad, or how they were armed, but there was something in the way they rode, in the swing of their bodies, which made him sure that they were Indians; of course, Utes, and since they were pursuing them, presumably hostile. He looked ahead to see what Hugh was doing, and where he was going, and presently saw him direct his course toward an isolated group of cottonwood trees which stood near the stream in a wide meadow. The Indians were still a couple of miles behind them, and there was plenty of time for the train to take refuge among the trees before the enemy--if enemies they were--could come within rifle shot. A little later, Hugh rode in among the trees and almost through them to the other side, and then suddenly pulling up his horse, he sprang to the ground and began to catch up the pack animals, and to tie them to trees in the center of the little grove, where they would in some degree be protected from bullets if any shooting took place. The Englishmen and Jones were quick to assist him as soon as they saw what he was trying to do, and by the time Jack had come up, all the horses had been secured. Hugh called out to Jack, "Now, son, I want you all to scatter out and to see that none of these Indians get close to this timber. I don't know yet what they mean, but if they mean fight, we can stand them off here. They probably know that troops have been sent for, and they won't stay here long. They will hurry back to their main outfit. We're about as safe here as we would be in a house, but, of course, we've all got to keep our eyes open. You look after these other men, and see that each one keeps a good lookout on his side, and that each one keeps far enough back so that he won't get shot if there is any shooting. Remember, these Utes are good shots. On the other hand, their guns won't carry very far, and they're likely to be poor off for ammunition. Watch out now." All this time the Indians had been drawing closer, and were now within about five hundred yards of the trees, but it seemed to Jack they were going a little slower all the time. He saw them from the other side of the grove, where he was posting the Cliffords and Jones. As they came up, half a dozen men rode ahead from either flank and passed part way around the group of cottonwood trees, stopping at intervals, until finally the grove was surrounded by a thin line of men, who had every part of it under observation. No one could leave the grove without being seen. "Well," said Jack to himself, "what sort of fools do these people think we are? They don't imagine that we are going to leave a good safe place like this and start off over the prairie, do they?" A moment later he saw Hugh step out of the timber on the open meadow, in plain sight, and make signs to the Indians, and then saw the group that was still advancing from that side stop. By this time Jack had posted his men and advised them what to do, and he quickly slipped back to the edge of the timber near where Hugh stood. When Hugh made his signs, the first of which Jack recognized as the sign for "friends" and then the sign to "stop" or "keep off," the Indians stopped, consulted together, and presently one of them rode out alone, and coming a hundred yards nearer the timber, began to make signs. A moment later Hugh called to Jack and said, "Son, this man says he wants to talk, and I think I'll go out and meet him. It isn't likely that he'll try to play any trick on me. I shall take my gun with me, and let him take his, but you must keep a sharp lookout. If anything should happen to me, you must try to slip away to-night and get beyond Pinkhams, then you'll be safe. Of course nothing will happen to me; but a person might be struck by lightning." Hugh mounted his horse and rode out toward the Indian, and the two met midway between the group of Indians and the trees. As Hugh approached the Ute, Jack, who was watching carefully, seemed to see a change in the attitude of the two men, and saw that they rode up close to one another and shook hands, Hugh giving his left hand to the Indian, who shook it with his right, while Hugh held his rifle in his right hand. After a few minutes' talk, the Indian turned and galloped back to his people, while Hugh sat and watched him for a moment, and then wheeling, rode swiftly back toward the trees. He had almost reached them, when suddenly a shot rang out in the trees not far behind Jack, and he saw Hugh throw himself forward on his saddle, while the group of Indians, dropping down out of sight behind their horses, scattered and rode away. An instant later Hugh rode by him into the shelter of the trees, and pulling up his horse, sprang to the ground with the question, "Who fired that shot?" "I don t know," replied Jack. "Well," said Hugh, "you stop here and watch, and if those Indians come up on this side, call out to me." He then threw down his reins and disappeared among the tree trunks. The first person he saw was Henry, looking very much disturbed, and on the ground not far before him, Hugh noticed a green cottonwood twig, freshly broken from a branch, to which the unfaded leaves still clung. The Indians that had been distributed about the clump of trees had disappeared, and it was evident that at the shot they had quickly gotten under cover. "Did you fire that shot, my boy?" asked Hugh, though he hardly needed the answer. "Yes," said Henry, "my gun went off by accident. I saw the Indians all about us, and loaded my gun, and then began to cock it, so as to be ready if anything happened, when the hammer slipped from my thumb, and the gun went off." "Well," said Hugh, "that's a pity. Let me look at your gun." Henry handed it over to him, and Hugh opened the breech and took from it the newly fired cartridge shell in which some of the smoke still hung. He put the shell in his pocket, and then asked, "Which way was your gun pointed?" "Why," said Henry, "it was pointed nearly straight up in the air, I think. Anyhow, I know that the branch of a tree fell down in front of me just after the gun was discharged." "Well," said Hugh, "I don't think there's going to be any fighting, and if I were you I would not load my gun again until either Jack or I tell you to. Just stand where you are, and keep a good lookout. Where is your father?" "He is over there to the left somewhere. Jack placed us, and told us to stay where we were, and to keep watch until he came to us again." "All right," answered Hugh, "just wait here, and I'll go over and speak to your father; and then I've got to speak to these Indians again." Mr. Clifford was found in the place where Jack had put him. He seemed glad to see Hugh, and very anxious to know what the shot had meant. Hugh reassured him, telling him of the accident, but without commenting on it. Then Hugh returned to Jack and told him what had happened. "I don't know whether we'll be able to talk to those Indians again, son," he said. "That shot will make them all mighty suspicious. I was a little uneasy when they first got around us, but as soon as I saw who those men were that I talked to I knew it was all right. I know some of them right well, and the one who met me is Man Above. He used to be a friend of mine. Man Above said that the Indians don't want to fight the white people, but they don't want them coming in here to kill their game, and they are going to tell everybody to get out; and then if they won't get out, the Indians will fight them. He told me that he had just heard about the trouble down below, and doesn't know what it's about, but that they are going back soon to find out. "I told him that we were just on our way home, and didn't expect to hunt here any more, but that if they wanted to fight us, we were ready for them, and they could start in any time. I said that the Utes knew me, and that I had with me three men that had good guns and could shoot as well as I, and that if we had any fighting, it would be real fighting and not play. I said it would make me feel bad to fight the Utes, because I had always liked them and felt friendly toward them; that it would be bad for them to fight the white people, because there were too many whites for them to fight. If they killed a few, more would come, and at last they would whip the Utes. He said that he knew me, and I knew him, and he did not want to fight me; that our guns were good, and that many of his young men had only bows. He said that he was glad we were going away, and that now, after what I had told him, they would go away in the opposite direction, so that there would be no danger of trouble. But you see that shot has spoiled everything. Now I've got to see if I can get them to talk again. You see how a little thing like that boy's carelessness might start a trouble that would cost half a dozen men their lives." "Yes," said Jack, "it was pretty stupid. I suppose it might have happened to me, perhaps, just as well as to Henry, but I am mighty glad it wasn't me." "No," said Hugh, "I should hate to believe that you could do such a fool thing as that." Hugh mounted his horse and again rode out into the open, stopping a couple of hundred yards from the trees, and here he made the peace sign again. One of the distant Indians--which one Jack could not see because of the distance, rode out toward Hugh. Then Hugh dismounted, and, after holding his gun above his head for a moment, placed it on the ground, and then remounted and rode toward the Indian. A little later the Indian dismounted and put his gun on the ground, and presently he and Hugh met. Hugh explained to Man Above--for it was he--what the shot had meant, and asked him, if he felt like it, to ride into the timber and see for himself what had happened. If he did not feel like it, Hugh asked him if he would gather up his men and go away as he had before said he intended to do. "I think," said Hugh, "if you will ask your men, you will find that no one of them was shot at. The boy just let his gun go off in the air, but it happened at a bad time." "I will get my men together," said Man Above; "and if no one of them says that he was shot at, we will go away as I promised. I believe that your words are true, and that the shot was fired by accident. Now I will go and send someone to call up the young men who are about these trees." "That is good," said Hugh. "I should be sorry to fight you, my friend. It would do good to neither of us, and it might lead to much fighting." "You speak well," said Man Above; and after shaking hands the two parted and rode in opposite directions, each one picking up his gun when he came to it. A little later two Indians were seen to ride in opposite directions around the clump of trees, but a long way from it, and not long after the surrounding Indians were seen riding toward the group of their fellows, assembled on the prairie south of the cottonwoods. Hugh watched them with the glasses, and at last announced to Jack that they had all come together; and a little later the whole band of Indians turned their faces southward, and trotted off in the direction from which they had come. As they started, Hugh shook his head and said, "Good Lord, what a terrible thing it is to be mixed up with pilgrims. That lad out there has no more idea of the danger he brought on us all than a chicken just out of the shell, and I reckon his father hasn't, either. If I hadn't happened to know some of that bunch of Indians, we never would have gotten off as easy as we did." "I guess not," replied Jack; "and I can tell you I'm mighty glad to see those Indians go. I don't know whether it's just plain prudence, or whether I've got some feeling of responsibility about these English people, but I'm sure I don't want to fight these Utes a bit. Two or three years ago I would have felt differently. Do you remember, Hugh, how crazy I was to go off on a war party with Joe and Bull Calf and some of that outfit, one summer up with the Piegans?" "Yes," answered Hugh, "I remember it. You thought I treated you pretty badly, I guess, that time." "Yes," said Jack, "I did. But I've been mighty glad a good many times since. Now we can watch these Utes and see them a long way off. If they pass over that farthest hill, we can start from here before dark, and they can't catch us before we get out of the Park." "That's right," said Hugh. "Now let's unload and give these horses a chance to feed and rest, and then about sundown we'll start, and ride all night if we have to." The horses were speedily stripped and picketed out on the meadow where the grazing was good, and then Jack and Hugh returned to the edge of the grove, and sat there watching the retreating group of Indians, whose figures grew smaller and smaller as the distance increased. They were doing just what they had agreed to do, and an hour and a half later the band were passing over the most distant crest, and Hugh, counting them through the field glasses, declared that the number was just what it had been when he talked to them. Now the animals were brought in, loaded, and the train swiftly set in motion. They rode all night, and the next morning at daylight camped on the Laramie River, well out of reach of any trouble with the Utes. Two days later they were at Laramie, and there Hugh and Jack regretfully parted with their English friends, who returned to Denver by rail, shipping their horses also on the railroad. Jack and Hugh turned their faces westward, and a little more than a week later were showing their catch of fur to Mr. Sturgis at the ranch. "But, son," said Hugh, "we didn't half trap. We ought to have loaded at least two horses with beaver." THE END TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES -Plain print and punctuation errors fixed. -In several chapter header the word "chapter" is missing in original book; it has been added for consistency and for better building of Table of Contents by ePubMaker. 
32236	----	http://www.fadedpage.net [Illustration: With eye and ear alert the man paddles silently on. (_See page 105._)] _THE STORY OF THE WEST SERIES_ _EDITED BY RIPLEY HITCHCOCK_ THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER * * * * * The Story of the West Series. EDITED BY RIPLEY HITCHCOCK. Each Illustrated, 12mo, Cloth. +The Story of the Railroad.+ By CY WARMAN, Author of "The Express Messenger." $1.50. +The Story of the Cowboy.+ By E. HOUGH. Illustrated by William L. Wells and C. M. Russell. $1.50. +The Story of the Mine.+ Illustrated by the Great Comstock Lode of Nevada. By CHARLES HOWARD SHINN. $1.50. +The Story of the Indian.+ By GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL, Author of "Pawnee Hero Stories," "Blackfoot Lodge Tales," etc. $1.50. +The Story of the Soldier.+ By Brevet Brigadier-General GEORGE A. FORSYTH, U. S. A. (retired). Illustrated by R. F. Zogbaum. $1.50. +The Story of the Trapper.+ By A. C. LAUT, Author of "Heralds of Empire." Illustrated by Hemment. $1.25 net; postage, 12 cents additional. D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. * * * * * THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER BY A. C. LAUT AUTHOR OF HERALDS OF EMPIRE AND LORDS OF THE NORTH _ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR HEMING AND OTHERS_ [Illustration] NEW YORK AND LONDON D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1916 COPYRIGHT, 1902 BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY Printed in the United States of America * * * * * TO ALL WHO KNOW THE GIPSY YEARNING FOR THE WILDS * * * * * EDITOR'S PREFACE The picturesque figure of the trapper follows close behind the Indian in the unfolding of the panorama of the West. There is the explorer, but the trapper himself preceded the explorers--witness Lewis's and Clark's meetings with trappers on their journey. The trapper's hard-earned knowledge of the vast empire lying beyond the Missouri was utilized by later comers, or in a large part died with him, leaving occasional records in the documents of fur companies, or reports of military expeditions, or here and there in the name of a pass, a stream, a mountain, or a fort. His adventurous warfare upon the wild things of the woods and streams was the expression of a primitive instinct old as the history of mankind. The development of the motives which led the first pioneer trappers afield from the days of the first Eastern settlements, the industrial organizations which followed, the commanding commercial results which were evolved from the trafficking of Radisson and Groseillers in the North, the rise of the great Hudson's Bay Company, and the American enterprise which led, among other results, to the foundation of the Astor fortunes, would form no inconsiderable part of a history of North America. The present volume aims simply to show the type-character of the Western trapper, and to sketch in a series of pictures the checkered life of this adventurer of the wilderness. The trapper of the early West was a composite figure. From the Northeast came a splendid succession of French explorers like La Vérendrye, with _coureurs des bois_, and a multitude of daring trappers and traders pushing west and south. From the south the Spaniard, illustrated in figures like Garces and others, held out hands which rarely grasped the waiting commerce. From the north and northeast there was the steady advance of the sturdy Scotch and English, typified in the deeds of the Henrys, Thompson, MacKenzie, and the leaders of the organized fur trade, explorers, traders, captains of industry, carrying the flags of the Hudson's Bay and North-West Fur companies across Northern America to the Pacific. On the far Northwestern coast the Russian appeared as fur trader in the middle of the eighteenth century, and the close of the century saw the merchants of Boston claiming their share of the fur traffic of that coast. The American trapper becomes a conspicuous figure in the early years of the nineteenth century. The emporium of his traffic was St. Louis, and the period of its greatest importance and prosperity began soon after the Louisiana Purchase and continued for forty years. The complete history of the American fur trade of the far West has been written by Captain H. M. Chittenden in volumes which will be included among the classics of early Western history. Although his history is a publication designed for limited circulation, no student or specialist in this field can fail to appreciate the value of his faithful and comprehensive work. In The Story of the Trapper there is presented for the general reader a vivid picture of an adventurous figure, which is painted with a singleness of purpose and a distinctness impossible of realization in the large and detailed histories of the American fur trade and the Hudson's Bay and North-West companies, or the various special relations and journals and narratives. The author's wilderness lore and her knowledge of the life, added to her acquaintance with its literature, have borne fruit in a personification of the Western and Northern trappers who live in her pages. It is the man whom we follow not merely in the evolution of the Western fur traffic, but also in the course of his strange life in the wilds, his adventures, and the contest of his craft against the cunning of his quarry. It is a most picturesque figure which is sketched in these pages with the etcher's art that selects essentials while boldly disregarding details. This figure as it is outlined here will be new and strange to the majority of readers, and the relish of its piquant flavour will make its own appeal. A strange chapter in history is outlined for those who would gain an insight into the factors which had to do with the building of the West. Woodcraft, exemplified in the calling of its most skilful devotees, is painted in pictures which breathe the very atmosphere of that life of stream and forest which has not lost its appeal even in these days of urban centralization. The flash of the paddle, the crack of the rifle, the stealthy tracking of wild beasts, the fearless contest of man against brute and savage, may be followed throughout a narrative which is constant in its fresh and personal interest. The Hudson's Bay Company still flourishes, and there is still an American fur trade; but the golden days are past, and the heroic age of the American trapper in the West belongs to a bygone time. Even more than the cowboy, his is a fading figure, dimly realized by his successors. It is time to tell his story, to show what manner of man he was, and to preserve for a different age the adventurous character of a Romany of the wilderness, fascinating in the picturesqueness and daring of his primeval life, and also, judged by more practical standards, a figure of serious historical import in his relations to exploration and commerce, and even affairs of politics and state. If, therefore, we take the trapper as a typical figure in the early exploitation of an empire, his larger significance may be held of far more consequence to us than the excesses and lawlessness so frequent in his life. He was often an adventurer pure and simple. The record of his dealings with the red man and with white competitors is darkened by many stains. His return from his lonely journeys afield brought an outbreak of license like that of the cowboy fresh from the range, but with all this the stern life of the old frontier bred a race of men who did their work. That work was the development of the only natural resources of vast regions in this country and to the Northward, which were utilized for long periods. There was also the task of exploration, the breaking the way for others, and as pioneer and as builder of commerce the trapper's part in our early history has a significance which cloaks the frailties characteristic of restraintless life in untrodden wilds. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I.--GAMESTERS OF THE WILDERNESS 1 II.--THREE COMPANIES IN CONFLICT 8 III.--THE NOR' WESTERS' COUP 22 IV.--THE ANCIENT HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY WAKENS UP 28 V.--MR. ASTOR'S COMPANY ENCOUNTERS NEW OPPONENTS 38 VI.--THE FRENCH TRAPPER 50 VII.--THE BUFFALO-RUNNERS 65 VIII.--THE MOUNTAINEERS 81 IX.--THE TAKING OF THE BEAVER 102 X.--THE MAKING OF THE MOCCASINS 117 XI.--THE INDIAN TRAPPER 128 XII.--BA'TISTE, THE BEAR HUNTER 144 XIII.--JOHN COLTER--FREE TRAPPER 160 XIV.--THE GREATEST FUR COMPANY OF THE WORLD 181 XV.--KOOT AND THE BOB-CAT 206 XVI.--OTHER LITTLE ANIMALS BESIDES WAHBOOS THE RABBIT 222 XVII.--THE RARE FURS--HOW THE TRAPPER TAKES THEM 240 XVIII.--UNDER THE NORTH STAR--WHERE FOX AND ERMINE RUN 258 XIX.--WHAT THE TRAPPER STANDS FOR 275 APPENDIX 281 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE WITH EYE AND EAR ALERT THE MAN PADDLES SILENTLY ON _Frontispiece_ INDIAN _VOYAGEURS_ "PACKING" OVER LONG _PORTAGE_ 30 TRADERS RUNNING A MACKINAW OR KEEL-BOAT DOWN THE RAPIDS 57 THE BUFFALO-HUNT 78 THEY DODGE THE COMING SWEEP OF THE UPLIFTED ARM 143 CARRYING GOODS OVER LONG _PORTAGE_ WITH THE OLD-FASHIONED RED RIVER OX-CARTS 198 FORT MACPHERSON, THE MOST NORTHERLY POST OF THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY 228 TYPES OF FUR PRESSES 250 THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER PART I CHAPTER I GAMESTERS OF THE WILDERNESS Fearing nothing, stopping at nothing, knowing no law, ruling his stronghold of the wilds like a despot, checkmating rivals with a deviltry that beggars parallel, wassailing with a shamelessness that might have put Rome's worst deeds to the blush, fighting--fighting--fighting, always fighting with a courage that knew no truce but victory, the American trapper must ever stand as a type of the worst and the best in the militant heroes of mankind. Each with an army at his back, Wolfe and Napoleon won victories that upset the geography of earth. The fur traders never at any time exceeded a few thousands in number, faced enemies unbacked by armies and sallied out singly or in pairs; yet they won a continent that has bred a new race. Like John Colter,[1] whom Manuel Lisa met coming from the wilds a hundred years ago, the trapper strapped a pack to his back, slung a rifle over his shoulder, and, without any fanfare of trumpets, stepped into the pathless shade of the great forests. Or else, like Williams of the Arkansas, the trapper left the moorings of civilization in a canoe, hunted at night, hid himself by day, evaded hostile Indians by sliding down-stream with muffled paddles, slept in mid-current screened by the branches of driftwood, and if a sudden halloo of marauders came from the distance, cut the strap that held his craft to the shore and got away under cover of the floating tree. Hunters crossing the Cimarron desert set out with pack-horses, and, like Captain Becknell's party, were often compelled to kill horses and dogs to keep from dying of thirst. Frequently their fate was that of Rocky Mountain Smith, killed by the Indians as he stooped to scoop out a drinking-hole in the sand. Men who brought down their pelts to the mountain _rendezvous_ of Pierre's Hole, or went over the divide like Fraser and Thompson of the North-West Fur Company, had to abandon both horses and canoes, scaling cañon walls where the current was too turbulent for a canoe and the precipice too sheer for a horse, with the aid of their hunting-knives stuck in to the haft.[2] Where the difficulties were too great for a few men, the fur traders clubbed together under a master-mind like John Jacob Astor of the Pacific Company, or Sir Alexander MacKenzie of the Nor' Westers. Banded together, they thought no more of coasting round the sheeted antarctics, or slipping down the ice-jammed current of the MacKenzie River under the midnight sun of the arctic circle, than people to-day think of running from New York to Newport. When the conflict of 1812 cut off communication between western fur posts and New York by the overland route, Farnham, the Green Mountain boy, didn't think himself a hero at all for sailing to Kamtchatka and crossing the whole width of Asia, Europe, and the Atlantic, to reach Mr. Astor. The American fur trader knew only one rule of existence--to go ahead without any heroics, whether the going cost his own or some other man's life. That is the way the wilderness was won; and the winning is one of the most thrilling pages in history. * * * * * About the middle of the seventeenth century Pierre Radisson and Chouart Groseillers, two French adventurers from Three Rivers, Quebec, followed the chain of waterways from the Ottawa and Lake Superior northwestward to the region of Hudson Bay.[3] Returning with tales of fabulous wealth to be had in the fur trade of the north, they were taken in hand by members of the British Commission then in Boston, whose influence secured the Hudson's Bay Company charter in 1670; and that ancient and honourable body--as the company was called--reaped enormous profits from the bartering of pelts. But the bartering went on in a prosy, half-alive way, the traders sitting snugly in their forts on Rupert and Severn Rivers, or at York Factory (Port Nelson) and Churchill (Prince of Wales). The French governor down in Quebec issued only a limited number of licenses for the fur trade in Canada; and the old English company had no fear of rivalry in the north. It never sought inland tribes, but waited with serene apathy for the Indians to come down to its fur posts on the bay. Young Le Moyne d'Iberville[4] might march overland from Quebec to the bay, catch the English company nodding, scale the stockades, capture its forts, batter down a wall or two, and sail off like a pirate with ship-loads of booty for Quebec. What did the ancient company care? European treaties restored its forts, and the honourable adventurers presented a bill of damages to their government for lost furs. But came a sudden change. Great movements westward began simultaneously in all parts of the east. This resulted from two events--England's victory over France at Quebec, and the American colonies' Declaration of Independence. The downfall of French ascendency in America meant an end to that license system which limited the fur trade to favourites of the governor. That threw an army of some two thousand men--_voyageurs, coureurs des bois, mangeurs de lard_,[5] famous hunters, traders, and trappers--on their own resources. The MacDonalds and MacKenzies and MacGillivrays and Frobishers and MacTavishes--Scotch merchants of Quebec and Montreal--were quick to seize the opportunity. Uniting under the names of North-West Fur Company and X. Y. Fur Company, they re-engaged the entire retinue of cast-off Frenchmen, woodcraftsmen who knew every path and stream from Labrador to the Rocky Mountains. Giving higher pay and better fare than the old French traders, the Scotch merchants prepared to hold the field against all comers in the Canadas. And when the X. Y. amalgamated with the larger company before the opening of the nineteenth century, the Nor' Westers became as famous for their daring success as their unscrupulous ubiquity. But at that stage came the other factor--American Independence. Locked in conflict with England, what deadlier blow to British power could France deal than to turn over Louisiana with its million square miles and ninety thousand inhabitants to the American Republic? The Lewis and Clark exploration up the Missouri, over the mountains, and down the Columbia to the Pacific was a natural sequel to the Louisiana Purchase, and proved that the United States had gained a world of wealth for its fifteen million dollars. Before Lewis and Clark's feat, vague rumours had come to the New England colonies of the riches to be had in the west. The Russian Government had organized a strong company to trade for furs with the natives of the Pacific coast. Captain Vancouver's report of the north-west coast was corroborated by Captain Grey, who had stumbled into the mouth of the Columbia; and before 1800 nearly thirty Boston vessels yearly sailed to the Northern Pacific for the fur trade. Eager to forestall the Hudson's Bay Company, now beginning to rub its eyes and send explorers westward to bring Indians down to the bay,[6] Alexander MacKenzie of the Nor' Westers pushed down the great river named after him,[7] and forced his way across the northern Rockies to the Pacific. Flotillas of North-West canoes quickly followed MacKenzie's lead north to the arctics, south-west down the Columbia. At Michilimackinac--one of the most lawless and roaring of the fur posts--was an association known as the Mackinaw Company, made up of old French hunters under English management, trading westward from the Lakes to the Mississippi. Hudson Bay, Nor' Wester, and Mackinaw were daily pressing closer and closer to that vast unoccupied Eldorado--the fur country between the Missouri and the Saskatchewan, bounded eastward by the Mississippi, west by the Pacific. Possession is nine points out of ten. The question was who would get possession first. Unfortunately that question presented itself to three alert rivals at the same time and in the same light. And the war began. The Mackinaw traders had all they could handle from the Lakes to the Mississippi. Therefore they did little but try to keep other traders out of the western preserve. The Hudson's Bay remained in its somnolent state till the very extremity of outrage brought such a mighty awakening that it put its rivals to an eternal sleep. But the Nor' Westers were not asleep. And John Jacob Astor of New York, who had accumulated what was a gigantic fortune in those days as a purchaser of furs from America and a seller to Europe, was not asleep. And Manual Lisa, a Spaniard, of New Orleans, engaged at St. Louis in fur trade with the Osage tribes, was not asleep. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: Whom Bradbury and Irving and Chittenden have all conspired to make immortal.] [Footnote 2: While Lewis and Clark were on the Upper Missouri, the former had reached a safe footing along a narrow pass, when he heard a voice shout, "Good God, captain, what shall I do?" Turning, Lewis saw Windsor had slipped to the verge of a precipice, where he lay with right arm and leg over it, the other arm clinging for dear life to the bluff. With his hunting-knife he cut a hole for his right foot, ripped off his moccasins so that his toes could have the prehensile freedom of a monkey's tail, and thus crawled to safety like a fly on a wall.] [Footnote 3: Whether they actually reached the shores of the bay on this trip is still a dispute among French-Canadian savants.] [Footnote 4: 1685-'87; the same Le Moyne d'Iberville who died in Havana after spending his strength trying to colonize the Mississippi for France--one instance which shows how completely the influence of the fur trade connected every part of America, from the Gulf to the pole, as in a network irrespective of flag.] [Footnote 5: The men employed in mere rafting and barge work in contradistinction to the trappers and _voyageurs_.] [Footnote 6: This was probably the real motive of the Hudson's Bay Company sending Hearne to explore the Coppermine in 1769-'71. Hearne, unfortunately, has never reaped the glory for this, owing to his too-ready surrender of Prince of Wales Fort to the French in La Perouse's campaign of 1782.] [Footnote 7: To the mouth of the MacKenzie River in 1789, across the Rockies in 1793, for which feats he was knighted.] CHAPTER II THREE COMPANIES IN CONFLICT If only one company had attempted to take possession of the vast fur country west of the Mississippi, the fur trade would not have become international history; but three companies were at strife for possession of territory richer than Spanish Eldorado, albeit the coin was "beaver"--not gold. Each of three companies was determined to use all means fair or foul to exclude its rivals from the field; and a fourth company was drawn into the strife because the conflict menaced its own existence. From their Canadian headquarters at Fort William on Lake Superior, the Nor' Westers had yearly moved farther down the Columbia towards the mouth, where Lewis and Clark had wintered on the Pacific. In New York, Mr. Astor was formulating schemes to add to his fur empire the territory west of the Mississippi. At St. Louis was Manuel Lisa, the Spanish fur trader, already reaching out for the furs of the Missouri. And leagues to the north on the remote waters of Hudson Bay, the old English company lazily blinked its eyes open to the fact that competition was telling heavily on its returns, and that it would be compelled to take a hand in the merry game of a fur traders' war, though the real awakening had not yet come. Lisa was the first to act on the information brought back by Lewis and Clark. Forming a partnership with Morrison and Menard of Kaskaskia, Ill., and engaging Drouillard, one of Lewis and Clark's men, as interpreter, he left St. Louis with a heavily laden keel-boat in the spring of 1807. Against the turbulent current of the Missouri in the full flood-tide of spring this unwieldy craft was slowly hauled or "cordelled," twenty men along the shore pulling the clumsy barge by means of a line fastened high enough on the mast to be above brushwood. Where the water was shallow the _voyageurs_ poled single file, facing the stern and pushing with full chest strength. In deeper current oars were used. Launched for the wilderness, with no certain knowledge but that the wilderness was peopled by hostiles, poor Bissonette deserted when they were only at the Osage River. Lisa issued orders for Drouillard to bring the deserter back dead or alive--orders that were filled to the letter, for the poor fellow was brought back shot, to die at St. Charles. Passing the mouth of the Platte, the company descried a solitary white man drifting down-stream in a dugout. When it was discovered that this lone trapper was John Colter, who had left Lewis and Clark on their return trip and remained to hunt on the Upper Missouri, one can imagine the shouts that welcomed him. Having now been in the upper country for three years, he was the one man fitted to guide Lisa's party, and was promptly persuaded to turn back with the treasure-seekers. Past Blackbird's grave, where the great chief of the Omahas had been buried astride his war-horse high on the crest of a hill that his spirit might see the canoes of the French _voyageurs_ going up and down the river; past the lonely grave of Floyd,[8] whose death, like that of many a New World hero marked another milestone in the westward progress of empire; past the Aricaras, with their three hundred warriors gorgeous in vermilion, firing volleys across the keel-boat with fusees got from rival traders;[9] past the Mandans, threatening death to the intruders; past five thousand Assiniboine hostiles massed on the bank with weapons ready; up the Yellowstone to the mouth of the Bighorn--went Lisa, stopping in the very heart of the Crow tribe, those thieves and pirates and marauders of the western wilderness. Stockades were hastily stuck in the ground, banked up with a miniature parapet, flanked with the two usual bastions that could send a raking fire along all four walls; and Lisa was ready for trade. In 1808 the keel-boat returned to St. Louis, loaded to the water-line with furs. The Missouri Company was formally organized,[10] and yearly expeditions were sent not only to the Bighorn, but to the Three Forks of the Missouri, among the ferocious Blackfeet. Of the two hundred and fifty men employed, fifty were trained riflemen for the defence of the trappers; but this did not prevent more than thirty men losing their lives at the hands of the Blackfeet within two years. Among the victims was Drouillard, struck down wheeling his horse round and round as a shield, literally torn to pieces by the exasperated savages and eaten according to the hideous superstition that the flesh of a brave man imparts bravery. All the plundered clothing, ammunition, and peltries were carried to the Nor' Westers' trading posts north of the boundary.[11] Not if the West were to be baptized in blood would the traders retreat. Crippled, but not beaten, the Missouri men under Andrew Henry's leadership moved south-west over the mountains into the region that was to become famous as Pierre's Hole. * * * * * Meanwhile neither the Nor' Westers nor Mr. Astor remained idle. The same year that Lisa organized his Missouri Fur Company Mr. Astor obtained a charter from the State of New York for the American Fur Company. To lessen competition in the great scheme gradually framing itself in his mind, he bought out that half of the Mackinaw Company's trade[12] which was within the United States, the posts in the British dominions falling into the hands of the all-powerful Nor' Westers. Intimate with the leading partners of the Nor' Westers, Mr. Astor proposed to avoid rivalry on the Pacific coast by giving the Canadians a third interest in his plans for the capture of the Pacific trade. Lords of their own field, the Nor' Westers rejected Mr. Astor's proposal with a scorn born of unshaken confidence, and at once prepared to anticipate American possession of the Pacific coast. Mr. Astor countered by engaging the best of the dissatisfied Nor' Westers for his Pacific Fur Company. Duncan MacDougall, a little pepper-box of a Scotchman, with a bumptious idea of authority which was always making other eyes smart, was to be Mr. Astor's proxy on the ship to round the Horn and at the headquarters of the company on the Pacific. Donald MacKenzie was a relative of Sir Alexander of the Nor' Westers, and must have left the northern traders from some momentary pique; for he soon went back to the Canadian companies, became chief factor at Fort Garry,[13] the headquarters of the Hudson's Bay Company, and was for a time governor of Red River. Alexander MacKay had accompanied Sir Alexander MacKenzie on his famous northern trips, and was one Nor' Wester who served Mr. Astor with fidelity to the death. The elder Stuart was a rollicking winterer from The Labrador, with the hail-fellow-well-met-air of an equal among the mercurial French-Canadians. The younger Stuart was of the game, independent spirit that made Nor' Westers famous. Of the Tonquin's voyage round the Horn--with its crew of twenty, and choleric Captain Thorn, and four[14] partners headed by the fussy little MacDougall in mutiny against the captain's discipline, and twelve clerks always getting their landlubber clumsiness in the sailors' way, and thirteen _voyageurs_ ever grumbling at the ocean swell that gave them qualms unknown on inland waters--little need be said. Washington Irving has told this story; and what Washington Irving leaves untold, Captain Chittenden has recently unearthed from the files of the Missouri archives. The Tonquin sailed from New York, September 6, 1810. The captain had been a naval officer, and cursed the partners for their easy familiarity with the men before the mast, and the note-writing clerks for a lot of scribbling blockheads, and the sea-sick _voyageurs_ for a set of fresh-water braggarts. And the captain's amiable feelings were reciprocated by every Nor' Wester on board. Cape Horn was doubled on Christmas Day, Hawaii sighted in February, some thirty Sandwich Islanders engaged for service in the new company, and the Columbia entered at the end of March, 1811. Eight lives were lost attempting to run small boats against the turbulent swell of tide and current. The place to land, the site to build, details of the new fort, Astoria--all were subjects for the jangling that went on between the fuming little Scotchman MacDougall and Captain Thorn, till the Tonquin weighed anchor on the 1st of June and sailed away to trade on the north coast, accompanied by only one partner, Alexander MacKay, and one clerk, James Lewis. The obstinacy that had dominated Captain Thorn continued to dictate a wrong-headed course. In spite of Mr. Astor's injunction to keep Indians off the ship and MacKay's warning that the Nootka tribes were treacherous, the captain allowed natives to swarm over his decks. Once, when MacKay was on shore, Thorn lost his temper, struck an impertinent chief in the face with a bundle of furs, and expelled the Indian from the ship. When MacKay came back and learned what had happened, he warned the captain of Indian vengeance and urged him to leave the harbour. These warnings the captain scorned, welcoming back the Indians, and no doubt exulting to see that they had become almost servile. One morning, when Thorn, and MacKay were yet asleep, a pirogue with twenty Indians approached the ship. The Indians were unarmed, and held up furs to trade. They were welcomed on deck. Another canoe glided near and another band mounted the ship's ladder. Soon the vessel was completely surrounded with canoes, the braves coming aboard with furs, the squaws laughing and chatting and rocking their crafts at the ship's side. This day the Indians were neither pertinacious nor impertinent in their trade. Matters went swimmingly till some of the Tonquin's crew noticed with alarm that all the Indians were taking knives and other weapons in exchange for their furs and that groups were casually stationing themselves at positions of wonderful advantage on the deck. MacKay and Thorn were quickly called. This is probably what the Indians were awaiting. MacKay grasped the fearful danger of the situation and again warned the captain. Again Thorn slighted the warning. But anchors were hoisted. The Indians thronged closer, as if in the confusion of hasty trade. Then the dour-headed Thorn understood. With a shout he ordered the decks cleared. His shout was answered by a counter-shout--the wild, shrill shriekings of the Indian war-cry! All the newly-bought weapons flashed in the morning sun. Lewis, the clerk, fell first, bending over a pile of goods, and rolled down the companion-way with a mortal stab in his back. MacKay was knocked from his seat on the taffrail by a war-club and pitched overboard to the canoes, where the squaws received him on their knives. Thorn had been roused so suddenly that he had no weapon but his pocket-knife. With this he was trying to fight his way to the firearms of the cabin, when he was driven, faint from loss of blood, to the wheel-house. A tomahawk clubbed down, and he, too, was pitched overboard to the knives of the squaws. While the officers were falling on the quarter-deck, sailors and Sandwich Islanders were fighting to the death elsewhere. The seven men who had been sent up the ratlins to rig sails came shinning down ropes and masts to gain the cabin. Two were instantly killed. A third fell down the main hatch fatally wounded; and the other four got into the cabin, where they broke holes and let fly with musket and rifle. This sent the savages scattering overboard to the waiting canoes. The survivors then fired charge after charge from the deck cannon, which drove the Indians to land with tremendous loss of life. All day the Indians watched the Tonquin's sails flapping to the wind; but none of the ship's crew appeared on the deck. The next morning the Tonquin still lay rocking to the tide; but no white men emerged from below. Eager to plunder the apparently deserted ship, the Indians launched their canoes and cautiously paddled near. A white man--one of those who had fallen down the hatch wounded--staggered up to the deck, waved for the natives to come on board, and dropped below. Gluttonous of booty, the savages beset the sides of the Tonquin like flocks of carrion-birds. Barely were they on deck when sea and air were rent with a terrific explosion as of ten thousand cannon! The ship was blown to atoms, bodies torn asunder, and the sea scattered with bloody remnants of what had been living men but a moment before. The mortally wounded man, thought to be Lewis, the clerk,[15] had determined to effect the death of his enemies on his own pyre. Unable to escape with the other four refugees under cover of night, he had put a match to four tons of powder in the hold. But the refugees might better have perished with the Tonquin; for head-winds drove them ashore, where they were captured and tortured to death with all the prolonged cruelty that savages practise. Between twenty and thirty lives were lost in this disaster to the Pacific Fur Company; and MacDougall was left at Astoria with but a handful of men and a weakly-built fort to wait the coming of the overland traders whom Mr. Astor was sending by way of the Missouri and Columbia. Indian runners brought vague rumours of thirty white men building a fort on the Upper Columbia. If these had been the overland party, they would have come on to Astoria. Who they were, MacDougall, who had himself been a Nor' Wester, could easily guess. As a countercheck, Stuart of Labrador was preparing to go up-stream and build a fur post for the Pacific Company; but Astoria was suddenly electrified by the apparition of nine white men in a canoe flying a British flag. The North-West Company arrived just three months too late! David Thompson, the partner at the head of the newcomers, had been delayed in the mountains by the desertion of his guides. Much to the disgust of Labrador Stuart, who might change masters often but was loyal to only one master at a time, MacDougall and Thompson hailed each other as old friends. Every respect is due Mr. Thompson as an explorer, but to the Astorians living under the ruthless code of fur-trading rivalry, he should have been nothing more than a North-West spy, to be guardedly received in a Pacific Company fort. As a matter of fact, he was welcomed with open arms, saw everything, and set out again with a supply of Astoria provisions. History is not permitted to jump at conclusions, but unanswered questions will always cling round Thompson's visit. Did he bear some message from the Nor' Westers to MacDougall? Why was Stuart, an honourable, fair-minded man, in such high dudgeon that he shook free of Thompson's company on their way back up the Columbia? Why did MacDougall lose his tone of courage with such surprising swiftness? How could the next party of Nor' Westers take him back into the fold and grant him a partnership _ostensibly_ without the knowledge of the North-West annual council, held in Fort William on Lake Superior? Early in August wandering tribes brought news of the Tonquin's destruction, and Astoria bestirred itself to strengthen pickets, erect bastions, mount four-pounders, and drill for war. MacDougall's North-West training now came out, and he entered on a policy of conciliation with the Indians that culminated in his marrying Comcomly's daughter. He also perpetrated the world-famous threat of letting small-pox out of a bottle exhibited to the chiefs unless they maintained good behaviour. Traders established inland posts, the schooner Dolly was built, and New Year's Day of 1812 ushered in with a firing of cannon and festive allowance of rum. On January 18th arrived the forerunners of the overland party, ragged, wasted, starving, with a tale of blundering and mismanagement that must have been gall to MacKenzie, the old Nor' Wester accompanying them. The main body under Hunt reached Astoria in February, and two other detachments later. The management of the overlanders had been intrusted to Wilson Price Hunt of New Jersey, who at once proceeded to Montreal with Donald MacKenzie, the Nor' Wester. Here the fine hand of the North-West Company was first felt. Rum, threats, promises, and sudden orders whisking them away prevented capable _voyageurs_ from enlisting under the Pacific Company. Only worthless fellows could be engaged, which explains in part why these empty braggarts so often failed Mr. Hunt. Pushing up the Ottawa in a birch canoe, Hunt and MacKenzie crossed the lake to Michilimackinac. Here the hand of the North-West Company was again felt. Tattlers went from man to man telling yarns of terror to frighten _engagés_ back. Did a man enlist? Sudden debts were remembered or manufactured, and the bill presented to Hunt. Was a _voyageur_ on the point of embarking? A swarm of naked brats with a frouzy Indian wife set up a howl of woe. Hunt finally got off with thirty men, accompanied by Mr. Ramsay Crooks, a distinguished Nor' Wester, who afterward became famous as the president of the American Fur Company. Going south by way of Green Bay and the Mississippi, Hunt reached St. Louis, where the machinations of another rival were put to work. Having rejected Mr. Astor's suggestion to take part in the Pacific Company, Mr. Manuel Lisa of the Missouri traders did not propose to see his field invaded. The same difficulties were encountered at St. Louis in engaging men as at Montreal, and when Hunt was finally ready in March, 1811, to set out with his sixty men up the Missouri, Lisa resurrected a liquor debt against Pierre Dorion, Hunt's interpreter, with the fluid that cheers a French-Canadian charged at ten dollars a quart. Pierre slipped Lisa's coil by going overland through the woods and meeting Hunt's party farther up-stream, beyond the law. Whatever his motive, Lisa at once organized a search party of twenty picked _voyageurs_ to go up the Missouri to the rescue of that Andrew Henry who had fled from the Blackfeet over the mountains to Snake River. Traders too often secured safe passage through hostile territory in those lawless days by giving the savages muskets enough to blow out the brains of the next comers. Lisa himself was charged with this by Crooks and MacLellan.[16] Perhaps that was his reason for pushing ahead at all speed to overtake Hunt before either party had reached Sioux territory. Hunt got wind of the pursuit. The faster Lisa came, the harder Hunt fled. This curious race lasted for a thousand miles and ended in Lisa coming up with the Astorians on June 2d. For a second time the Spaniard tampered with Dorion. Had not two English travellers intervened, Hunt and Lisa would have settled their quarrel with pistols for two. Thereafter the rival parties proceeded in friendly fashion, Lisa helping to gather horses for Hunt's party to cross the mountains. That overland journey was one of the most pitiful, fatuous, mismanaged expeditions in the fur trade. Why a party of sixty-four well-armed, well-provisioned men failed in doing what any two _voyageurs_ or trappers were doing every day, can only be explained by comparison to a bronco in a blizzard. Give the half-wild prairie creature the bit, and it will carry its rider through any storm. Jerk it to right, to left, east, and west till it loses its confidence, and the bronco is as helpless as the rider. So with the _voyageur_. Crossing the mountains alone in his own way, he could evade famine and danger and attack by lifting a brother trader's cache--hidden provisions--or tarrying in Indian lodges till game crossed his path, or marrying the daughter of a hostile chief, or creeping so quietly through the woods neither game nor Indian scout could detect his presence. With a noisy cavalcade of sixty-four all this was impossible. Broken into detachments, weak, emaciated, stripped naked, on the verge of dementia and cannibalism, now shouting to each other across a roaring cañon, now sinking in despair before a blind wall, the overlanders finally reached Astoria after nearly a year's wanderings. Mr. Astor's second ship, the Beaver, arrived with re-enforcements of men and provisions. More posts were established inland. After several futile attempts, despatches were sent overland to St. Louis. Under direction of Mr. Hunt, the Beaver sailed for Alaska to trade with the Russians. Word came from the North-West forts on the Upper Columbia of war with England. Mr. Astor's third ship, the Lark, was wrecked. Astoria was now altogether in the hands of men who had been Nor' Westers. And what was the alert North-West Company doing?[17] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 8: Of the Lewis and Clark expedition.] [Footnote 9: Either the Nor' Westers or the Mackinaws, for the H. B. C. were not yet so far south.] [Footnote 10: In it were the two original partners, Clark, the Chouteaus of Missouri fame, Andrew Henry, the first trader to cross the northern continental divide, and others of whom Chittenden gives full particulars.] [Footnote 11: This on the testimony of a North-West partner, Alexander Henry, a copy of whose diary is in the Parliamentary Library, Ottawa. Both Coues and Chittenden, the American historians, note the corroborative testimony of Henry's journal.] [Footnote 12: Henceforth known as the South-West Company, in distinction to the North-West.] [Footnote 13: The modern Winnipeg.] [Footnote 14: MacKay, MacDougall, and the two Stuarts.] [Footnote 15: Franchère, one of the scribbling clerks whom Thorn so detested, says this man was Weekes, who almost lost his life entering the Columbia. Irving, who drew much of his material from Franchère, says Lewis, and may have had special information from Mr. Astor; but all accounts--Franchère's, and Ross Cox's, and Alexander Ross's--are from the same source, the Indian interpreter, who, in the confusion of the massacre, sprang overboard into the canoes of the squaws, who spared him on account of his race. Franchère became prominent in Montreal, Cox in British Columbia, and Ross in Red River Settlement of Winnipeg, where the story of the fur company conflict became folk-lore to the old settlers. There is scarcely a family but has some ancestor who took part in the contest among the fur companies at the opening of the nineteenth century, and the tale is part of the settlement's traditions.] [Footnote 16: A partner in trade with Crooks, both of whom lost everything going up the Missouri in Lisa's wake.] [Footnote 17: Doings in the North-West camp have only become known of late from the daily journals of two North-West partners--MacDonald of Garth, whose papers were made public by a descendant of the MacKenzies, and Alexander Henry, whose account is in the Ottawa Library.] CHAPTER III THE NOR' WESTERS' COUP "_It had been decided in council at Fort William that the company should send the Isaac Todd to the Columbia River, where the Americans had established Astoria, and that a party should proceed from Fort William (overland) to meet the ship on the coast_," wrote MacDonald of Garth, a North-West partner, for the perusal of his children. This was decided at the North-West council of 1812, held annually on the shores of Lake Superior. It was just a year from the time that Thompson had discovered the American fort in the hands of former Nor' Westers. At this meeting Thompson's report must have been read. The overland party was to be led by the two partners, John George MacTavish and Alexander Henry, the sea expedition on the Isaac Todd by Donald MacTavish, who had actually been appointed governor of the American fort in anticipation of victory. On the Isaac Todd also went MacDonald of Garth.[18] The overland expedition was to thread that labyrinth of water-ways connecting Lake Superior and the Saskatchewan, thence across the plains to Athabasca, over the northern Rockies, past Jasper House, through Yellow Head Pass, and down half the length of the Columbia through Kootenay plains to Astoria. One has only to recall the roaring cañons of the northern Rockies, with their sheer cataracts and bottomless precipices, to realize how much more hazardous this route was than that followed by Hunt from St. Louis to Astoria. Hunt had to cross only the plains and the width of the Rockies. The Nor' Westers not only did this, but passed down the middle of the Rockies for nearly a thousand miles. Before doubling the Horn the Isaac Todd was to sail from Quebec to England for convoy of a war-ship. The Nor' Westers naïve assurance of victory was only exceeded by their utter indifference to danger, difficulty, and distance in the attainment of an end. In view of the terror which the Isaac Todd was alleged to have inspired in MacDougall's mind, it is interesting to know what the Nor' Westers thought of their ship. "_A twenty-gun letter of marque with a mongrel crew_," writes MacDonald of Garth, "_a miserable sailor with a miserable commander and a rascally crew_." On the way out MacDonald transferred to the British convoy Raccoon, leaving the frisky old Governor MacTavish with his gay barmaid Jane[19] drinking pottle deep on the Isaac Todd, where the rightly disgusted captain was not on speaking terms with his Excellency. "_We were nearly six weeks before we could double Cape Horn, and were driven half-way to the Cape of Good Hope; ... at last doubled the cape under topsails, ... the deck one sheet of ice for six weeks, ... our sails one frozen sheet; ... lost sight of the Isaac Todd in a gale_," wrote MacDonald on the Raccoon. It will be remembered that Hunt's overlanders arrived at Astoria months after the Pacific Company's ship. Such swift coasters of the wilderness were the Nor' Westers, this overland party came sweeping down the Columbia, ten canoes strong, hale, hearty, singing as they paddled, a month before the Raccoon had come, six months before their own ship, the Isaac Todd. And what did MacDougall do? Threw open his gates in welcome, let an army of eighty rivals camp under shelter of his fort guns, demeaned himself into a pusillanimous, little, running fetch-and-carry at the beck of the Nor' Westers, instead of keeping sternly inside his fort, starving rivals into surrender, or training his cannon upon them if they did not decamp. Alexander Henry, the partner at the head of these dauntless Nor' Westers, says their provisions were "nearly all gone." But, oh! the bragging _voyageurs_ told those quaking Astorians terrible things of what the Isaac Todd would do. There were to be British convoys and captures and prize-money and prisoners of war carried off to Sainte Anne alone knew where. The American-born scorned these exaggerated yarns, knowing their purpose, but not so MacDougall. All his pot-valiant courage sank at the thought of the Isaac Todd, and when the campers ran up a British flag he forbade the display of American colours above Astoria. The end of it was that he sold out Mr. Astor's interests at forty cents on the dollar, probably salving his conscience with the excuse that he had saved that percentage of property from capture by the Raccoon. At the end of November a large ship was sighted standing in over the bar with all sails spread but no ensign out. Three shots were fired from Astoria. There was no answer. What if this were the long-lost Mr. Hunt coming back from Alaskan trade on the Beaver? The doughty Nor' Westers hastily packed their furs, ninety-two bales in all, and sent their _voyageurs_ scampering up-stream to hide and await a signal. But MacDougall was equal to the emergency. He launched out for the ship, prepared to be an American if it were the Beaver with Mr. Hunt, a Nor' Wester if it were the Raccoon with a company partner. It was the Raccoon, and the British captain addressed the Astorians in words that have become historic: "_Is this the fort I've heard so much about? D---- me, I could batter it down in two hours with a four-pounder!_" Two weeks later the Union Jack was hoisted above Astoria, with traders and marines drawn up under arms to fire a volley. A bottle of Madeira was broken against the flagstaff, the country pronounced a British possession by the captain, cheers given, and eleven guns fired from the bastions. At this stage all accounts, particularly American accounts, have rung down the curtain on the catastrophe, leaving the Nor' Westers intoxicated with success. But another act was to complete the disasters of Astoria, for the very excess of intoxication brought swift judgment on the revelling Nor' Westers. The Raccoon left on the last day of 1813. MacDougall had been appointed partner in the North-West Company, and the other Canadians re-engaged under their own flag. When Hunt at last arrived in the Pedler, which he had chartered after the wreck of Mr. Astor's third vessel, the Lark, it was too late to do more than carry away those Americans still loyal to Mr. Astor. Farnham was left at Kamtchatka, whence he made his way to Europe. The others were captured off California and they afterward scattered to all parts of the world. Early in April, 1814, a brigade of Nor' Westers, led by MacDonald of Garth and the younger MacTavish, set out for the long journey across the mountains and prairie to the company's headquarters at Port William. In the flotilla of ten canoes went many of the old Astorians. Two weeks afterward came the belated Isaac Todd with the Nor' Westers' white flag at its foretop and the dissolute old Governor MacTavish holding a high carnival of riot in the cabin. No darker picture exists than that of Astoria--or Fort George, as the British called it--under Governor MacTavish's _régime_. The picture is from the hand of a North-West partner himself. _"Not in bed till 2 A. M.; ... the gentlemen and the crew all drunk; ... famous fellows for grog they are; ... diced for articles belonging to Mr. M.,"_ Alexander Henry had written when the Raccoon was in port; and now under Governor MacTavish's vicious example every pretence to decency was discarded. "_Avec les loups il faut hurler_" was a common saying among Nor' Westers, and perhaps that very assimilation to the native races which contributed so much to success also contributed to the trader's undoing. White men and Indians vied with each other in mutual debasement. Chinook and Saxon and Frenchmen alike lay on the sand sodden with corruption; and if one died from carousals, companions weighted neck and feet with stones and pushed the corpse into the river. Quarrels broke out between the wassailing governor and the other partners. Emboldened, the underlings and hangers-on indulged in all sorts of theft. "All the gentlemen were intoxicated," writes one who was present; _seven hours rowing one mile_, innocently states the record of another day, _the tide running seven feet high past the fort_. The spring rains had ceased. Mountain peaks emerged from the empurpled horizon in domes of opal above the clouds, and the Columbia was running its annual mill-race of spring floods, waters milky from the silt of countless glaciers and turbulent from the rush of a thousand cataracts. Governor MacTavish[20] and Alexander Henry had embarked with six _voyageurs_ to cross the river. A blustering wind caught the sail. A tidal wave pitched amidships. The craft filled and sank within sight of the fort. So perished the conquerors of Astoria! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 18: A son of the English officer of the Eighty-fourth Regiment in the American War of Independence.] [Footnote 19: Jane Barnes, an adventuress from Portsmouth, the first white woman on the Columbia.] [Footnote 20: In justice to the many descendants of the numerous clan MacTavish in the service of the fur companies, this MacTavish should be distinguished from others of blameless lives.] CHAPTER IV THE ANCIENT HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY WAKENS UP Those eighty[21] Astorians and Nor' Westers who set inland with their ten canoes and boats under protection of two swivels encountered as many dangers on the long trip across the continent as they had left at Fort George. Following the wandering course of the Columbia, the traders soon passed the international boundary northward into the Arrow Lakes with their towering sky-line of rampart walls, on to the great bend of the Columbia where the river becomes a tumultuous torrent milky with glacial sediment, now raving through a narrow cañon, now teased into a white whirlpool by obstructing rocks, now tumbling through vast shadowy forests, now foaming round the green icy masses of some great glacier, and always mountain-girt by the tent-like peaks of the eternal snows. "_A plain, unvarnished tale, my dear Bellefeuille_," wrote the mighty MacDonald of Garth in his eighty-sixth year for a son; but the old trader's tale needed no varnish of rhetoric. "_Nearing the mountains we got scarce of provisions; ... bought horses for beef.... Here_ (at the Great Bend) _we left canoes and began a mountain pass_ (Yellow Head Pass).... _The river meanders much, ... and we cut across, ... holding by one another's hands, ... wading to the hips in water, dashing in, frozen at one point, thawed at the next, ... frozen before we dashed in, ... our men carrying blankets and provisions on their heads; ... four days' hard work before we got to Jasper House at the source of the Athabasca, sometimes camping on snow twenty feet deep, so that the fires we made in the evening were fifteen or twenty feet below us in the morning."_ They had now crossed the mountains, and taking to canoes again paddled down-stream to the _portage_ between Athabasca River and the Saskatchewan. Tramping sixty miles, they reached Fort Augustus (Edmonton) on the Saskatchewan, where canoes were made on the spot, and the _voyageurs_ launched down-stream a trifling distance of two thousand miles by the windings of the river, past Lake Winnipeg southward to Fort William, the Nor' Westers' headquarters on Lake Superior. Here the capture of Astoria was reported, and bales to the value of a million dollars in modern money sent east in fifty canoes with an armed guard of three hundred men.[22] Coasting along the north shore of Lake Superior, the _voyageurs_ came to the Sault and found Mr. Johnston's establishment a scene of smoking ruins. It was necessary to use the greatest caution not to attract the notice of warring parties on the Lakes. "_Overhauled a canoe going eastward, ... a Mackinaw trader and four Indians with a dozen fresh American scalps_," writes MacDonald, showing to what a pass things had come. Two days later a couple of boats were overtaken and compelled to halt by a shot from MacDonald's swivels. The strangers proved to be the escaping crew of a British ship which had been captured by two American schooners, and the British officer bore bad news. The American schooners were now on the lookout for the rich prize of furs being taken east in the North-West canoes. Slipping under the nose of these schooners in the dark, the officer hurried to Mackinac, leaving the Nor' Westers hidden in the mouth of French River. William MacKay, a Nor' West partner, at once sallied out to the defence of the furs. Determined to catch the brigade, one schooner was hovering about the Sault, the other cruising into the countless recesses of the north shore. Against the latter the Mackinaw traders directed their forces, boarding her, and, as MacDonald tells with brutal frankness, "_pinning the crew with fixed bayonets to the deck_." Lying snugly at anchor, the victors awaited the coming of the other unsuspecting schooner, let her cast anchor, bore down upon her, poured in a broadside, and took both schooners to Mackinac. Freed from all apprehension of capture, the North-West brigade proceeded eastward to the Ottawa River, and without further adventure came to Montreal, where all was wild confusion from another cause. At the very time when war endangered the entire route of the Nor' Westers from Montreal to the Pacific, the Hudson's Bay Company awakened from its long sleep. While Mr. Astor was pushing his schemes in the United States, Lord Selkirk was formulating plans for the control of all Canada's fur trade. Like Mr. Astor, he too had been the guest at the North-West banquets in the Beaver Club, Montreal, and had heard fabulous things from those magnates of the north about wealth made in the fur trade. Returning to England, Lord Selkirk bought up enough stock of the Hudson's Bay Company to give him full control, and secured from the shareholders an enormous grant of land surrounding the mouths of the Red and Assiniboine rivers. Where the Assiniboine joins the northern Red were situated Fort Douglas (later Fort Garry, now Winnipeg), the headquarters of the Hudson's Bay Company, and Fort Gibraltar, the North-West post whence supplies were sent all the way from the Mandans on the Missouri to the Eskimo in the arctics. Not satisfied with this _coup_, Lord Selkirk engaged Colin Robertson, an old Nor' Wester, to gather a brigade of _voyageurs_ two hundred strong at Montreal and proceed up the Nor' Westers' route to Athabasca, MacKenzie River, and the Rockies. This was the noisy, blustering, bragging company of gaily-bedizened fellows that had turned the streets of Montreal into a roistering booth when the Astorians came to the end of their long eastward journey. Poor, fool-happy revellers! Eighteen of them died of starvation in the far, cold north, owing to the conflict between Fort Douglas and Gibraltar, which delayed supplies. Beginning in 1811, Lord Selkirk poured a stream of colonists to his newly-acquired territory by way of Churchill and York Factory on Hudson Bay. These people were given lands, and in return expected to defend the Hudson's Bay Company from Nor' Westers. The Nor' Westers struck back by discouraging the colonists, shipping them free out of the country, and getting possession of their arms. Miles MacDonell, formerly of the King's Royal Regiment, New York, governor of the Hudson's Bay Company at Fort Douglas, at once issued proclamations forbidding Indians to trade furs with Nor' Westers and ordering Nor' Westers from the country. On the strength of these proclamations two or three outlying North-West forts were destroyed and North-West fur brigades rifled. Duncan Cameron,[23] the North-West partner at Fort Gibraltar, countered by letting his _Bois-Brûlés_, a ragged half-breed army of wild plain rangers under Cuthbert Grant, canter across the two miles that separated the rival forts, and pour a volley of musketry into the Hudson Bay houses. To save the post for the Hudson's Bay Company, Miles MacDonell gave himself up and was shipped out of the country. But the Hudson's Bay fort was only biding its time till the valiant North-West defenders had scattered to their winter posts. Then an armed party seized Duncan Cameron not far from the North-West fort, and with pistol cocked by one man, publicly horsewhipped the Nor' Wester. Afterward, when Semple, the new Hudson's Bay governor, was absent from Fort Douglas and could not therefore be held responsible for consequences, the Hudson's Bay men, led by the same Colin Robertson who had brought the large brigade from Montreal, marched across the prairie to Fort Gibraltar, captured Mr. Cameron, plundered all the Nor' Westers' stores, and burned the fort to the ground. By way of retaliation for MacDonell's expulsion, the North-West partner was shipped down to Hudson Bay, where he might as well have been on Devil's Island for all the chance of escape. One company at fault as often as the other, similar outrages were perpetrated in all parts of the north fur country, the blood of rival traders being spilt without a qualm of conscience or thought of results. The effect of this conflict among white men on the bloodthirsty red-skins one may guess. The _Bois-Brûlés_ were clamouring for Cuthbert Grant's permission to wipe the English--meaning the Hudson's Bay men--off the earth; and the Swampy Crees and Saulteaux under Chief Peguis were urging Governor Semple to let them defend the Hudson's Bay--meaning kill the Nor' Westers. The crisis followed sharp on the destruction of Fort Gibraltar. That post had sent all supplies to North-West forts. If Fort Douglas of the Hudson's Bay Company, past which North-West canoes must paddle to turn westward to the plains, should intercept the incoming brigade of Nor' Westers' supplies, what would become of the two thousand North-West traders and _voyageurs_ and _engagés_ inland? Whether the Hudson's Bay had such intentions or not, the Nor' Westers were determined to prevent the possibility. Like the red cross that called ancient clans to arms, scouts went scouring across the plains to rally the _Bois-Brûlés_ from Portage la Prairie and Souris and Qu'Appelle.[24] Led by Cuthbert Grant, they skirted north of the Hudson's Bay post to meet and disembark supplies above Fort Douglas. It was but natural for the settlers to mistake this armed cavalcade, red with paint and chanting war-songs, for hostiles. Rushing to Fort Douglas, the settlers gave the alarm. Ordering a field-piece to follow, Governor Semple marched out with a little army of twenty-eight Hudson's Bay men. The Nor' Westers thought that he meant to obstruct their way till his other forces had captured their coming canoes. The Hudson's Bay thought that Cuthbert Grant meant to attack the Selkirk settlers. It was in the evening of June 19, 1816. The two parties met at the edge of a swamp beside a cluster of trees, since called Seven Oaks. Nor' Westers say that Governor Semple caught the bridle of their scout and tried to throw him from his horse. The Hudson's Bay say that the governor had no sooner got within range than the half-breed scout leaped down and fired from the shelter of his horse, breaking Semple's thigh. It is well known how the first blood of battle has the same effect on all men of whatever race. The human is eclipsed by that brute savagery which comes down from ages when man was a creature of prey. In a trice twenty-one of the Hudson's Bay men lay dead. While Grant had turned to obtain carriers to bear the wounded governor off the field, poor Semple was brutally murdered by one of the Deschamps family, who ran from body to body, perpetrating the crimes of ghouls. It was in vain for Grant to expostulate. The wild blood of a savage race had been roused. The soft velvet night of the summer prairie, with the winds crooning the sad monotone of a limitless sea, closed over a scene of savages drunk with slaughter, of men gone mad with the madness of murder, of warriors thinking to gain courage by drinking the blood of the slain. Grant saved the settlers' lives by sending them down-stream to Lake Winnipeg, where dwelt the friendly Chief Peguis. On the river they met the indomitable Miles MacDonell, posting back to resume authority. He brought news that must have been good cheer. Moved by the expelled governor's account of disorders, Lord Selkirk was hastening north, armed with the authority of a justice of the peace, escorted by soldiers in full regalia as became his station, with cannon mounted on his barges and stores of munition that ill agreed with the professions of a peaceful justice. The time has gone past for quibbling as to the earl's motives in pushing north armed like a lord of war. MacDonell hastened back and met him with his army of Des Meurons[25] at the Sault. In August Lord Selkirk appeared before Port William with uniformed soldiers in eleven boats. The justice of the peace set his soldiers digging trenches opposite the Nor' Westers' fort. As for the Nor' Westers, they had had enough of blood. They capitulated without one blow. Selkirk took full possession. Six months later (1817), when ice had closed the rivers, he sent Captain d'Orsennens overland westward to Red River, where Fort Douglas was captured back one stormy winter night by the soldiers scaling the fort walls during a heavy snowfall. The conflict had been just as ruthless on the Saskatchewan. Nor' Westers were captured as they disembarked to pass Grand Rapids and shipped down to York Factory, where Franklin the explorer saw four Nor' Westers maltreated. One of them was the same John George MacTavish who had helped to capture Astoria; another, Frobisher, a partner, was ultimately done to death by the abuse. The Deschamps murderers of Seven Oaks fled south, where their crimes brought terrible vengeance from American traders. Victorious all along the line, the Hudson's Bay Company were in a curious quandary. Suits enough were pressing in the courts to ruin both companies; and for the most natural reason in the world, neither Hudson Bay nor Nor' Wester could afford to have the truth told and the crimes probed. There was only one way out of the dilemma. In March, 1821, the companies amalgamated under the old title of Hudson's Bay. In April, 1822, a new fort was built half-way between the sites of Gibraltar and Fort Douglas, and given the new name of Fort Garry by Sir George Simpson, the governor, to remove all feeling of resentment. The thousand men thrown out of employment by the union at once crossed the line and enlisted with American traders. The Hudson's Bay was now strong with the strength that comes from victorious conflict--so strong, indeed, that it not only held the Canadian field, but in spite of the American law[26] forbidding British traders in the United States, reached as far south as Utah and the Missouri, where it once more had a sharp brush with lusty rivals. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 21: Some say seventy-four.] [Footnote 22: The enormous returns made up largely of the Astoria capture. The unusually large guard was no doubt owing to the War of 1812.] [Footnote 23: An antecedent of the late Sir Roderick Cameron of New York.] [Footnote 24: More of the _voyageurs'_ romance; named because of a voice heard calling and calling across the lake as _voyageurs_ entered the valley--said to be the spirit of an Indian girl calling her lover, though prosaic sense explains it was the echo of the _voyageurs'_ song among the hills.] [Footnote 25: Continental soldiers disbanded after the Napoleonic wars.] [Footnote 26: A law that could not, of course, be enforced, except as to the building of permanent forts, in regions beyond the reach of law's enforcement.] CHAPTER V MR. ASTOR'S COMPANY ENCOUNTERS NEW OPPONENTS That Andrew Henry whom Lisa had sought when he pursued the Astorians up the Missouri continued to be dogged by misfortune on the west side of the mountains. Game was scarce and his half-starving followers were scattered, some to the British posts in the north, some to the Spaniards in the south, and some to the nameless graves of the mountains. Henry forced his way back over the divide and met Lisa in the Aricara country. The British war broke out and the Missouri Company were compelled to abandon the dangerous territory of the Blackfeet, who could purchase arms from the British traders, raid the Americans, and scurry back to Canada. When Lisa died in 1820 more than three hundred Missouri men were again in the mountains; but they suffered the same ill luck. Jones and Immel's party were annihilated by the Blackfeet; and Pilcher, who succeeded to Lisa's position and dauntlessly crossed over to the Columbia, had all his supplies stolen, reaching the Hudson's Bay post, Fort Colville, almost destitute. The British rivals received him with that hospitality for which they were renowned when trade was not involved, and gave him escort up the Columbia, down the Athabasca and Saskatchewan to Red River, thence overland to the Mandan country and St. Louis. These two disasters marked the wane of the Missouri Company. But like the shipwrecked sailor, no sooner safe on land than he must to sea again, the indomitable Andrew Henry linked his fortunes with General Ashley of St. Louis. Gathering to the new standard Campbell, Bridger, Fitzpatrick, Beckworth, Smith, and the Sublettes--men who made the Rocky Mountain trade famous--Ashley and Henry led one hundred men to the mountains the first year and two hundred the next. In that time not less than twenty-five lives were lost among Aricaras and Blackfeet. Few pelts were obtained and the expeditions were a loss. But in 1824 came a change. Smith met Hudson's Bay trappers loaded with beaver pelts in the Columbia basin, west of the Rockies. They had become separated from their leader, Alexander Ross, an old Astorian. Details of this bargain will never be known; but when Smith came east he had the Hudson's Bay furs. This was the first brush between Rocky Mountain men and the Hudson's Bay, and the mountain trappers scored. Henceforth, to save time, the active trappers met their supplies annually at a _rendezvous_ in the mountains, in Pierre's Hole, a broad valley below the Tetons, or Jackson's Hole, east of the former, or Ogden's Hole at Salt Lake. Seventeen Rocky Mountain men had been massacred by the Snake Indians in the Columbia basin; but that did not deter General Ashley himself from going up the Platte, across the divide to Salt Lake. Here he found Peter Ogden, a Hudson's Bay trapper, with an enormous prize of beaver pelts. When the Hudson's Bay man left Salt Lake, he had no furs; and when General Ashley came away, his packers were laden with a quarter of a million dollars worth of pelts. This was the second brush between Rocky Mountain and Hudson's Bay, and again the mountaineers scored. The third encounter was more to the credit of both companies. After three years' wanderings, Smith found himself stranded and destitute at the British post of Fort Vancouver. Fifteen of his men had been killed, his horses taken and peltries stolen. The Hudson's Bay sent a punitive force to recover his property, gave him a $20,000 draft for the full value of the recovered furs, and sent him up the Columbia. Thenceforth Rocky Mountain trappers and Hudson's Bay respected each other's rights in the valley of the Columbia, but southward the old code prevailed. Fitzpatrick, a Rocky Mountain trader, came on the same poor Peter Ogden at Salt Lake trading with the Indians, and at once plied the argument of whisky so actively that the furs destined for Red River went over the mountains to St. Louis. The trapper probably never heard of a Nemesis; but a curious retribution seemed to follow on the heels of outrage. Lisa had tried to balk the Astorians, and the Missouri Company went down before Indian hostility. The Nor' Westers jockeyed the Astorians out of their possessions and were in league with murderers at the massacre of Seven Oaks; but the Nor' Westers were jockeyed out of existence by the Hudson's Bay under Lord Selkirk. The Hudson's Bay had been guilty of rank outrage--particularly on the Saskatchewan, where North-West partners were seized, manacled, and sent to a wilderness--and now the Hudson's Bay were cheated, cajoled, overreached by the Rocky Mountain trappers. And the Rocky Mountain trappers, in their turn, met a rival that could outcheat their cheatery. In 1831 the mountains were overrun with trappers from all parts of America. Men from every State in the Union, those restless spirits who have pioneered every great movement of the race, turned their faces to the wilderness for furs as a later generation was to scramble for gold. In the summer of 1832, when the hunters came down to Pierre's Hole for their supplies, there were trappers who had never before summered away from Detroit and Mackinaw and Hudson Bay.[27] There were half-wild Frenchmen from Quebec who had married Indian wives and cast off civilization as an ill-fitting garment. There were Indian hunters with the mellow, rhythmic tones that always betray native blood. There were lank New Englanders under Wyeth of Boston, erect as a mast pole, strong of jaw, angular of motion, taking clumsily to buckskins. There were the Rocky Mountain men in tattered clothes, with unkempt hair and long beards, and a trick of peering from their bushy brows like an enemy from ambush. There were probably odd detachments from Captain Bonneville's adventurers on the Platte, where a gay army adventurer was trying his luck as fur trader and explorer. And there was a new set of men, not yet weather-worn by the wilderness, alert, watchful, ubiquitous, scattering themselves among all groups where they could hear everything, see all, tell nothing, always shadowing the Rocky Mountain men who knew every trail of the wilds and should be good pilots to the best hunting-grounds. By the middle of July all business had been completed, and the trappers spent a last night round camp-fires, spinning yarns of the hunt. Early in the morning when the Rocky Mountain men were sallying from the valley, they met a cavalcade of one hundred and fifty Blackfeet. Each party halted to survey its opponent. In less than ten years the Rocky Mountain men had lost more than seventy comrades among hostiles. Even now the Indians were flourishing a flag captured from murdered Hudson's Bay hunters. The number of whites disconcerted the Indians. Their warlike advance gave place to friendliness. One chief came forward with the hand of comity extended. The whites were not deceived. Many a time had Rocky Mountain trappers been lured to their death by such overtures. No excuse is offered for the hunters. The code of the wilderness never lays the unction of a hypocritical excuse to conscience. The trappers sent two scouts to parley with the detested enemy. One trapper, with Indian blood in his veins and Indian thirst for the avengement of a kinsman's death in his heart, grasped the chief's extended hand with the clasp of a steel trap. On the instant the other scout fired. The powerless chief fell dead; and using their horses as a breastwork, the Blackfeet hastily threw themselves behind some timber, cast up trenches, and shot from cover. All the trappers at the _rendezvous_ spurred to the fight, priming guns, casting off valuables, making their wills as they rode. The battle lasted all day; and when under cover of night the Indians withdrew, twelve men lay dead on the trappers' side, as many more were wounded; and the Blackfeet's loss was twice as great. For years this tribe exacted heavy atonement for the death of warriors behind the trenches of Pierre's Hole. Leaving Pierre's Hole the mountaineers scattered to their rocky fastnesses, but no sooner had they pitched camp on good hunting-grounds than the strangers who had shadowed them at the _rendezvous_ came up. Breaking camp, the Rocky Mountain men would steal away by new and unknown passes to another valley. A day or two later, having followed by tent-poles dragging the ground, or brushwood broken by the passing packers, the pertinacious rivals would reappear. This went on persistently for three months. Infuriated by such tactics, the mountaineers planned to lead the spies a dance. Plunging into the territory of hostiles they gave their pursuers the slip. Neither party probably intended that matters should become serious; but that is always the fault of the white man when he plays the dangerous game of war with Indians. The spying party was ambushed, the leader slain, his flesh torn from his body and his skeleton thrown into the river. A few months later the Rocky Mountain traders paid for this escapade. Fitzpatrick, the same trapper who had "lifted" Ogden's furs and led this game against the spies, was robbed among Indians instigated by white men of the American Fur Company. This marked the beginning of the end with the Rocky Mountain trappers. The American Fur Company, which Mr. Astor had organized and stuck to through good repute and evil repute, was now officered by Ramsay Crooks and Farnham and Robert Stuart, who had remained loyal to Mr. Astor in Astoria and been schooled in a discipline that offered no quarter to enemies. The purchase of the Mackinaw Company gave the American Company all those posts between the Great Lakes and the height of land dividing the Mississippi and Missouri. When Congress excluded foreign traders in 1816, all the Nor' Westers' posts south of the boundary fell to the American Fur Company; and sturdy old Nor' Westers, who had been thrown out by the amalgamation with the Hudson's Bay, also added to the Americans' strength. Kenneth MacKenzie, with Laidlaw, Lament, and Kipp, had a line of posts from Green Bay to the Missouri held by an American to evade the law, but known as the Columbia Company. This organization[28] the American Fur Company bought out, placing MacKenzie at the mouth of the Yellowstone, where he built Fort Union and became the Pooh-Bah of the whole region, living in regal style like his ancestral Scottish chiefs. "King of the Missouri" white men called him, "big Indian me" the Blackfeet said; and "big Indian me" he was to them, for he was the first trader to win both their friendship and the Crows'. Here MacKenzie entertained Prince Maximilian of Wied and Catlin the artist and Audubon the naturalist, and had as his constant companion Hamilton, an English nobleman living in disguise and working for the fur company. Many an unmeant melodrama was enacted under the walls of Union in MacKenzie's reign. Once a free trapper came floating down the Missouri with his canoe full of beaver-pelts, which he quickly exchanged for the gay attire to be obtained at Fort Union. Oddly enough, though the fellow was a French-Canadian, he had long, flaxen hair, of which he was inordinately vain. Strutting about the court-yard, feeling himself a very prince of importance, he saw MacKenzie's pretty young Indian wife. Each paid the other the tribute of adoration that was warmer than it was wise. The _dénouement_ was a vision of the flaxen-haired Siegfried sprinting at the top of his speed through the fort gate, with the irate MacKenzie flourishing a flail to the rear. The matter did not end here. The outraged Frenchman swore to kill MacKenzie on sight, and haunted the fort gates with a loaded rifle till MacKenzie was obliged to hire a mulatto servant to "wing" the fellow with a shot in the shoulder, when he was brought into the fort, nursed back to health, and sent away. At another time two Rocky Mountain trappers built an opposition fort just below Union and lay in wait for the coming of the Blackfeet to trade with the American Fur Company. MacKenzie posted a lookout on his bastion. The moment the Indians were descried, out sallied from Fort Union a band in full regalia, with drum and trumpet and piccolo and fife--wonders that would have lured the astonished Indians to perdition. Behind the band came gaudy presents for the savages, and what was not supposed to be in the Indian country--liquor. When these methods failed to outbuy rivals, MacKenzie did not hesitate to pay twelve dollars for a beaver-skin not worth two. The Rocky Mountain trappers were forced to capitulate, and their post passed over to the American Fur Company. In the ruins of their post was enacted a fitting _finale_ to the turbulent conflicts of the American traders. The Deschamps family, who had perpetrated the worst butcheries on the field of Seven Oaks, in the fight between Hudson's Bay and Nor' Westers, had acted as interpreters for the Rocky Mountain trappers. Boastful of their murderous record in Canada, the father, mother, and eight grown children were usually so violent in their carousals that Hamilton, the English gentleman, used to quiet their outrage and prevent trouble by dropping laudanum in their cups. Once they slept so heavily that the whole fort was in a panic lest their sleep lasted to eternity; but the revellers came to life defiant as ever. At Union was a very handsome young half-breed fellow by the name of Gardepie, whose life the Deschamps harpies attempted to take from sheer jealousy and love of crime. Joined by two free trappers, Gardepie killed the elder Deschamps one morning at breakfast with all the gruesome mutilation of Indian custom. He at the same time wounded a younger son. Spurred by the hag-like mother and nerved to the deed with alcohol, the Deschamps undertook to avenge their father's death by killing all the whites of the fur post. One man had fallen when the alarm was carried to Fort Union. Twice had the Deschamps robbed Fort Union. Many trappers had been assassinated by a Deschamps. Indians had been flogged by them for no other purpose than to inflict torture. Beating on the doors of Fort Union, the wife of their last victim called out that the Deschamps were on the war-path. The traders of Fort Union solemnly raised hands and took an oath to exterminate the murderous clan. The affair had gone beyond MacKenzie's control. Seizing cannon and ammunition, the traders crossed the prairie to the abandoned fort of the Rocky Mountain trappers, where the murderers were intrenched. All valuables were removed from the fort. Time was given for the family to prepare for death. Then the guns were turned on the house. Suddenly that old harpy of crime, the mother, rushed out, holding forward the Indian pipe of peace and begging for mercy. She got all the mercy that she had ever given, and fell shot through the heart. At last the return firing ceased. Who would enter and learn if the Deschamps were all dead? Treachery was feared. The assailants set fire to the fort. In the light of the flames one man was espied crouching in the bastion. A trader rushed forward exultant to shoot the last of the Deschamps; but a shot from the bastion sent him leaping five feet into the air to fall back dead, and a yell of fiendish victory burst from the burning tower.[29] Again the assailants fired a volley. No answering shot came from the fort. Rushing through the smoke the traders found François Deschamps backed up in a corner like a beast at bay, one wrist broken and all ammunition gone. A dozen rifle-shots cracked sharp. The fellow fell and his body was thrown into the flames. The old mother was buried without shroud or coffin in the clay bank of the river. A young boy mortally wounded was carried from the ruins to die in Union. This dark act marked the last important episode in the long conflict among traders. A decline of values followed the civil war. Settlers were rushing overland to Oregon, and Fort Union went into the control of the militia. To-day St. Louis is still a centre of trade in manufactured furs, and St. Paul yet receives raw pelts from trappers who wander through the forests of Minnesota and Idaho and the mountains. Only a year ago the writer employed as guides in the mountains three trappers who have spent their lives ranging the northern wilds and the Upper Missouri; but outside the mountain and forest wastes, the vast hunting-grounds of the famous old trappers have been chalked off by the fences of settlers. In Canada, too, bloodshed marked the last of the conflict--once in the seventies when Louis Riel, a half-breed demagogue, roused the Metis against the surveyors sent to prepare Red River for settlement, and again in 1885 when this unhanged rascal incited the half-breeds of the Saskatchewan to rebellion over title-deeds to their lands. Though the Hudson's Bay Company had nothing to do with either complaint, the conflict waged round their forts. In the first affair the ragged army of rebels took possession of Fort Garry, and for no other reason than the love of killing that riots in savage blood as in a wolf's, shot down Scott outside the fort gates. In the second rebellion Riel's allies came down on the far-isolated Fort Pitt three hundred strong, captured the fort, and took the factor, Mr. MacLean, and his family to northern wastes, marching them through swamps breast-high with spring floods, where General Middleton's troops could not follow. The children of the family had been in the habit of bribing old Indian gossips into telling stories by gifts of tobacco; and the friendship now stood the white family in good stead. Day and night in all the weeks of captivity the friendly Indians never left the side of the trader's family, slipping between the hostiles and the young children, standing guard at the tepee door, giving them weapons of defence till all were safely back among the whites. This time Riel was hanged, and the Hudson's Bay Company resumed its sway of all that realm between Labrador and the Pacific north of the Saskatchewan. Traders' lives are like a white paper with a black spot. The world looks only at the black spot. In spite of his faults when in conflict with rivals, it has been the trader living alone, unprotected and unfearing, one voice among a thousand, who has restrained the Indian tribes from massacres that would have rolled back the progress of the West a quarter of a century. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 27: For example, the Deschamps of Red River.] [Footnote 28: Chittenden.] [Footnote 29: Larpenteur, who was there, has given even a more circumstantial account of this terrible tragedy.] CHAPTER VI THE FRENCH TRAPPER To live hard and die hard, king in the wilderness and pauper in the town, lavish to-day and penniless to-morrow--such was the life of the most picturesque figure in America's history. Take a map of America. Put your finger on any point between the Gulf of Mexico and Hudson Bay, or the Great Lakes and the Rockies. Ask who was the first man to blaze a trail into this wilderness; and wherever you may point, the answer is the same--the French trapper. Impoverished English noblemen of the seventeenth century took to freebooting, Spanish dons to piracy and search for gold; but for the young French _noblesse_ the way to fortune was by the fur trade. Freedom from restraint, quick wealth, lavish spending, and adventurous living all appealed to a class that hated the menial and slow industry of the farm. The only capital required for the fur trade was dauntless courage. Merchants were keen to supply money enough to stock canoes with provisions for trade in the wilderness. What would be equivalent to $5,000 of modern money was sufficient to stock four trappers with trade enough for two years. At the end of that time the sponsors looked for returns in furs to the value of eight hundred per cent on their capital. The original investment would be deducted, and the enormous profit divided among the trappers and their outfitters. In the heyday of the fur trade, when twenty beaver-skins were got for an axe, it was no unusual thing to see a trapper receive what would be equivalent to $3,000 of our money as his share of two years' trapping. But in the days when the French were only beginning to advance up the Missouri from Louisiana and across from Michilimackinac to the Mississippi vastly larger fortunes were made. Two partners[30] have brought out as much as $200,000 worth of furs from the great game preserve between Lake Superior and the head waters of the Missouri after eighteen months' absence from St. Louis or from Montreal. The fur country was to the young French nobility what a treasure-ship was to a pirate. In vain France tried to keep her colonists on the land by forbidding trade without a license. Fines, the galleys for life, even death for repeated offence, were the punishments held over the head of the illicit trader. The French trapper evaded all these by staying in the wilds till he amassed fortune enough to buy off punishment, or till he had lost taste for civilized life and remained in the wilderness, _coureur des bois_, _voyageur_, or leader of a band of half-wild retainers whom he ruled like a feudal baron, becoming a curious connecting link between the savagery of the New World and the _noblesse_ of the Old. Duluth, of the Lakes region; La Salle, of the Mississippi; Le Moyne d'Iberville, ranging from Louisiana to Hudson Bay; La Mothe Cadillac in Michilimackinac, Detroit, and Louisiana; La Vérendrye exploring from Lake Superior to the Rockies; Radisson on Hudson Bay--all won their fame as explorers and discoverers in pursuit of the fur trade. A hundred years before any English mind knew of the Missouri, French _voyageurs_ had gone beyond the Yellowstone. Before the regions now called Minnesota, Dakota, and Wisconsin were known to New Englanders, the French were trapping about the head waters of the Mississippi; and two centuries ago a company of daring French hunters went to New Mexico to spy on Spanish trade. East of the Mississippi were two neighbours whom the French trapper shunned--the English colonists and the Iroquois. North of the St. Lawrence was a power that he shunned still more--the French governor, who had legal right to plunder the peltries of all who traded and trapped without license. But between St. Louis and MacKenzie River was a great unclaimed wilderness, whence came the best furs. Naturally, this became the hunting-ground of the French trapper. There were four ways by which he entered his hunting-ground: (1) Sailing from Quebec to the mouth of the Mississippi, he ascended the river in pirogue or dugout, but this route was only possible for a man with means to pay for the ocean voyage. (2) From Detroit overland to the Illinois, or Ohio, which he rafted down to the Mississippi, and then taking to canoe turned north. (3) From Michilimackinac, which was always a grand _rendezvous_ for the French and Indian hunters, to Green Bay on Lake Michigan, thence up-stream to Fox River, overland to the Wisconsin, and down-stream to the Mississippi. (4) Up the Ottawa through "the Soo" to Lake Superior and westward to the hunting-ground. Whichever way he went his course was mainly up-stream and north: hence the name _Pays d'en Haut_ vaguely designated the vast hunting-ground that lay between the Missouri and the MacKenzie River. * * * * * The French trapper was and is to-day as different from the English as the gamester is from the merchant. Of all the fortunes brought from the Missouri to St. Louis, or from the _Pays d'en Haut_ to Montreal, few escaped the gaming-table and dram-shop. Where the English trader saves his returns, Pierre lives high and plays high, and lords it about the fur post till he must pawn the gay clothing he has bought for means to exist to the opening of the next hunting season. It is now that he goes back to some birch tree marked by him during the preceding winter's hunt, peels the bark off in a great seamless rind, whittles out ribs for a canoe from cedar, ash, or pine, and shapes the green bark to the curve of a canoe by means of stakes and stones down each side. Lying on his back in the sun spinning yarns of the great things he has done and will do, he lets the birch harden and dry to the proper form, when he fits the gunwales to the ragged edge, lines the inside of the keel with thin pine boards, and tars the seams where the bark has crinkled and split at the junction with the gunwale. It is in the idle summer season that he and his squaw--for the Pierre adapts, or rather adopts, himself to the native tribes by taking an Indian wife--design the wonderfully bizarre costumes in which the French trapper appears: the beaded toque for festive occasions, the gay moccasins, the buckskin suit fringed with horse-hair and leather in lieu of the Indian scalp-locks, the white caribou capote with horned head-gear to deceive game on the hunter's approach, the powder-case made of a buffalo-horn, the bullet bag of a young otter-skin, the musk-rat or musquash cap, and great gantlets coming to the elbow. None of these things does the English trader do. If he falls a victim to the temptations awaiting the man from the wilderness in the dram-shop of the trading-post, he takes good care not to spend his all on the spree. He does not affect the hunter's decoy dress, for the simple reason that he prefers to let the Indians do the hunting of the difficult game, while he attends to the trapping that is _gain_ rather than _game_. For clothes, he is satisfied with cheap material from the shops. And if, like Pierre, the Englishman marries an Indian wife, he either promptly deserts her when he leaves the fur country for the trading-post or sends her to a convent to be educated up to his own level. With Pierre the marriage means that he has cast off the last vestige of civilization and henceforth identifies himself with the life of the savage. After the British conquest of Canada and the American Declaration of Independence came a change in the status of the French trapper. Before, he had been lord of the wilderness without a rival. Now, powerful English companies poured their agents into his hunting-grounds. Before, he had been a partner in the fur trade. Now, he must either be pushed out or enlist as servant to the newcomer. He who had once come to Montreal and St. Louis with a fortune of peltries on his rafts and canoes, now signed with the great English companies for a paltry one, two, and three hundred dollars a year. It was but natural in the new state of things that the French trapper, with all his knowledge of forest and stream, should become _coureur des bois_ and _voyageur_, while the Englishman remained the barterer. In the Mississippi basin the French trappers mainly enlisted with four companies: the Mackinaw Company, radiating from Michilimackinac to the Mississippi; the American Company, up the Missouri; the Missouri Company, officered by St. Louis merchants, westward to the Rockies; and the South-West Company, which was John Jacob Astor's amalgamation of the American and Mackinaw. In Canada the French sided with the Nor' Westers and X. Y.'s, who had sprung up in opposition to the great English Hudson's Bay Company. * * * * * Though he had become a burden-carrier for his quondam enemies, the French trapper still saw life through the glamour of _la gloire_ and _noblesse_, still lived hard and died game, still feasted to-day and starved to-morrow, gambled the clothes off his back and laughed at hardship; courted danger and trolled off one of his _chansons_ brought over to America by ancestors of Normandy, uttered an oath in one breath at the whirlpool ahead and in the next crossed himself reverently with a prayer to Sainte Anne, the _voyageurs'_ saint, just before his canoe took the plunge. Your Spanish grandee of the Missouri Company, like Manuel Lisa of St. Louis, might sit in a counting-house or fur post adding up rows of figures, and your Scotch merchant chaffer with Indians over the value of a beaver-skin. As for Pierre, give him a canoe sliding past wooded banks with a throb of the keel to the current and the whistle of wild-fowl overhead; clear sky above with a feathering of wind clouds, clear sky below with a feathering of wind clouds, and the canoe between like a bird at poise. Sometimes a fair wind livens the pace; for the _voyageurs_ hoist a blanket sail, and the canoe skims before the breeze like a seagull. Where the stream gathers force and whirls forward in sharp eddies and racing leaps each _voyageur_ knows what to expect. No man asks questions. The bowman stands up with his eyes to the fore and steel-shod pole ready. Every eye is on that pole. Presently comes a roar, and the green banks begin to race. The canoe no longer glides. It vaults--springs--bounds, with a shiver of live waters under the keel and a buoyant rise to her prow that mounts the crest of each wave fast as wave pursues wave. A fanged rock thrusts up in mid-stream. One deft push of the pole. Each paddler takes the cue; and the canoe shoots past the danger straight as an arrow, righting herself to a new course by another lightning sweep of the pole and paddles. [Illustration: Traders running a mackinaw or keel-boat down the rapids of Slave River without unloading.] But the waters gather as if to throw themselves forward. The roar becomes a crash. As if moved by one mind the paddlers brace back. The lightened bow lifts. A white dash of spray. She mounts as she plunges; and the _voyageurs_ are whirling down-stream below a small waterfall. Not a word is spoken to indicate that it is anything unusual to _sauter les rapides_, as the _voyageurs_ say. The men are soaked. Now, perhaps, some one laughs; for Jean, or Ba'tiste, or the dandy of the crew, got his moccasins wet when the canoe took water. They all settle forward. One paddler pauses to bail out water with his hat. Thus the lowest waterfalls are run without a _portage_. Coming back this way with canoes loaded to the water-line, there must be a disembarking. If the rapids be short, with water enough to carry the loaded canoe high above rocks that might graze the bark, all hands spring out in the water, but one man who remains to steady the craft; and the canoe is "tracked" up-stream, hauled along by ropes. If the rapids be at all dangerous, each _voyageur_ lands, with pack on his back and pack-straps across his forehead, and runs along the shore. A long _portage_ is measured by the number of pipes the _voyageur_ smokes, each lighting up meaning a brief rest; and a _portage_ of many "pipes" will be taken at a running gait on the hottest days without one word of complaint. Nine miles is the length of one famous _portage_ opposite the Chaudière Falls on the Ottawa. In winter the _voyageur_ becomes _coureur des bois_ to his new masters. Then for six months endless reaches, white, snow-padded, silent; forests wreathed and bossed with snow; nights in camp on a couch of pines or rolled in robes with a roaring fire to keep the wolves off, melting snow steaming to the heat, meat sputtering at the end of a skewered stick; sometimes to the _marche donc! marche donc!_ of the driver, with crisp tinkling of dog-bells in frosty air, a long journey overland by dog-sled to the trading-post; sometimes that blinding fury which sweeps over the northland, turning earth and air to a white darkness; sometimes a belated traveller cowering under a snow-drift for warmth and wrapping his blanket about him to cross life's Last Divide. These things were the every-day life of the French trapper. At present there is only one of the great fur companies remaining--the Hudson's Bay of Canada. In the United States there are only two important centres of trade in furs which are not imported--St. Paul and St. Louis. For both the Hudson's Bay Company and the fur traders of the Upper Missouri the French trapper still works as his ancestors did for the great companies a hundred years ago. The roadside tramp of to-day is a poor representative of Robin Hoods and Rob Roys; and the French trapper of shambling gait and baggy clothes seen at the fur posts of the north to-day is a poor type of the class who used to stalk through the baronial halls[31] of Montreal's governor like a lord and set the rafters of Fort William's council chamber ringing, and make the wine and the money and the brawls of St. Louis a by-word. And yet, with all his degeneracy, the French trapper retains a something of his old traditions. A few years ago I was on a northern river steamer going to one of the Hudson's Bay trading-posts. A brawl seemed to sound from the steerage passengers. What was the matter? "Oh," said the captain, "the French trappers going out north for the winter, drunk as usual!" As he spoke, a voice struck up one of those _chansons populaires_, which have been sung by every generation of _voyageurs_ since Frenchmen came to America, _A La Claire Fontaine_, a song which the French trappers' ancestors brought from Normandy hundreds of years ago, about the fickle lady and the faded roses and the vain regrets. Then--was it possible?--these grizzled fellows, dressed in tinkers' tatters, were singing--what? A song of the _Grand Monarque_ which has led armies to battle, but not a song which one would expect to hear in northern wilds-- "Malbrouck s'on va-t-en guerre Mais quand reviendra a-t-il?" Three foes assailed the trapper alone in the wilds. The first danger was from the wolf-pack. The second was the Indian hostile egged on by rival traders. This danger the French trapper minimized by identifying himself more completely with the savage than any other fur trader succeeded in doing. The third foe was the most perverse and persevering thief known outside the range of human criminals. Perhaps the day after the trapper had shot his first deer he discovered fine footprints like a child's hand on the snow around the carcass. He recognises the trail of otter or pekan or mink. It would be useless to bait a deadfall with meat when an unpolluted feast lies on the snow. The man takes one of his small traps and places it across the line of approach. This trap is buried beneath snow or brush. Every trace of man-smell is obliterated. The fresh hide of a deer may be dragged across the snow. Pomatum or castoreum may be daubed on everything touched. He may even handle the trap with deer-hide. Pekan travel in pairs. Besides, the dead deer will be likely to attract more than one forager; so the man sets a circle of traps round the carcass. The next morning he comes back with high hope. Very little of the deer remains. All the flesh-eaters of the forest, big and little, have been there. Why, then, is there no capture? One trap has been pulled up, sprung, and partly broken. Another carried a little distance off and dumped into a hollow. A third had caught a pekan; but the prisoner had been worried and torn to atoms. Another was tampered with from behind and exposed for very deviltry. Some have disappeared altogether. Among forest creatures few are mean enough to kill when they have full stomachs, or to eat a trapped brother with untrapped meat a nose-length away. The French trapper rumbles out some maledictions on _le sacré carcajou_. Taking a piece of steel like a cheese-tester's instrument, he pokes grains of strychnine into the remaining meat. He might have saved himself the trouble. The next day he finds the poisoned meat mauled and spoiled so that no animal will touch it. There is nothing of the deer but picked bones. So the trapper tries a deadfall for the thief. Again he might have spared himself the trouble. His next visit shows the deadfall torn from behind and robbed without danger to the thief. Several signs tell the trapper that the marauder is the carcajou or wolverine. All the stealing was done at night; and the wolverine is nocturnal. All the traps had been approached from behind. The wolverine will not cross man's track. The poison in the meat had been scented. Whether the wolverine knows poison, he is too wary to experiment on doubtful diet. The exposing of the traps tells of the curiosity which characterizes the wolverine. Other creatures would have had too much fear. The tracks run back to cover, and not across country like the badger's or the fox's. Fearless, curious, gluttonous, wary, and suspicious, the mischief-maker and the freebooter and the criminal of the animal world, a scavenger to save the northland from pollution of carrion, and a scourge to destroy wounded, weaklings, and laggards--the wolverine has the nose of a fox, with long, uneven, tusk-like teeth that seem to be expressly made for tearing. The eyes are well set back, greenish, alert with almost human intelligence of the type that preys. Out of the fulness of his wrath one trapper gave a perfect description of the wolverine. He didn't object, he said, to being outrun by a wolf, or beaten by a respectable Indian, but to be outwitted by a little beast the size of a pig with the snout of a fox, the claws of a bear, and the fur of a porcupine's quills, was more than he could stand. In the economy of nature the wolverine seems to have but one design--destruction. Beaver-dams two feet thick and frozen like rock yield to the ripping onslaught of its claws. He robs everything: the musk-rats' haycock houses; the gopher burrows; the cached elk and buffalo calves under hiding of some shrub while the mothers go off to the watering-place; the traps of his greatest foe, man; the cached provisions of the forest ranger; the graves of the dead; the very tepees and lodges and houses of Indian, half-breed, and white man. While the wolverine is averse to crossing man's track, he will follow it for days, like a shark behind a ship; for he knows as well as the man knows there will be food in the traps when the man is in his lodge, and food in the lodge when the man is at the traps. But the wolverine has two characteristics by which he may be snared--gluttony and curiosity. After the deer has disappeared the trapper finds that the wolverine has been making as regular rounds of the traps as he has himself. It is then a question whether the man or the wolverine is to hold the hunting-ground. A case is on record at Moose Factory, on James Bay, of an Indian hunter and his wife who were literally brought to the verge of starvation by a wolverine that nightly destroyed their traps. The contest ended by the starving Indians travelling a hundred miles from the haunts of that "bad devil--oh--he--bad devil--carcajou!" Remembering the curiosity and gluttony of his enemy, the man sets out his strongest steel-traps. He takes some strong-smelling meat, bacon or fish, and places it where the wolverine tracks run. Around this he sets a circle of his traps, tying them securely to poles and saplings and stakes. In all likelihood he has waited his chance for a snowfall which will cover traces of the man-smell. Night passes. In the morning the man comes to his traps. The meat has been taken. All else is as before. Not a track marks the snow; but in midwinter meat does not walk off by itself. The man warily feels for the hidden traps. Then he notices that one of the stakes has been pulled up and carried off. That is a sign. He prods the ground expectantly. It is as he thought. One trap is gone. It had caught the wolverine; but the cunning beast had pulled with all his strength, snapped the attached sapling, and escaped. A fox or beaver would have gnawed the imprisoned limb off. The wolverine picks the trap up in his teeth and hobbles as hard as three legs will carry him to the hiding of a bush, or better still, to the frozen surface of a river, hidden by high banks, with glare ice which will not reveal a trail. But on the river the man finds only a trap wrenched out of all semblance to its proper shape, with the spring opened to release the imprisoned leg. The wolverine had been caught, and had gone to the river to study out the problem of unclinching the spring. One more device remains to the man. It is a gun trick. The loaded weapon is hidden full-cock under leaves or brush. Directly opposite the barrel is the bait, attached by a concealed string to the trigger. The first pull will blow the thief's head off. The trap experience would have frightened any other animals a week's run from man's tracks; but the wolverine grows bolder, and the trapper knows he will find his snares robbed until carcajou has been killed. Perhaps he has tried the gun trick before, to have the cord gnawed through and the bait stolen. A wolverine is not to be easily tricked; but its gluttony and curiosity bring it within man's reach. The man watches until he knows the part of the woods where the wolverine nightly gallops. He then procures a savoury piece of meat heavy enough to balance a cocked trigger, not heavy enough to send it off. The gun is suspended from some dense evergreen, which will hide the weapon. The bait hangs from the trigger above the wolverine's reach. Then a curious game begins. One morning the trapper sees the wolverine tracks round and round the tree as if determined to ferret out the mystery of the meat in mid-air. The next morning the tracks have come to a stand below the meat. If the wolverine could only get up to the bait, one whiff would tell him whether the man-smell was there. He sits studying the puzzle till his mark is deep printed in the snow. The trapper smiles. He has only to wait. The rascal may become so bold in his predatory visits that the man may be tempted to chance a shot without waiting. But if the man waits Nemesis hangs at the end of the cord. There comes a night when the wolverine's curiosity is as rampant as his gluttony. A quick clutch of the ripping claws and a blare of fire-smoke blows the robber's head into space. The trapper will hold those hunting-grounds. He has got rid of the most unwelcome visitor a solitary man ever had; but for the consolation of those whose sympathies are keener for the animal than the man, it may be said that in the majority of such contests it is the wolverine and not the man that wins. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 30: Radisson and Groseillers, from regions westward of Duluth.] [Footnote 31: Especially the Château de Ramezay, where great underground vaults were built for the storing of pelts in case of attack from New Englander and Iroquois. These vaults may still be seen under Château de Ramezay.] CHAPTER VII THE BUFFALO-RUNNERS If the trapper had a crest like the knights of the wilderness who lived lives of daredoing in olden times, it should represent a canoe, a snow-shoe, a musket, a beaver, and a buffalo. While the beaver was his quest and the coin of the fur-trading realm, the buffalo was the great staple on which the very existence of the trapper depended. Bed and blankets and clothing, shields for wartime, sinew for bows, bone for the shaping of rude lance-heads, kettles and bull-boats and saddles, roof and rug and curtain wall for the hunting lodge, and, most important of all, food that could be kept in any climate for any length of time and combined the lightest weight with the greatest nourishment--all these were supplied by the buffalo. From the Gulf of Mexico to the Saskatchewan and from the Alleghanies to the Rockies the buffalo was to the hunter what wheat is to the farmer. Moose and antelope and deer were plentiful in the limited area of a favoured habitat. Provided with water and grass the buffalo could thrive in any latitude south of the sixties, with a preference for the open ground of the great central plains except when storms and heat drove the herds to the shelter of woods and valleys. Besides, in that keen struggle for existence which goes on in the animal world, the buffalo had strength to defy all enemies. Of all the creatures that prey, only the full-grown grisly was a match against the buffalo; and according to old hunting legends, even the grisly held back from attacking a beast in the prime of its power and sneaked in the wake of the roving herds, like the coyotes and timber-wolves, for the chance of hamstringing a calf, or breaking a young cow's neck, or tackling some poor old king worsted in battle and deposed from the leadership of the herd, or snapping up some lost buffalo staggering blind on the trail of a prairie fire. The buffalo, like the range cattle, had a quality that made for the persistence of the species. When attacked by a beast of prey, they would line up for defence, charge upon the assailant, and trample life out. Adaptability to environment, strength excelling all foes, wonderful sagacity against attack--these were factors that partly explained the vastness of the buffalo herds once roaming this continent. Proofs enough remain to show that the size of the herds simply could not be exaggerated. In two great areas their multitude exceeded anything in the known world. These were: (1) between the Arkansas and the Missouri, fenced in, as it were, by the Mississippi and the Rockies; (2) between the Missouri and the Saskatchewan, bounded by the Rockies on the west and on the east, that depression where lie Lakes Winnipeg, Manitoba, and Winnipegoosis. In both regions the prairie is scarred by trails where the buffalo have marched single file to their watering-places--trails trampled by such a multitude of hoofs that the groove sinks to the depth of a rider's stirrup or the hub of a wagon-wheel. At fording-places on the Qu'Appelle and Saskatchewan in Canada, and on the Upper Missouri, Yellowstone, and Arkansas in the Western States, carcasses of buffalo have been found where the stampeding herd trampled the weak under foot, virtually building a bridge of the dead over which the vast host rushed. Then there were "the fairy rings," ruts like the water trail, only running in a perfect circle, with the hoofprints of countless multitudes in and outside the ring. Two explanations were given of these. When the calves were yet little, and the wild animals ravenous with spring hunger, the bucks and old leaders formed a cordon round the mothers and their young. The late Colonel Bedson of Stony Mountain, Manitoba, who had the finest private collection of buffalo in America until his death ten years ago, when the herd was shipped to Texas, observed another occasion when the buffalo formed a circle. Of an ordinary winter storm the herd took small notice except to turn backs to the wind; but if to a howling blizzard were added a biting north wind, with the thermometer forty degrees below zero, the buffalo lay down in a crescent as a wind-break to the young. Besides the "fairy rings" and the fording-places, evidences of the buffaloes' numbers are found at the salt-licks, alkali depressions on the prairie, soggy as paste in spring, dried hard as rock in midsummer and retaining footprints like a plaster cast; while at the wallows, where the buffalo have been taking mud-baths as a refuge from vermin and summer heat, the ground is scarred and ploughed as if for ramparts. The comparison of the buffalo herds to the northland caribou has become almost commonplace; but it is the sheerest nonsense. From Hearne, two hundred years ago, to Mr. Tyrrel or Mr. Whitney in the Barren Lands in 1894-'96, no mention is ever made of a caribou herd exceeding ten thousand. Few herds of one thousand have ever been seen. What are the facts regarding the buffalo? In the thirties, when the American Fur Company was in the heyday of its power, there were sent from St. Louis alone in a single year one hundred thousand robes. The company bought only the perfect robes. The hunter usually kept an ample supply for his own needs; so that for every robe bought by the company, three times as many were taken from the plains. St. Louis was only one port of shipment. Equal quantities of robes were being sent from Mackinaw, Detroit, Montreal, and Hudson Bay. A million would not cover the number of robes sent east each year in the thirties and forties. In 1868 Inman, Sheridan, and Custer rode continuously for three days through one herd in the Arkansas region. In 1869 trains on the Kansas Pacific were held from nine in the morning till six at night to permit the passage of one herd across the tracks. Army officers related that in 1862 a herd moved north from the Arkansas to the Yellowstone that covered an area of seventy by thirty miles. Catlin and Inman and army men and employees of the fur companies considered a drove of one hundred thousand buffalo a common sight along the line of the Santa Fé trail. Inman computes that from St. Louis alone the bones of thirty-one million buffalo were shipped between 1868 and 1881. Northward the testimony is the same. John MacDonell, a partner of the North-West Company, tells how at the beginning of the last century a herd stampeded across the ice of the Qu'Appelle valley. In some places the ice broke. When the thaw came, a continuous line of drowned buffalo drifted past the fur post for three days. Mr. MacDonell counted up to seven thousand three hundred and sixty: there his patience gave out. And the number of the drowned was only a fringe of the travelling herd. To-day where are the buffalo? A few in the public parks of the United States and Canada. A few of Colonel Bedson's old herd on Lord Strathcona's farm in Manitoba and the rest on a ranch in Texas. The railway more than the pot-hunter was the power that exterminated the buffalo. The railway brought the settlers; and the settlers fenced in the great ranges where the buffalo could have galloped away from all the pot-hunters of earth combined. Without the railway the buffalo could have resisted the hunter as they resisted Indian hunters from time immemorial; but when the iron line cut athwart the continent the herds only stampeded from one quarter to rush into the fresh dangers of another. Much has been said about man's part in the destruction of the buffalo; and too much could not be said against those monomaniacs of slaughter who went into the buffalo-hunt from sheer love of killing, hiring the Indians to drive a herd over an embankment or into soft snow, while the valiant hunters sat in some sheltered spot, picking off the helpless quarry. This was not hunting. It was butchery, which none but hungry savages and white barbarians practised. The plains-man--who is the true type of the buffalo-runner--entered the lists on a fair field with the odds a hundred to one against himself, and the only advantages over brute strength the dexterity of his own aim. Man was the least cruel of the buffalo's foes. Far crueler havoc was worked by the prairie fire and the fights for supremacy in the leadership of the herd and the sleuths of the trail and the wild stampedes often started by nothing more than the shadow of a cloud on the prairie. Natural history tells of nothing sadder than a buffalo herd overtaken by a prairie fire. Flee as they might, the fiery hurricane was fleeter; and when the flame swept past, the buffalo were left staggering over blackened wastes, blind from the fire, singed of fur to the raw, and mad with a thirst they were helpless to quench. In the fights for leadership of the herd old age went down before youth. Colonel Bedson's daughter has often told the writer of her sheer terror as a child when these battles took place among the buffalo. The first intimation of trouble was usually a boldness among the young fellows of maturing strength. On the rove for the first year or two of their existence these youngsters were hooked and butted back into place as a rear-guard; and woe to the fellow whose vanity tempted him within range of the leader's sharp, pruning-hook horns! Just as the wolf aimed for the throat or leg sinews of a victim, so the irate buffalo struck at the point most vulnerable to his sharp, curved horn--the soft flank where a quick rip meant torture and death. Comes a day when the young fellows refuse to be hooked and hectored to the rear! Then one of the boldest braces himself, circling and guarding and wheeling and keeping his lowered horns in line with the head of the older rival. That is the buffalo challenge! And there presently follows a bellowing like the rumbling of distant thunder, each keeping his eye on the other, circling and guarding and countering each other's moves, like fencers with foils. When one charges, the other wheels to meet the charge straight in front; and with a crash the horns are locked. It is then a contest of strength against strength, dexterity against dexterity. Not unusually the older brute goes into a fury from sheer amazement at the younger's presumption. His guarded charges become blind rushes, and he soon finds himself on the end of a pair of piercing horns. As soon as the rumbling and pawing began, Colonel Bedson used to send his herders out on the fleetest buffalo ponies to part the contestants; for, like the king of beasts that he is, the buffalo does not know how to surrender. He fights till he can fight no more; and if he is not killed, is likely to be mangled, a deposed king, whipped and broken-spirited and relegated to the fag-end of the trail, where he drags lamely after the subjects he once ruled. Some day the barking of a prairie-dog, the rustle of a leaf, the shadow of a cloud, startles a giddy young cow. She throws up her head and is off. There is a stampede--myriad forms lumbering over the earth till the ground rocks and nothing remains of the buffalo herd but the smoking dust of the far horizon--nothing but the poor, old, deposed king, too weak to keep up the pace, feeble with fear, trembling at his own shadow, leaping in terror at a leaf blown by the wind. After that the end is near, and the old buffalo must realize that fact as plainly as a human being would. Has he roamed the plains and guarded the calves from sleuths of the trail and seen the devourers leap on a fallen comrade before death has come, and yet does not know what those vague, gray forms are, always hovering behind him, always sneaking to the crest of a hill when he hides in the valley, always skulking through the prairie grass when he goes to a lookout on the crest of the hill, always stopping when he stops, creeping closer when he lies down, scuttling when he wheels, snapping at his heels when he stoops for a drink? If the buffalo did not know what these creatures meant, he would not have spent his entire life from calfhood guarding against them. But he does know; and therein lies the tragedy of the old king's end. He invariably seeks out some steep background where he can take his last stand against the wolves with a face to the foe. But the end is inevitable. While the main pack baits him to the fore, skulkers dart to the rear; and when, after a struggle that lasts for days, his hind legs sink powerless under him, hamstrung by the snap of some vicious coyote, he still keeps his face to the foe. But in sheer horror of the tragedy the rest is untellable; for the hungry creatures that prey do not wait till death comes to the victim. Poor old king! Is anything that man has ever done to the buffalo herd half as tragically pitiful as nature's process of deposing a buffalo leader? Catlin and Inman and every traveller familiar with the great plains region between the Arkansas and Saskatchewan testify that the quick death of the bullet was, indeed, the mercy stroke compared to nature's end of her wild creatures. In Colonel Bedson's herd the fighters were always parted before either was disabled; but it was always at the sacrifice of two or three ponies' lives. In the park specimens of buffalo a curious deterioration is apparent. On Lord Strathcona's farm in Manitoba, where the buffalo still have several hundred acres of ranging-ground and are nearer to their wild state than elsewhere, they still retain their leonine splendour of strength in shoulders and head; but at Banff only the older ones have this appearance, the younger generation, like those of the various city parks, gradually assuming more dwarfed proportions about the shoulders, with a suggestion of a big, round-headed, clumsy sheep. * * * * * Between the Arkansas and the Saskatchewan buffalo were always plentiful enough for an amateur's hunt; but the trapper of the plains, to whom the hunt meant food and clothing and a roof for the coming year, favoured two seasons: (1) the end of June, when he had brought in his packs to the fur post and the winter's trapping was over and the fort full of idle hunters keen for the excitement of the chase; (2) in midwinter, when that curious lull came over animal life, before the autumn stores had been exhausted and before the spring forage began. In both seasons the buffalo-robes were prime: sleek and glossy in June before the shedding of the fleece, with the fur at its greatest length; fresh and clean and thick in midwinter. But in midwinter the hunters were scattered, the herds broken in small battalions, the climate perilous for a lonely man who might be tempted to track fleeing herds many miles from a known course. South of the Yellowstone the individual hunter pursued the buffalo as he pursued deer--by still-hunting; for though the buffalo was keen of scent, he was dull of sight, except sideways on the level, and was not easily disturbed by a noise as long as he did not see its cause. Behind the shelter of a mound and to leeward of the herd the trapper might succeed in bringing down what would be a creditable showing in a moose or deer hunt; but the trapper was hunting buffalo for their robes. Two or three robes were not enough from a large herd; and before he could get more there was likely to be a stampede. Decoy work was too slow for the trapper who was buffalo-hunting. So was tracking on snow-shoes, the way the Indians hunted north of the Yellowstone. A wounded buffalo at close range was quite as vicious as a wounded grisly; and it did not pay the trapper to risk his life getting a pelt for which the trader would give him only four or five dollars' worth of goods. The Indians hunted buffalo by driving them over a precipice where hunters were stationed on each side below, or by luring the herd into a pound or pit by means of an Indian decoy masking under a buffalo-hide. But the precipice and pit destroyed too many hides; and if the pound were a sort of _cheval-de-frise_ or corral converging at the inner end, it required more hunters than were ever together except at the incoming of the spring brigades. When there were many hunters and countless buffalo, the white blood of the plains' trapper preferred a fair fight in an open field--not the indiscriminate carnage of the Indian hunt; so that the greatest buffalo-runs took place after the opening of spring. The greatest of these were on the Upper Missouri. This was the Mandan country, where hunters of the Mackinaw from Michilimackinac, of the Missouri from St. Louis, of the Nor' Westers from Montreal, of the Hudson Bay from Fort Douglas (Winnipeg), used to congregate before the War of 1812, which barred out Canadian traders. At a later date the famous, loud-screeching Red River ox-carts were used to transport supplies to the scene of the hunt; but at the opening of the last century all hunters, whites, Indians, and squaws, rode to field on cayuse ponies or broncos, with no more supplies than could be stowed away in a saddle-pack, and no other escort than the old-fashioned muskets over each white man's shoulder or attached to his holster. The Indians were armed with bow and arrow only. The course usually led north and westward, for the reason that at this season the herds were on their great migrations north, and the course of the rivers headed them westward. From the first day out the hunter best fitted for the captainship was recognised as leader, and such discipline maintained as prevented unruly spirits stampeding the buffalo before the cavalcade had closed near enough for the wild rush. At night the hunters slept under open sky with horses picketed to saddles, saddles as pillows, and musket in hand. When the course led through the country of hostiles, sentinels kept guard; but midnight usually saw all hunters in the deep sleep of outdoor life, bare faces upturned to the stars, a little tenuous stream of uprising smoke where the camp-fire still glowed red, and on the far, shadowy horizon, with the moonlit skyline meeting the billowing prairie in perfect circle, vague, whitish forms--the coyotes keeping watch, stealthy and shunless as death. The northward movement of the buffalo began with the spring. Odd scattered herds might have roamed the valleys in the winter; but as the grass grew deeper and lush with spring rains, the reaches of the prairie land became literally covered with the humpback, furry forms of the roving herds. Indian legend ascribed their coming directly to the spirits. The more prosaic white man explained that the buffalo were only emerging from winter shelter, and their migration was a search for fresh feeding-ground. Be that as it may, northward they came, in straggling herds that covered the prairie like a flock of locusts; in close-formed battalions, with leaders and scouts and flank guards protecting the cows and the young; in long lines, single file, leaving the ground, soft from spring rains, marked with a rut like a ditch; in a mad stampede at a lumbering gallop that roared like an ocean tide up hills and down steep ravines, sure-footed as a mountain-goat, thrashing through the swollen water-course of river and slough, up embankments with long beards and fringed dewlaps dripping--on and on and on--till the tidal wave of life had hulked over the sky-line beyond the heaving horizon. Here and there in the brownish-black mass were white and gray forms, light-coloured buffalo, freaks in the animal world. The age of the calves in each year's herd varied. The writer remembers a sturdy little buffalo that arrived on the scene of this troublous life one freezing night in January, with a howling blizzard and the thermometer at forty below--a combination that is sufficient to set the teeth of the most mendacious northerner chattering. The young buffalo spent the first three days of his life in this gale and was none the worse, which seems to prove that climatic apology, "though it is cold, you don't feel it." Another spindly-legged, clumsy bundle of fawn and fur in the same herd counted its natal day from a sweltering afternoon in August. * * * * * Many signs told the buffalo-runners which way to ride for the herd. There was the trail to the watering-place. There were the salt-licks and the wallows and the crushed grass where two young fellows had been smashing each other's horns in a trial of strength. There were the bones of the poor old deposed king, picked clear by the coyotes, or, perhaps, the lonely outcast himself, standing at bay, feeble and frightened, a picture of dumb woe! To such the hunter's shot was a mercy stroke. Or, most interesting of all signs and surest proof that the herd was near--a little bundle of fawn-coloured fur lying out flat as a door-mat under hiding of sage-brush, or against a clay mound, precisely the colour of its own hide. Poke it! An ear blinks, or a big ox-like eye opens! It is a buffalo calf left cached by the mother, who has gone to the watering-place or is pasturing with the drove. Lift it up! It is inert as a sack of wool. Let it go! It drops to earth flat and lifeless as a door-mat. The mother has told it how to escape the coyotes and wolverines; and the little rascal is "playing dead." But if you fondle it and warm it--the Indians say, breathe into its face--it forgets all about the mother's warning and follows like a pup. At the first signs of the herd's proximity the squaws parted from the cavalcade and all impedimenta remained behind. The best-equipped man was the man with the best horse, a horse that picked out the largest buffalo from one touch of the rider's hand or foot, that galloped swift as wind in pursuit, that jerked to a stop directly opposite the brute's shoulders and leaped from the sideward sweep of the charging horns. No sound came from the hunters till all were within close range. Then the captain gave the signal, dropped a flag, waved his hand, or fired a shot, and the hunters charged. Arrows whistled through the air, shots clattered with the fusillade of artillery volleys. Bullets fell to earth with the dull ping of an aim glanced aside by the adamant head bones or the heaving shoulder fur of the buffalo. The Indians shouted their war-cry of "Ah--oh, ah--oh!" Here and there French voices screamed "Voilà! Les boeufs! Les boeufs! Sacré! Tonnerre! Tir--tir--tir--donc! By Gar!" And Missouri traders called out plain and less picturesque but more forcible English. Sometimes the suddenness of the attack dazed the herd; but the second volley with the smell of powder and smoke and men started the stampede. Then followed such a wild rush as is unknown in the annals of any other kind of hunting, up hills, down embankments, over cliffs, through sloughs, across rivers, hard and fast and far as horses had strength to carry riders in a boundless land! [Illustration: The buffalo-hunt. After a contemporary print.] Riders were unseated and went down in the _mêlée_; horses caught on the horns of charging bulls and ripped from shoulder to flank; men thrown high in mid-air to alight on the back of a buffalo; Indians with dexterous aim bringing down the great brutes with one arrow; unwary hunters trampled to death under a multitude of hoofs; wounded buffalo turning with fury on their assailants till the pursuer became pursued and only the fleetness of the pony saved the hunter's life. A retired officer of the North-West mounted police, who took part in a Missouri buffalo-run forty years ago, described the impression at the time as of an earthquake. The galloping horses, the rocking mass of fleeing buffalo, the rumbling and quaking of the ground under the thunderous pounding, were all like a violent earthquake. The same gentleman tells how he once saw a wounded buffalo turn on an Indian hunter. The man's horse took fright. Instead of darting sideways to give him a chance to send a last finishing shot home, the horse became wildly unmanageable and fled. The buffalo pursued. Off they raced, rider and buffalo, the Indian craning over his horse's neck, the horse blown and fagged and unable to gain one pace ahead of the buffalo, the great beast covered with foam, his eyes like fire, pounding and pounding--closer and closer to the horse till rider and buffalo disappeared over the horizon. "To this day I have wondered what became of that Indian," said the officer, "for the horse was losing and the buffalo gaining when they went over the bluff." The incident illustrates a trait seldom found in wild animals--a persistent vindictiveness. In a word, buffalo-hunting was not all boys' play. After the hunt came the gathering of skins and meat. The tongue was first taken as a delicacy for the great feast that celebrated every buffalo-hunt. To this was sometimes added the fleece fat or hump. White hunters have been accused of waste, because they used only the skin, tongue, and hump of the buffalo. But what the white hunter left the Indian took, making pemmican by pounding the meat with tallow, drying thinly-shaved slices into "jerked" meat, getting thread from the buffalo sinews and implements of the chase from the bones. The gathering of the spoils was not the least dangerous part of the buffalo-hunt. Many an apparently lifeless buffalo has lunged up in a death-throe that has cost the hunter dear. The mounted police officer of whom mention has been made was once camping with a patrol party along the international line between Idaho and Canada. Among the hunting stories told over the camp-fire was that of the Indian pursued by the wounded buffalo. Scarcely had the colonel finished his anecdote when a great hulking buffalo rose to the crest of a hillock not a gunshot away. "Come on, men! Let us all have a shot," cried the colonel, grasping his rifle. The buffalo dropped at the first rifle-crack, and the men scrambled pell-mell up the hill to see whose bullet had struck vital. Just as they stooped over the fallen buffalo it lunged up with an angry snort. The story of the pursued Indian was still fresh in all minds. The colonel is the only man of the party honest enough to tell what happened next. He declares if breath had not given out every man would have run till he dropped over the horizon, like the Indian and the buffalo. And when they plucked up courage to go back, the buffalo was dead as a stone. CHAPTER VIII THE MOUNTAINEERS It was in the Rocky Mountains that American trapping attained its climax of heroism and dauntless daring and knavery that out-herods comparison. The War of 1812 had demoralized the American fur trade. Indians from both sides of the international boundary committed every depredation, and evaded punishment by scampering across the line to the protection of another flag. Alexander MacKenzie of the North-West Company had been the first of the Canadian traders to cross the Rockies, reaching the Pacific in 1793. The result was that in less than fifteen years the fur posts of the North-West and Hudson's Bay Companies were dotted like beads on a rosary down the course of the mountain rivers to the boundary. Of the American traders, the first to follow up Lewis and Clark's lead from the Missouri to the Columbia were Manuel Lisa the Spaniard and Major Andrew Henry, the two leading spirits of the Missouri Company. John Jacob Astor sent his Astorians of the Pacific Company across the continent in 1811, and a host of St. Louis firms had prepared to send free trappers to the mountains when the war broke out. The end of the war saw Astoria captured by the Nor' Westers, the Astorians scattered to all parts of the world, Lisa driven down the Missouri to Council Bluffs, Andrew Henry a fugitive from the Blackfeet of the Yellowstone, and all the free trappers like an idle army waiting for a captain. Their captain came. Mr. Astor's influence secured the passage of a law barring out British fur traders from the United States. That threw all the old Hudson's Bay and North-West posts south of the boundary into the hands of Mr. Astor's American Fur Company. He had already bought out the American part of the Mackinaw Company's posts, stretching west from Michilimackinac beyond the Mississippi towards the head waters of the Missouri. And now to his force came a tremendous accession--all those dissatisfied Nor' Westers thrown out of employment when their company amalgamated with the Hudson's Bay. If Mr. Astor alone had held the American fur trade, there would have been none of that rivalry which ended in so much bloodshed. But St. Louis, lying like a gateway to the mountain trade, had always been jealous of those fur traders with headquarters in New York. Lisa had refused to join Mr. Astor's Pacific Company, and doubtless the Spaniard chuckled over his own wisdom when that venture failed with a loss of nearly half a million to its founder. When Lisa died the St. Louis traders still held back from the American Fur Company. Henry and Ashley and the Sublettes and Campbell and Fitzpatrick and Bridger--subsequently known as the Rocky Mountain traders--swept up the Missouri with brigades of one hundred, two hundred, and three hundred men, and were overrunning the mountains five years before the American Company's slowly extending line of forts had reached as far west as the Yellowstone. A clash was bound to ensue when these two sets of rivals met on a hunting-field which the Rocky Mountain men regarded as pre-empted by themselves. The clash came from the peculiarities of the hunting-ground. It was two thousand miles by trappers' trail from the reach of law. It was too remote from the fur posts for trappers to go down annually for supplies. Supplies were sent up by the fur companies to a mountain _rendezvous_, to Pierre's Hole under the Tetons, or Jackson's Hole farther east, or Ogden's Hole at Salt Lake, sheltered valleys with plenty of water for men and horses when hunters and traders and Indians met at the annual camp. Elsewhere the hunter had only to follow the windings of a river to be carried to his hunting-ground. Here, streams were too turbulent for canoes; and boats were abandoned for horses; and mountain cañons with sides sheer as a wall drove the trapper back from the river-bed to interminable forests, where windfall and underbrush and rockslide obstructed every foot of progress. The valley might be shut in by a blind wall which cooped the hunter up where was neither game nor food. Out of this valley, then, he must find a way for himself and his horses, noting every peak so that he might know this region again, noting especially the peaks with the black rock walls; for where the rock is black snow has not clung, and the mountain face will not change; and where snow cannot stick, a man cannot climb; and the peak is a good one for the trapper to shun. One, two, three seasons have often slipped away before the mountaineers found good hunting-ground. Ten years is a short enough time to learn the lie of the land in even a small section of mountains. It was twenty years from the time Lewis and Clark first crossed the mountains before the traders of St. Louis could be sure that the trappers sent into the Rockies would find their way out. Seventy lives were lost in the first two years of mountain trapping, some at the hands of the hostile Blackfeet guarding the entrance to the mountains at the head waters of the Missouri, some at the hands of the Snakes on the Upper Columbia, others between the Platte and Salt Lake. Time and money and life it cost to learn the hunting-grounds of the Rockies; and the mountaineers would not see knowledge won at such a cost wrested away by a spying rival. * * * * * Then, too, the mountains had bred a new type of trapper, a new style of trapping. Only the most daring hunters would sign contracts for the "Up-Country," or _Pays d'en Haut_ as the French called it. The French trappers, for the most part, kept to the river valleys and plains; and if one went to the mountains for a term of years, when he came out he was no longer the smug, indolent, laughing, chattering _voyageur_. The great silences of a life hard as the iron age had worked a change. To begin with, the man had become a horseman, a climber, a scout, a fighter of Indians and elements, lank and thin and lithe, silent and dogged and relentless. In other regions hunters could go out safely in pairs or even alone, carrying supplies enough for the season in a canoe, and drifting down-stream with a canoe-load of pelts to the fur post. But the mountains were so distant and inaccessible, great quantities of supplies had to be taken. That meant long cavalcades of pack-horses, which Blackfeet were ever on the alert to stampede. Armed guards had to accompany the pack-train. Out of a party of a hundred trappers sent to the mountains by the Rock Mountain Company, thirty were always crack rifle-shots for the protection of the company's property. One such party, properly officered and kept from crossing the animal's tracks, might not drive game from a valley. Two such bands of rival traders keen to pilfer each other's traps would result in ruin to both. That is the way the clash came in the early thirties of the last century. * * * * * All winter bands of Rocky Mountain trappers under Fitzpatrick and Bridger and Sublette had been sweeping, two hundred strong, like foraging bandits, from the head waters of the Missouri, where was one mountain pass to the head waters of the Platte, where was a second pass much used by the mountaineers. Summer came with the heat that wakens all the mountain silences to a roar of rampant life. Summer came with the fresh-loosened rocks clattering down the mountain slopes in a landslide, and the avalanches booming over the precipices in a Niagara of snow, and the swollen torrents shouting to each other in a thousand voices till the valleys vibrated to that grandest of all music--the voice of many waters. Summer came with the heat that drives the game up to the cool heights of the wind-swept peaks; and the hunters of the game began retracing their way from valley to valley, gathering the furs cached during the winter hunt. Then the cavalcade set out for the _rendezvous_: grizzled men in tattered buckskins, with long hair and unkempt beards and bronzed skin, men who rode as if they were part of the saddle, easy and careless but always with eyes alert and one hand near the thing in their holsters; long lines of pack-horses laden with furs climbing the mountains in a zigzag trail like a spiral stair, crawling along the face of cliffs barely wide enough to give a horse footing, skirting the sky-line between lofty peaks in order to avoid the detour round the broadened bases, frequently swimming raging torrents whose force carried them half a mile off their trail; always following the long slopes, for the long slopes were most easily climbed; seldom following a water-course, for mountain torrents take short cuts over precipices; packers scattering to right and left at the fording-places, to be rounded back by the collie-dog and the shouting drivers, and the old bell-mare darting after the bolters with her ears laid flat. Not a sign by the way escaped the mountaineer's eye. Here the tumbling torrent is clear and sparkling and cold as champagne. He knows that stream comes from snow. A glacial stream would be milky blue or milky green from glacial silts; and while game seeks the cool heights in summer, the animals prefer the snow-line and avoid the chill of the iced masses in a glacier. There will be game coming down from the source of that stream when he passes back this way in the fall. Ah! what is that little indurated line running up the side of the cliff--just a displacement of the rock chips here, a hardening of the earth that winds in and out among the devil's-club and painter's-brush and mountain laurel and rock crop and heather? "Something has been going up and down here to a drinking-place," says the mountaineer. Punky yellow logs lie ripped open and scratched where bruin has been enjoying a dainty morsel of ants' eggs; but the bear did not make that track. It is too dainty, and has been used too regularly. Neither has the bighorn made it; for the mountain-sheep seldom stay longer above tree-line, resting in the high, meadowed Alpine valleys with the long grasses and sunny reaches and larch shade. Presently the belled leader tinkles her way round an elbow of rock where a stream trickles down. This is the drinking-place. In the soft mould is a little cleft footprint like the ace of hearts, the trail of the mountain-goat feeding far up at the snow-line where the stream rises. Then the little cleft mark unlocks a world of hunter's yarns: how at such a ledge, where the cataract falls like wind-blown mist, one trapper saw a mother goat teaching her little kid to take the leap, and how when she scented human presence she went jump--jump--jump--up and up and up the rock wall, where the man could not follow, bleating and calling the kid; and how the kid leaped and fell back and leaped, and cried as pitifully as a child, till the man, having no canned milk to bring it up, out of very sympathy went away. Then another tells how he tried to shoot a goat running up a gulch, but as fast as he sighted his rifle--"drew the bead"--the thing jumped from side to side, criss-crossing up the gulch till she got above danger and away. And some taciturn oracle comes out with the dictum that "men hadn't ought to try to shoot goat except from above or in front." Every pack-horse of the mountains knows the trick of planting legs like stanchions and blowing his sides out in a balloon when the men are tightening cinches. No matter how tight girths may be, before every climb and at the foot of every slope there must be re-tightening. And at every stop the horses come shouldering up for the packs to be righted, or try to scrape the things off under some low-branched tree. Night falls swiftly in the mountains, the long, peaked shadows etching themselves across the valleys. Shafts of sunlight slant through the mountain gaps gold against the endless reaches of matted forest, red as wine across the snowy heights. With the purpling shadows comes a sudden chill, silencing the roar of mountain torrents to an all-pervading ceaseless prolonged h--u--s--h--! Mountaineers take no chances on the ledges after dark. It is dangerous enough work to skirt narrow precipices in daylight; and sunset is often followed by a thick mist rolling across the heights in billows of fog. These are the clouds that one sees across the peaks at nightfall like banners. How does it feel benighted among those clouds? A few years ago I was saving a long detour round the base of a mountain by riding along the saddle of rock between two peaks. The sky-line rounded the convex edge of a sheer precipice for three miles. Midway the inner wall rose straight, the outer edge above blackness--seven thousand feet the mountaineer guiding us said it was, though I think it was nearer five. The guide's horse displaced a stone the size of a pail from the path. If a man had slipped in the same way he would have fallen to the depths; but when one foot slips, a horse has three others to regain himself; and with a rear-end flounder the horse got his footing. But down--down--down went the stone, bouncing and knocking and echoing as it struck against the precipice wall--down--down--down till it was no larger than a spool--then out of sight--and silence! The mountaineer looked back over his shoulder. "Always throw both your feet over the saddle to the inner side of the trail in a place like this," he directed, with a curious meaning in his words. "What do you do when the clouds catch you on this sort of a ledge?" "Get off--knock ahead with your rifle to feel where the edge is--throw bits of rock through the fog so you can tell where you are by the sound." "And when no sound comes back?" "Sit still," said he. Then to add emphasis, "You bet you sit still! People can say what they like, but when no sound comes back, or when the sound's muffled as if it came from water below, you bet it gives you chills!" So the mountaineers take no chances on the ledges after dark. The moon riding among the peaks rises over pack-horses standing hobbled on the lee side of a roaring camp-fire that will drive the sand-flies and mosquitoes away, on pelts and saddle-trees piled carefully together, on men sleeping with no pillow but a pack, no covering but the sky. If a sharp crash breaks the awful stillness of a mountain night, the trapper is unalarmed. He knows it is only some great rock loosened by the day's thaw rolling down with a landslide. If a shrill, fiendish laugh shrieks through the dark, he pays no heed. It is only the cougar prowling cattishly through the under-brush perhaps still-hunting the hunter. The lonely call overhead is not the prairie-hawk, but the eagle lilting and wheeling in a sort of dreary enjoyment of utter loneliness. Long before the sunrise has drawn the tented shadows across the valley the mountaineers are astir, with the pack-horses snatching mouthfuls of bunch-grass as they travel off in a way that sets the old leader's bell tinkling. The mountaineers usually left their hunting-grounds early in May. They seldom reached their _rendezvous_ before July or August. Three months travelling a thousand miles! Three hundred miles a month! Ten miles a day! It is not a record that shows well beside our modern sixty miles an hour--a thousand miles a day. And yet it is a better record; for if our latter-day fliers had to build the road as they went along, they would make slower time than the mountaineers of a century ago. Rivers too swift to swim were rafted on pine logs, cut and braced together while the cavalcade waited. Muskegs where the industrious little beaver had flooded a valley by damming up the central stream often mired the horses till all hands were called to haul out the unfortunate; and where the mire was very treacherous and the surrounding mountains too steep for foothold, choppers went to work and corduroyed a trail across, throwing the logs on branches that kept them afloat, and overlaying with moss to save the horses' feet. But the greatest cause of delay was the windfall, pines and spruce of enormous girth pitched down by landslide and storm into an impassable _cheval-de-frise_. Turn to the right! A matted tangle of underbrush higher than the horses' head bars the way! Turn to the left! A muskeg where horses sink through quaking moss to saddle-girths! If the horses could not be driven around the barrier, the mountaineers would try to force a high jump. The high jump failing except at risk of broken legs, there was nothing to do but chop a passage through. And were the men carving a way through the wilderness only the bushwhackers who have pioneered other forest lands? Of the prominent men leading mountaineers in 1831, Vanderburgh of the American Fur Company was a son of a Fifth New York Regiment officer in the Revolutionary War, and himself a graduate of West Point. One of the Rocky Mountain leaders was a graduate from a blacksmith-shop. Another leader was a descendant of the royal blood of France. All grades of life supplied material for the mountaineer; but it was the mountains that bred the heroism, that created a new type of trapper--the most purely American type, because produced by purely American conditions. Green River was the _rendezvous_ for the mountaineers in 1831; and to Green River came trappers of the Columbia, of the Three Forks, of the Missouri, of the Bighorn and Yellowstone and Platte. From St. Louis came the traders to exchange supplies for pelts; and from every habitable valley of the mountains native tribes to barter furs, sell horses for transport, carouse at the merry meeting and spy on what the white hunters were doing. For a month all was the confusion of a gipsy camp or Oriental fair. French-Canadian _voyageurs_ who had come up to raft the season's cargo down-stream to St. Louis jostled shoulders with mountaineers from the Spanish settlements to the south and American trappers from the Columbia to the north and free trappers who had ranged every forest of America from Labrador to Mexico.[32] Merchants from St. Louis, like General Ashley, the foremost leader of Rocky Mountain trappers, descendants from Scottish nobility like Kenneth MacKenzie of Fort Union, miscellaneous gentlemen of adventure like Captain Bonneville, or Wyeth of Boston, or Baron Stuart--all with retinues of followers like mediæval lords--found themselves hobnobbing at the _rendezvous_ with mighty Indian sachems, Crows or Pend d'Oreilles or Flat Heads, clad in little else than moccasins, a buffalo-skin blanket, and a pompous dignity. Among the underlings was a time of wild revel, drinking daylight out and daylight in, decking themselves in tawdry finery for the one dress occasion of the year, and gambling sober or drunk till all the season's earnings, pelts and clothing and horses and traps, were gone. The partners--as the Rocky Mountain men called themselves in distinction to the _bourgeois_ of the French, the factors of the Hudson's Bay, the partisans of the American Fur Company--held confabs over crumpled maps, planning the next season's hunt, drawing in roughly the fresh information brought down each year of new regions, and plotting out all sections of the mountains for the different brigades. This year a new set of faces appeared at the _rendezvous_, from thirty to fifty men with full quota of saddle-horses, pack-mules, and traps. On the traps were letters that afterward became magical in all the Up-Country--A. F. C.--American Fur Company. Leading these men were Vanderburgh, who had already become a successful trader among the Aricaras and had to his credit one victory over the Blackfeet; and Drips, who had been a member of the old Missouri Fur Company and knew the Upper Platte well. But the Rocky Mountain men, who knew the cost of life and time and money it had taken to learn the hunting-grounds of the Rockies, doubtless smiled at these tenderfeet who thought to trap as successfully in the hills as they had on the plains. Two things counselled caution. Vanderburgh would stop at nothing. Drips had married a native woman of the Platte, whose tribe might know the hunting-grounds as well as the mountaineers. Hunters fraternize in friendship at holidaying; but they no more tell each other secrets than rival editors at a banquet. Mountaineers knowing the field like Bridger who had been to the Columbia with Henry as early as 1822 and had swept over the ranges as far south as the Platte, or Fitzpatrick[33] who had made the Salt Lake region his stamping-ground, might smile at the newcomers; but they took good care to give their rivals the slip when hunters left the _rendezvous_ for the hills. When the mountaineers scattered, Fitzpatrick led his brigade to the region between the Black Hills on the east and the Bighorn Mountains on the west. The first snowfall was powdering the hills. Beaver were beginning to house up for the winter. Big game was moving down to the valley. The hunters had pitched a central camp on the banks of Powder River, gathered in the supply of winter meat, and dispersed in pairs to trap all through the valley. But forest rangers like Vanderburgh and Drips were not to be so easily foiled. Every axe-mark on windfall, every camp-fire, every footprint in the spongy mould, told which way the mountaineers had gone. Fitzpatrick's hunters wakened one morning to find traps marked A. F. C. beside their own in the valley. The trick was too plain to be misunderstood. The American Fur Company might not know the hunting-grounds of the Rockies, but they were deliberately dogging the mountaineers to their secret retreats. Armed conflict would only bring ruin in lawsuits. Gathering his hunters together under cover of snowfall or night, Fitzpatrick broke camp, slipped stealthily out of the valley, over the Bighorn range, across the Bighorn River, now almost impassable in winter, into the pathless foldings of the Wind River Mountains, with their rampart walls and endless snowfields, westward to Snake River Valley, three hundred miles away from the spies. Instead of trapping from east to west, as he had intended to do so that the return to the _rendezvous_ would lead past the caches, Fitzpatrick thought to baffle the spies by trapping from west to east. Having wintered on the Snake, he moved gradually up-stream. Crossing southward over a divide, they unexpectedly came on the very rivals whom they were avoiding, Vanderburgh and Drips, evidently working northward on the mountaineers' trail. By a quick reverse they swept back north in time for the summer _rendezvous_ at Pierre's Hole. Who had told Vanderburgh and Drips that the mountaineers were to meet at Pierre's Hole in 1832? Possibly Indians and fur trappers who had been notified to come down to Pierre's Hole by the Rocky Mountain men; possibly, too, paid spies in the employment of the American Fur Company. Before supplies had come up from St. Louis for the mountaineers Vanderburgh and Drips were at the _rendezvous_. Neither of the rivals could flee away to the mountains till the supplies came. Could the mountaineers but get away first, Vanderburgh and Drips could no longer dog a fresh trail. Fitzpatrick at once set out with all speed to hasten the coming convoy. Four hundred miles eastward he met the supplies, explained the need to hasten provisions, and with one swift horse under him and another swift one as a relay, galloped back to the _rendezvous_. But the Blackfeet were ever on guard at the mountain passes like cats at a mouse-hole. Fitzpatrick had ridden into a band of hostiles before he knew the danger. Vaulting to the saddle of the fresh horse, he fled to the hills, where he lay concealed for three days. Then he ventured out. The Indians still guarded the passes. They must have come upon him at a night camp when his horse was picketed, for Fitzpatrick escaped to the defiles of the mountains with nothing but the clothes on his back and a single ball in his rifle. By creeping from shelter to shelter of rugged declivities where the Indian ponies could not follow, he at last got across the divide, living wholly on roots and berries. Swimming one of the swollen mountain rivers, he lost his rifle. Hatless--for his hat had been cut up to bind his bleeding feet and protect them from the rocks--and starving, he at last fell in with some Iroquois hunters also bound for the _rendezvous_. The convoy under Sublette had already arrived at Pierre's Hole. The famous battle between white men and hostile Blackfeet at Pierre's Hole, which is told elsewhere, does not concern the story of rivalry between mountaineers and the American Fur Company. The Rocky Mountain men now realized that the magical A. F. C. was a rival to be feared and not to be lightly shaken. Some overtures were made by the mountaineers for an equal division of the hunting-ground between the two great companies. These Vanderburgh and Drips rejected with the scorn of utter confidence. Meanwhile provisions had not come for the American Fur Company. The mountaineers not only captured all trade with the friendly Indians, but in spite of the delay from the fight with the Blackfeet got away to their hunting-grounds two weeks in advance of the American Company. What the Rocky Mountain men decided when the American Company rejected the offer to divide the hunting-ground can only be inferred from what was done. Vanderburgh and Drips knew that Fitzpatrick and Bridger had led a picked body of horsemen northward from Pierre's Hole. If the mountaineers had gone east of the lofty Tetons, their hunting-ground would be somewhere between the Yellowstone and the Bighorn. If they had gone south, one could guess they would round-up somewhere about Salt Lake where the Hudson's Bay[34] had been so often "relieved" of their furs by the mountaineers. If they had gone west, their destination must be on the Columbia or the Snake. If they went north, they would trap on the Three Forks of the Upper Missouri. Therefore Vanderburgh and Drips cached all impedimenta that might hamper swift marching, smiled to themselves, and headed their horses for the Three Forks of the Missouri. There were Blackfeet, to be sure, in that region; and Blackfeet hated Vanderburgh with deadly venom because he had once defeated them and slain a great warrior. Also, the Blackfeet were smarting from the fearful losses of Pierre's Hole. But if the Rocky Mountain men could go unscathed among the Blackfeet, why, so could the American Fur Company! And Vanderburgh and Drips went! Rival traders might not commit murder. That led to the fearful ruin of the lawsuits that overtook Nor' Westers and Hudson's Bay in Canada only fifteen years before. But the mountaineers knew that the Blackfeet hated Henry Vanderburgh! Corduroyed muskeg where the mountaineers' long file of pack-horses had passed, fresh-chopped logs to make a way through blockades of fallen pine, the green moss that hangs festooned among the spruce at cloudline broken and swinging free as if a rider had passed that way, grazed bark where the pack-saddle had brushed a tree-trunk, muddy hoof-marks where the young packers had balked at fording an icy stream, scratchings on rotten logs where a mountaineer's pegged boot had stepped--all these told which way Fitzpatrick and Bridger had led their brigade. Oh, it was an easy matter to scent so hot a trail! Here the ashes of a camp-fire! There a pile of rock placed a deal too carefully for nature's work--the cached furs of the fleeing rivals! Besides, what with cañon and whirlpool, there are so very few ways by which a cavalcade can pass through mountains that the simplest novice could have trailed Fitzpatrick and Bridger. Doubtless between the middle of August when Vanderburgh and Drips set out on the chase and the middle of September when they ran down the fugitives the American Fur Company leaders had many a laugh at their own cleverness. They succeeded in overtaking the mountaineers in the valley of the Jefferson, splendid hunting-grounds with game enough for two lines of traps, which Vanderburgh and Drips at once set out. No swift flight by forced marches this time! The mountaineers sat still for almost a week. Then they casually moved down the Jefferson towards the main Missouri. The hunting-ground was still good. Weren't the mountaineers leaving a trifle too soon? Should the Americans follow or stay? Vanderburgh remained, moving over into the adjacent valley and spreading his traps along the Madison. Drips followed the mountaineers. Two weeks' chase over utterly gameless ground probably suggested to Drips that even an animal will lead off on a false scent to draw the enemy away from the true trail. At the Missouri he turned back up the Jefferson. Wheeling right about, the mountaineers at once turned back too, up the farthest valley, the Gallatin, then on the way to the first hunting-ground westward over a divide to the Madison, where--ill luck!--they again met their ubiquitous rival, Vanderburgh! How Vanderburgh laughed at these antics one may guess! Post-haste up the Madison went the mountaineers! Should Vanderburgh stay or follow? Certainly the enemy had been bound back for the good hunting-grounds when they had turned to retrace their way up the Madison. If they meant to try the Jefferson, Vanderburgh would forestall the move. He crossed over to the valley where he had first found them. Sure enough there were camp-fires on the old hunting-grounds, a dead buffalo, from which the hunters had just fled to avoid Vanderburgh! If Vanderburgh laughed, his laugh was short; for there were signs that the buffalo had been slain by an Indian. The trappers refused to hunt where there were Blackfeet about. Vanderburgh refused to believe there was any danger of Blackfeet. Calling for volunteers, he rode forward with six men. First they found a fire. The marauders must be very near. Then a dead buffalo was seen, then fresh tracks, unmistakably the tracks of Indians. But buffalo were pasturing all around undisturbed. There could not be many Indians. Determined to quiet the fears of his men, Vanderburgh pushed on, entered a heavily wooded gulch, paused at the steep bank of a dried torrent, descried nothing, and jumped his horse across the bank, followed by the six volunteers. Instantly the valley rang with rifle-shots. A hundred hostiles sprang from ambush. Vanderburgh's horse went down. Three others cleared the ditch at a bound and fled; but Vanderburgh was to his feet, aiming his gun, and coolly calling out: "Don't run! Don't run!" Two men sent their horses back over the ditch to his call, a third was thrown to be slain on the spot, and Vanderburgh's first shot had killed the nearest Indian, when another volley from the Blackfeet exacted deadly vengeance for the warrior Vanderburgh had slain years before. Panic-stricken riders carried the news to the waiting brigade. Refuge was taken in the woods, where sentinels kept guard all night. The next morning, with scouts to the fore, the brigade retreated cautiously towards some of their caches. A second night was passed behind barriers of logs; and the third day a band of friendly Indians was encountered, who were sent to bury the dead. The Frenchman they buried. Vanderburgh had been torn to pieces and his bones thrown into the river. So ended the merry game of spying on the mountaineers. As for the mountaineers, they fell into the meshes of their own snares; for on the way to Snake River, when parleying with friendly Blackfeet, the accidental discharge of Bridger's gun brought a volley of arrows from the Indians, one hooked barb lodging in Bridger's shoulder-blade, which he carried around for three years as a memento of his own trickery. Fitzpatrick fared as badly. Instigated by the American Fur Company, the Crows attacked him within a year, stealing everything that he possessed. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 32: This is no exaggeration. Smith's trappers, who were scattered from Fort Vancouver to Monterey, the Astorians, Major Andrew Henry's party--had all been such wide-ranging foresters.] [Footnote 33: Fitzpatrick was late in reaching the hunting-ground this year, owing to a disaster with Smith on the way back from Santa Fé.] [Footnote 34: By law the Hudson's Bay had no right in this region from the passing of the act forbidding British traders in the United States. But, then, no man had a right to steal half a million of another's furs, which was the record of the Rocky Mountain men.] PART II CHAPTER IX THE TAKING OF THE BEAVER All summer long he had hung about the fur company trading-posts waiting for the signs. And now the signs had come. Foliage crimson to the touch of night-frosts. Crisp autumn days, spicy with the smell of nuts and dead leaves. Birds flying away southward, leaving the woods silent as the snow-padded surface of a frozen pond. Hoar-frost heavier every morning; and thin ice edged round stagnant pools like layers of mica. Then he knew it was time to go. And through the Northern forests moved a new presence--the trapper. Of the tawdry, flash clothing in which popular fancy is wont to dress him he has none. Bright colours would be a danger-signal to game. If his costume has any colour, it is a waist-belt or neck-scarf, a toque or bright handkerchief round his head to keep distant hunters from mistaking him for a moose. For the rest, his clothes are as ragged as any old, weather-worn garments. Sleeping on balsam boughs or cooking over a smoky fire will reduce the newness of blanket coat and buckskin jacket to the dun shades of the grizzled forest. A few days in the open and the trapper has the complexion of a bronzed tree-trunk. Like other wild creatures, this foster-child of the forest gradually takes on the appearance and habits of woodland life. Nature protects the ermine by turning his russet coat of the grass season to spotless white for midwinter--except the jet tail-tip left to lure hungry enemies and thus, perhaps, to prevent the little stoat degenerating into a sloth. And the forest looks after her foster-child by transforming the smartest suit that ever stepped out of the clothier's bandbox to the dull tints of winter woods. This is the seasoning of the man for the work. But the trapper's training does not stop here. When the birds have gone south the silence of a winter forest on a windless day becomes tense enough to be snapped by either a man's breathing or the breaking of a small twig; and the trapper acquires a habit of moving through the brush with noiseless stealth. He must learn to see better than the caribou can hear or the wolf smell--which means that in keenness and accuracy his sight outdistances the average field-glass. Besides, the trapper has learned how to look, how to see, and seeing--discern; which the average man cannot do even through a field-glass. Then animals have a trick of deceiving the enemy into mistaking them for inanimate things by suddenly standing stock-still in closest peril, unflinching as stone; and to match himself against them the trapper must also get the knack of instantaneously becoming a statue, though he feel the clutch of bruin's five-inch claws. And these things are only the _a b c_ of the trapper's woodcraft. One of the best hunters in America confessed that the longer he trapped the more he thought every animal different enough from the fellows of its kind to be a species by itself. Each day was a fresh page in the book of forest-lore. It is in the month of May-goosey-geezee, the Ojibways' trout month, corresponding to the late October and early November of the white man, that the trapper sets out through the illimitable stretches of the forest land and waste prairie south of Hudson Bay, between Labrador and the Upper Missouri. His birch canoe has been made during the summer. Now, splits and seams, where the bark crinkles at the gunwale, must be filled with rosin and pitch. A light sled, with only runners and cross frame, is made to haul the canoe over still water, where the ice first forms. Sled, provisions, blanket, and fish-net are put in the canoe, not forgetting the most important part of his kit--the trapper's tools. Whether he hunts from point to point all winter, travelling light and taking nothing but absolute necessaries, or builds a central lodge, where he leaves full store and radiates out to the hunting-grounds, at least four things must be in his tool-bag: a woodman's axe; a gimlet to bore holes in his snow-shoe frame; a crooked knife--not the sheathed dagger of fiction, but a blade crooked hook-shape, somewhat like a farrier's knife, at one end--to smooth without splintering, as a carpenter's plane; and a small chisel to use on the snow-shoe frames and wooden contrivances that stretch the pelts. If accompanied by a boy, who carries half the pack, the hunter may take more tools; but the old trapper prefers to travel light. Fire-arms, ammunition, a common hunting-knife, steel-traps, a cotton-factory tepee, a large sheet of canvas, locally known as _abuckwan_, for a shed tent, complete the trapper's equipment. His dog is not part of the equipment: it is fellow-hunter and companion. From the moose must come the heavy filling for the snow-shoes; but the snow-shoes will not be needed for a month, and there is no haste about shooting an unfound moose while mink and musk-rat and otter and beaver are waiting to be trapped. With the dog showing his wisdom by sitting motionless as an Indian bowman, the trapper steps into his canoe and pushes out. Eye and ear alert for sign of game or feeding-place, where traps would be effective, the man paddles silently on. If he travels after nightfall, the chances are his craft will steal unawares close to a black head above a swimming body. With both wind and current meeting the canoe, no suspicion of his presence catches the scent of the sharp-nosed swimmer. Otter or beaver, it is shot from the canoe. With a leap over bow or stern--over his master's shoulder if necessary, but never sideways, lest the rebound cause an upset--the dog brings back his quarry. But this is only an aside, the hap-hazard shot of an amateur hunter, not the sort of trapping that fills the company's lofts with fur bales. While ranging the forest the former season the trapper picked out a large birch-tree, free of knots and underbranching, with the full girth to make the body of a canoe from gunwale to gunwale without any gussets and seams. But birch-bark does not peel well in winter. The trapper scratched the trunk with a mark of "first-finder-first-owner," honoured by all hunters; and came back in the summer for the bark. Perhaps it was while taking the bark from this tree that he first noticed the traces of beaver. Channels, broader than runnels, hardly as wide as a ditch, have been cut connecting pool with pool, marsh with lake. Here are runways through the grass, where beaver have dragged young saplings five times their own length to a winter storehouse near the dam. Trees lie felled miles away from any chopper. Chips are scattered about marked by teeth which the trapper knows--knows, perhaps, from having seen his dog's tail taken off at a nip, or his own finger amputated almost before he felt it. If the bark of a tree has been nibbled around, like the line a chopper might make before cutting, the trapper guesses whether his coming has not interrupted a beaver in the very act. All these are signs which spell out the presence of a beaver-dam within one night's travelling distance; for the timid beaver frequently works at night, and will not go so far away that forage cannot be brought in before daylight. In which of the hundred water-ways in the labyrinth of pond and stream where beavers roam is this particular family to be found? Realizing that his own life depends on the life of the game, no true trapper will destroy wild creatures when the mothers are caring for their young. Besides, furs are not at their prime when birch-bark is peeled, and the trapper notes the place, so that he may come back when the fall hunt begins. Beaver kittens stay under the parental roof for three years, but at the end of the first summer are amply able to look after their own skins. Free from nursery duties, the old ones can now use all the ingenuity and craft which nature gave them for self-protection. When cold weather comes the beaver is fair game to the trapper. It is wit against wit. To be sure, the man has superior strength, a gun, and a treacherous thing called a trap. But his eyes are not equal to the beaver's nose. And he hasn't that familiarity with the woods to enable him to pursue, which the beaver has to enable it to escape. And he can't swim long enough under water to throw enemies off the scent, the way the beaver does. Now, as he paddles along the network of streams which interlace Northern forests, he will hardly be likely to stumble on the beaver-dam of last summer. Beavers do not build their houses, where passers-by will stumble upon them. But all the streams have been swollen by fall rains; and the trapper notices the markings on every chip and pole floating down the full current. A chip swirls past white and fresh cut. He knows that the rains have floated it over the beaver-dam. Beavers never cut below their houses, but always above, so that the current will carry the poles down-stream to the dam. Leaving his canoe-load behind, the trapper guardedly advances within sight of the dam. If any old beaver sentinel be swimming about, he quickly scents the man-smell, upends and dives with a spanking blow of his trowel tail on the water, which heliographs danger to the whole community. He swims with his webbed hind feet, the little fore paws being used as carriers or hanging limply, the flat tail acting the faintest bit in the world like a rudder; but that is a mooted question. The only definitely ascertained function of that bat-shaped appendage is to telegraph danger to comrades. The beaver neither carries things on his tail, nor plasters houses with it; for the simple reason that the joints of his caudal appurtenance admit of only slight sidelong wigglings and a forward sweep between his hind legs, as if he might use it as a tray for food while he sat back spooning up mouthfuls with his fore paws. Having found the wattled homes of the beaver, the trapper may proceed in different ways. He may, after the fashion of the Indian hunter, stake the stream across above the dam, cut away the obstruction lowering the water, break the conical crowns of the houses on the south side, which is thinnest, and slaughter the beavers indiscriminately as they rush out. But such hunting kills the goose that lays the golden egg; and explains why it was necessary to prohibit the killing of beaver for some years. In the confusion of a wild scramble to escape and a blind clubbing of heads there was bootless destruction. Old and young, poor and in prime, suffered the same fate. The house had been destroyed; and if one beaver chanced to escape into some of the bank-holes under water or up the side channels, he could be depended upon to warn all beaver from that country. Only the degenerate white man practises bad hunting. The skilled hunter has other methods. If unstripped saplings be yet about the bank of the stream, the beavers have not finished laying up their winter stores in adjacent pools. The trapper gets one of his steel-traps. Attaching the ring of this to a loose trunk heavy enough to hold the beaver down and drown him, he places the trap a few inches under water at the end of a runway or in one of the channels. He then takes out a bottle of castoreum. This is a substance from the glands of a beaver which destroys all traces of the man-smell. For it the beavers have a curious infatuation, licking everything touched by it, and said, by some hunters, to be drugged into a crazy stupidity by the very smell. The hunter daubs this on his own foot-tracks. Or, if he finds tracks of the beaver in the grass back from the bank, he may build an old-fashioned deadfall, with which the beaver is still taken in Labrador. This is the small lean-to, with a roof of branches and bark--usually covered with snow--slanting to the ground on one side, the ends either posts or logs, and the front an opening between two logs wide enough to admit half the animal's body. Inside, at the back, on a rectangular stick, one part of which bolsters up the front log, is the bait. All traces of the hunter are smeared over with the elusive castoreum. One tug at the bait usually brings the front log crashing down across the animal's back, killing it instantly. But neither the steel-trap nor the deadfall is wholly satisfactory. When the poor beaver comes sniffing along the castoreum trail to the steel-trap and on the first splash into the water feels a pair of iron jaws close on his feet, he dives below to try and gain the shelter of his house. The log plunges after him, holding him down and back till he drowns; and his whereabouts are revealed by the upend of the tree. But several chances are in the beaver's favour. With the castoreum licks, which tell them of some other beaver, perhaps looking for a mate or lost cub, they may become so exhilarated as to jump clear of the trap. Or, instead of diving down with the trap, they may retreat back up the bank and amputate the imprisoned foot with one nip, leaving only a mutilated paw for the hunter. With the deadfall a small beaver may have gone entirely inside the snare before the front log falls; and an animal whose teeth saw through logs eighteen inches in diameter in less than half an hour can easily eat a way of escape from a wooden trap. Other things are against the hunter. A wolverine may arrive on the scene before the trapper and eat the finest beaver ever taken; or the trapper may discover that his victim is a poor little beaver with worthless, ragged fur, who should have been left to forage for three or four years. * * * * * All these risks can be avoided by waiting till the ice is thick enough for the trapper to cut trenches. Then he returns with a woodman's axe and his dog. By sounding the ice, he can usually find where holes have been hollowed out of the banks. Here he drives stakes to prevent the beaver taking refuge in the shore vaults. The runways and channels, where the beaver have dragged trees, may be hidden in snow and iced over; but the man and his dog will presently find them. The beaver always chooses a stream deep enough not to be frozen solid, and shallow enough for it to make a mud foundation for the house without too much work. Besides, in a deep, swift stream, rains would carry away any house the beaver could build. A trench across the upper stream or stakes through the ice prevent escape that way. The trapper then cuts a hole in the dam. Falling water warns the terrified colony that an enemy is near. It may be their greatest foe, the wolverine, whose claws will rip through the frost-hard wall as easily as a bear delves for gophers; but their land enemies cannot pursue them into water; so the panic-stricken family--the old parents, wise from many such alarms; the young three-year-olds, who were to go out and rear families for themselves in the spring; the two-year-old cubbies, big enough to be saucy, young enough to be silly; and the baby kittens, just able to forage for themselves and know the soft alder rind from the tough old bark unpalatable as mud--pop pell-mell from the high platform of their houses into the water. The water is still falling. They will presently be high and dry. No use trying to escape up-stream. They see that in the first minute's wild scurry through the shallows. Besides, what's this across the creek? Stakes, not put there by any beaver; for there is no bark on. If they only had time now they might cut a passage through; but no--this wretched enemy, whatever it is, has ditched the ice across. They sniff and listen. A terrible sound comes from above--a low, exultant, devilish whining. The man has left his dog on guard above the dam. At that the little beavers--always trembling, timid fellows--tumble over each other in a panic of fear to escape by way of the flowing water below the dam. But there a new terror assails them. A shadow is above the ice, a wraith of destruction--the figure of a man standing at the dam with his axe and club--waiting. Where to go now? They can't find their bank shelters, for the man has staked them up. The little fellows lose their presence of mind and their heads and their courage, and with a blind scramble dash up the remaining open runway. It is a _cul-de-sac_. But what does that matter? They run almost to the end. They can crouch there till the awful shadow goes away. Exactly. That is what the man has been counting on. He will come to them afterward. The old beavers make no such mistake. They have tried the hollow-log trick with an enemy pursuing them to the blind end, and have escaped only because some other beaver was eaten. The old ones know that water alone is safety. That is the first and last law of beaver life. They, too, see that phantom destroyer above the ice; but a dash past is the last chance. How many of the beaver escape past the cut in the dam to the water below, depends on the dexterity of the trapper's aim. But certainly, for the most, one blow is the end; and that one blow is less cruel to them than the ravages of the wolf or wolverine in spring, for these begin to eat before they kill. A signal, and the dog ceases to keep guard above the dam. Where is the runway in which the others are hiding? The dog scampers round aimlessly, but begins to sniff and run in a line and scratch and whimper. The man sees that the dog is on the trail of sagging snow, and the sag betrays ice settling down where a channel has run dry. The trapper cuts a hole across the river end of the runway and drives down stakes. The young beavers are now prisoners. The human mind can't help wondering why the foolish youngsters didn't crouch below the ice above the dam and lie there in safe hiding till the monster went away. This may be done by the hermit beavers--fellows who have lost their mates and go through life inconsolable; or sick creatures, infested by parasites and turned off to house in the river holes; or fat, selfish ladies, who don't want the trouble of training a family. Whatever these solitaries are--naturalists and hunters differ--they have the wit to keep alive; but the poor little beavers rush right into the jaws of death. Why do they? For the same reason probably, if they could answer, that people trample each other to death when there is an alarm in a crowd. * * * * * They cower in the terrible pen, knowing nothing at all about their hides being valued all the way from fifty cents to three dollars, according to the quality; nothing about the dignity of being a coin of the realm in the Northern wilderness, where one beaver-skin sets the value for mink, otter, marten, bear, and all other skins, one pound of tobacco, one kettle, five pounds of shot, a pint of brandy, and half a yard of cloth; nothing about the rascally Indians long ago bartering forty of their hides for a scrap of iron and a great company sending one hundred thousand beaver-skins in a single year to make hats and cloaks for the courtiers of Europe; nothing about the laws of man forbidding the killing of beaver till their number increase. All the little beaver remembers is that it opened its eyes to daylight in the time of soft, green grasses; and that as soon as it got strong enough on a milk diet to travel, the mother led the whole family of kittens--usually three or four--down the slanting doorway of their dim house for a swim; and that she taught them how to nibble the dainty, green shrubs along the bank; and then the entire colony went for the most glorious, pell-mell splash up-stream to fresh ponds. No more sleeping in that stifling lodge; but beds in soft grass like a goose-nest all night, and tumbling in the water all day, diving for the roots of the lily-pads. But the old mother is always on guard, for the wolves and bears are ravenous in spring. Soon the cubs can cut the hardening bark of alder and willow as well as their two-year-old brothers; and the wonderful thing is--if a tooth breaks, it grows into perfect shape inside of a week. By August the little fellows are great swimmers, and the colony begins the descent of the stream for their winter home. If unmolested, the old dam is chosen; but if the hated man-smell is there, new waterways are sought. Burrows and washes and channels and retreats are cleaned out. Trees are cut and a great supply of branches laid up for winter store near the lodge, not a chip of edible bark being wasted. Just before the frost they begin building or repairing the dam. Each night's frost hardens the plastered clay till the conical wattled roof--never more than two feet thick--will support the weight of a moose. All work is done with mouth and fore paws, and not the tail. This has been finally determined by observing the Marquis of Bute's colony of beavers. If the family--the old parents and three seasons' offspring--be too large for the house, new chambers are added. In height the house is seldom more than five feet from the base, and the width varies. In building a new dam they begin under water, scooping out clay, mixing this with stones and sticks for the walls, and hollowing out the dome as it rises, like a coffer-dam, except that man pumps out water and the beaver scoops out mud. The domed roof is given layer after layer of clay till it is cold-proof. Whether the houses have one door or two is disputed; but the door is always at the end of a sloping incline away from the land side, with a shelf running round above, which serves as the living-room. Differences in the houses, breaks below water, two doors instead of one, platforms like an oven instead of a shelf, are probably explained by the continual abrasion of the current. By the time the ice forms the beavers have retired to their houses for the winter, only coming out to feed on their winter stores and get an airing. But this terrible thing has happened; and the young beavers huddle together under the ice of the canal, bleating with the cry of a child. They are afraid to run back; for the crunch of feet can be heard. They are afraid to go forward; for the dog is whining with a glee that is fiendish to the little beavers. Then a gust of cold air comes from the rear and a pole prods forward. The man has opened a hole to feel where the hiding beavers are, and with little terrified yelps they scuttle to the very end of the runway. By this time the dog is emitting howls of triumph. For hours he has been boxing up his wolfish ferocity, and now he gives vent by scratching with a zeal that would burrow to the middle of earth. The trapper drives in more stakes close to the blind end of the channel, and cuts a hole above the prison of the beaver. He puts down his arm. One by one they are dragged out by the tail; and that finishes the little beaver--sacrificed, like the guinea-pigs and rabbits of bacteriological laboratories, to the necessities of man. Only, this death is swifter and less painful. A prolonged death-struggle with the beaver would probably rob the trapper of half his fingers. Very often the little beavers with poor fur are let go. If the dog attempts to capture the frightened runaways by catching at the conspicuous appendage to the rear, that dog is likely to emerge from the struggle minus a tail, while the beaver runs off with two. Trappers have curious experiences with beaver kittens which they take home as pets. When young they are as easily domesticated as a cat, and become a nuisance with their love of fondling. But to them, as to the hunter, comes what the Indians call "the-sickness-of-long-thinking," the gipsy yearning for the wilds. Then extraordinary things happen. The beaver are apt to avenge their comrades' death. One old beaver trapper of New Brunswick related that by June the beavers became so restless, he feared their escape and put them in cages. They bit their way out with absurd ease. He then tried log pens. They had eaten a hole through in a night. Thinking to get wire caging, he took them into his lodge, and they seemed contented enough while he was about; but one morning he wakened to find a hole eaten through the door, and the entire round of birch-bark, which he had staked out ready for the gunwales and ribbing of his canoe--bark for which he had travelled forty miles--chewed into shreds. The beavers had then gone up-stream, which is their habit in spring. CHAPTER X THE MAKING OF THE MOCCASINS It is a grim joke of the animal world that the lazy moose is the moose that gives wings to the feet of the pursuer. When snow comes the trapper must have snow-shoes and moccasins. For both, moose supplies the best material. Bees have their drones, beaver their hermits, and moose a ladified epicure who draws off from the feeding-yards of the common herd, picks out the sweetest browse of the forest, and gorges herself till fat as a gouty voluptuary. While getting the filling for his snow-shoes, the trapper also stocks his larder; and if he can find a spinster moose, he will have something better than shredded venison and more delicately flavoured than finest teal. Sledding his canoe across shallow lakelets, now frozen like rock, still paddling where there is open way, the trapper continues to guide his course up the waterways. Big game, he knows, comes out to drink at sunrise and sunset; and nearly all the small game frequents the banks of streams either to fish or to prey on the fisher. Each night he sleeps in the open with his dog on guard; or else puts up the cotton tepee, the dog curling outside the tent flap, one ear awake. And each night a net is set for the white-fish that are to supply breakfast, feed the dog, and provide heads for the traps placed among rocks in mid-stream, or along banks where dainty footprints were in the morning's hoar-frost. Brook trout can still be got in the pools below waterfalls; but the trapper seldom takes time now to use the line, depending on his gun and fish-net. During the Indian's white-fish month--the white man's November--the weather has become colder and colder; but the trapper never indulges in the big log fire that delights the heart of the amateur hunter. That would drive game a week's tracking from his course. Unless he wants to frighten away nocturnal prowlers, a little, chip fire, such as the fishermen of the Banks use in their dories, is all the trapper allows himself. First snow silences the rustling leaves. First frost quiets the flow of waters. Except for the occasional splitting of a sap-frozen tree, or the far howl of a wolf-pack, there is the stillness of death. And of all quiet things in the quiet forest, the trapper is the quietest. As winter closes in the ice-skim of the large lakes cuts the bark canoe like a knife. The canoe is abandoned for snow-shoes and the cotton tepee for more substantial shelter. If the trapper is a white man he now builds a lodge near the best hunting-ground he has found. Around this he sets a wide circle of traps at such distances their circuit requires an entire day, and leads the trapper out in one direction and back in another, without retracing the way. Sometimes such lodges run from valley to valley. Each cabin is stocked; and the hunter sleeps where night overtakes him. But this plan needs two men; for if the traps are not closely watched, the wolverine will rifle away a priceless fox as readily as he eats a worthless musk-rat. The stone fire-place stands at one end. Moss, clay, and snow chink up the logs. Parchment across a hole serves as window. Poles and brush make the roof, or perhaps the remains of the cotton tent stretched at a steep angle to slide off the accumulating weight of snow. But if the trapper is an Indian, or the white man has a messenger to carry the pelts marked with his name to a friendly trading-post, he may not build a lodge; but move from hunt to hunt as the game changes feeding-ground. In this case he uses the _abuckwan_--canvas--for a shed tent, with one side sloping to the ground, banked by brush and snow, the other facing the fire, both tent and fire on such a slope that the smoke drifts out while the heat reflects in. Pine and balsam boughs, with the wood end pointing out like sheaves in a stook, the foliage converging to a soft centre, form the trapper's bed. The snow is now too deep to travel without snow-shoes. The frames for these the trapper makes of ash, birch, or best of all, the _mackikwatick_--tamarack--curving the easily bent green wood up at one end, canoe shape, and smoothing the barked wood at the bend, like a sleigh runner, by means of the awkward _couteau croche_, as the French hunter calls his crooked knife. In style, the snow-shoe varies with the hunting-ground. On forested, rocky, hummocky land, the shoe is short to permit short turns without entanglement. Oval and broad, rather than long and slim, it makes up in width what it lacks in length to support the hunter's weight above the snow. And the toe curve is slight; for speed is impossible on bad ground. To save the instep from jars, the slip noose may be padded like a cowboy's stirrup. On the prairie, where the snowy reaches are unbroken as air, snow-shoes are wings to the hunter's heels. They are long, and curved, and narrow, and smooth enough on the runners for the hunter to sit on their rear ends and coast downhill as on a toboggan. If a snag is struck midway, the racquets may bounce safely over and glissade to the bottom; or the toe may catch, heels fly over head, and the hunter land with his feet noosed in frames sticking upright higher than his neck. Any trapper can read the story of a hunt from snow-shoes. Bound and short: east of the Great Lakes. Slim and long: from the prairie. Padding for the instep: either rock ground or long runs. Filling of hide strips with broad enough interspaces for a small foot to slip through: from the wet, heavily packed, snow region of the Atlantic coast, for trapping only, never the chase, small game, not large. Lace ties, instead of a noose to hold the foot: the amateur hunter. _Atibisc_, a fine filling taken from deer or caribou for the heel and toe; with _askimoneiab_, heavy, closely interlaced, membraneous filling from the moose across the centre to bear the brunt of wear; long enough for speed, short enough to turn short: the trapper knows he is looking at the snow-shoe of the craftsman. This is the sort he must have for himself. The first thing, then--a moose for the heavy filling; preferably a spinster moose; for she is too lazy to run from a hunter who is not yet a Mercury; and she will furnish him with a banquet fit for kings. * * * * * Neither moose call nor birch horn, of which wonders are told, will avail now. The mating season is well past. Even if an old moose responded to the call, the chances are his flesh would be unfit for food. It would be a wasted kill, contrary to the principles of the true trapper. Every animal has a sign language as plain as print. The trapper has hardly entered the forest before he begins to read this language. Broad hoof-marks are on the muskeg--quaking bog, covered with moss--over which the moose can skim as if on snow-shoes, where a horse would sink to the saddle. Park-like glades at the heads of streams, where the moose have spent the summer browsing on twigs and wallowing in water holes to get rid of sand flies, show trampled brush and stripped twigs and rubbed bark. Coming suddenly on a grove of quaking aspens, a saucy jay has fluttered up with a noisy call--an alarm note; and something is bounding off to hiding in a thicket on the far side of the grove. The _wis-kat-jan_, or whisky jack, as the white men call it, who always hangs about the moose herds, has seen the trapper and sounded the alarm. In August, when the great, palmated horns, which budded out on the male in July, are yet in the velvet, the trapper finds scraps of furry hair sticking to young saplings. The vain moose has been polishing his antlers, preparatory to mating. Later, there is a great whacking of horns among the branches. The moose, spoiling for a fight, in moose language is challenging his rivals to battle. Wood-choppers have been interrupted by the apparition of a huge, palmated head through a thicket. Mistaking the axe for his rival's defiance, the moose arrives on the scene in a mood of blind rage that sends the chopper up a tree, or back to the shanty for his rifle. But the trapper allows these opportunities to pass. He is not ready for his moose until winter compels the abandoning of the canoe. Then the moose herds are yarding up in some sheltered feeding-ground. It is not hard for the trapper to find a moose yard. There is the tell-tale cleft footprint in the snow. There are the cast-off antlers after the battles have been fought--the female moose being without horns and entirely dependent on speed and hearing and smell for protection. There is the stripped, overhead twig, where a moose has reared on hind legs and nibbled a branch above. There is the bent or broken sapling which a moose pulled down with his mouth and then held down with his feet while he browsed. This and more sign language of the woods--too fine for the language of man--lead the trapper close on the haunts of a moose herd. But he does not want an ordinary moose. He is keen for the solitary track of a haughty spinster. And he probably comes on the print when he has almost made up his mind to chance a shot at one of the herd below the hill, where he hides. He knows the trail is that of a spinster. It is unusually heavy; and she is always fat. It drags clumsily over the snow; for she is lazy. And it doesn't travel straight away in a line like that of the roving moose; for she loiters to feed and dawdle out of pure indolence. And now the trapper knows how a hound on a hot scent feels. He may win his prize with the ease of putting out his hand and taking it--sighting his rifle and touching the trigger. Or, by the blunder of a hair's breadth, he may daily track twenty weary miles for a week and come back empty at his cartridge-belt, empty below his cartridge-belt, empty of hand, and full, full of rage at himself, though his words curse the moose. He may win his prize in one of two ways: (1) by running the game to earth from sheer exhaustion; (2) or by a still hunt. The straightaway hunt is more dangerous to the man than the moose. Even a fat spinster can outdistance a man with no snow-shoes. And if his perseverance lasts longer than her strength--for though a moose swings out in a long-stepping, swift trot, it is easily tired--the exhausted moose is a moose at bay; and a moose at bay rears on her hind legs and does defter things with the flattening blow of her fore feet than an exhausted man can do with a gun. The blow of a cleft hoof means something sharply split, wherever that spreading hoof lands. And if the something wriggles on the snow in death-throes, the moose pounds upon it with all four feet till the thing is still. Then she goes on her way with eyes ablaze and every shaggy hair bristling. The contest was even and the moose won. Apart from the hazard, there is a barbarism about this straightaway chase, which repels the trapper. It usually succeeds by bogging the moose in crusted snow, or a waterhole--and then, Indian fashion, a slaughter; and no trapper kills for the sake of killing, for the simple practical reason that his own life depends on the preservation of game. A slight snowfall and the wind in his face are ideal conditions for a still hunt. One conceals him. The other carries the man-smell from the game. Which way does the newly-discovered footprint run? More flakes are in one hole than the other. He follows the trail till he has an idea of the direction the moose is taking; for the moose runs straightaway, not circling and doubling back on cold tracks like the deer, but marching direct to the objective point, where it turns, circles slightly--a loop at the end of a line--and lies down a little off the trail. When the pursuer, following the cold scent, runs past, the moose gets wind and is off in the opposite direction like a vanishing streak. Having ascertained the lie of the land, the trapper leaves the line of direct trail and follows in a circling detour. Here, he finds the print fresher, not an hour old. The moose had stopped to browse and the markings are moist on a twig. The trapper leaves the trail, advancing always by a detour to leeward. He is sure, now, that it is a spinster. If it had been any other, the moose would not have been alone. The rest would be tracking into the leader's steps; and by the fresh trail he knows for a certainty there is only one. But his very nearness increases the risk. The wind may shift. The snowfall is thinning. This time, when he comes back to the trail, it is fresher still. The hunter now gets his rifle ready. He dare not put his foot down without testing the snow, lest a twig snap. He parts a way through the brush with his hand and replaces every branch. And when next he comes back to the line of the moose's travel, there is no trail. This is what he expected. He takes off his coat; his leggings, if they are loose enough to rub with a leathery swish; his musk-rat fur cap, if it has any conspicuous colour; his boots, if they are noisy and given to crunching. If only he aim true, he will have moccasins soon enough. Leaving all impedimenta, he follows back on his own steps to the place where he last saw the trail. Perhaps the saucy jay cries with a shrill, scolding shriek that sends cold shivers down the trapper's spine. He wishes he could get his hands on its wretched little neck; and turning himself to a statue, he stands stone-still till the troublesome bird settles down. Then he goes on. Here is the moose trail! He dare not follow direct. That would lead past her hiding-place and she would bolt. He resorts to artifice; but, for that matter, so has the moose resorted to artifice. The trapper, too, circles forward, cutting the moose's magic guard with transverse zigzags. But he no longer walks. He crouches, or creeps, or glides noiselessly from shelter to shelter, very much the way a cat advances on an unwary mouse. He sinks to his knees and feels forward for snow-pads every pace. Then he is on all-fours, still circling. His detour has narrowed and narrowed till he knows she must be in that aspen thicket. The brush is sparser. She has chosen her resting-ground wisely. The man falls forward on his face, closing in, closing in, wiggling and watching till--he makes a horrible discovery. That jay is perched on the topmost bough of the grove; and the man has caught a glimpse of something buff-coloured behind the aspens. It may be a moose, or only a log. The untried hunter would fire. Not so the trapper. Hap-hazard aim means fighting a wounded moose, or letting the creature drag its agony off to inaccessible haunts. The man worms his way round the thicket, sighting the game with the noiseless circling of a hawk before the drop. An ear blinks. But at that instant the jay perks his head to one side with a curious look at this strange object on the ground. In another second it will be off with a call and the moose up. His rifle is aimed! A blinding swish of aspen leaves and snow and smoke! The jay is off with a noisy whistle. And the trapper has leather for moccasins, and heavy filling for his snow-shoes, and meat for his larder. * * * * * But he must still get the fine filling for heel and toe; and this comes from caribou or deer. The deer, he will still hunt as he has still hunted the moose, with this difference: that the deer runs in circles, jumping back in his own tracks leaving the hunter to follow a cold scent, while it, by a sheer bound--five--eight--twenty feet off at a new angle, makes for the hiding of dense woods. No one but a barbarian would attempt to run down a caribou; for it can only be done by the shameless trick of snaring in crusted snow, or intercepting while swimming, and then--butchery. The caribou doesn't run. It doesn't bound. It floats away into space. One moment a sandy-coloured form, with black nose, black feet, and a glory of white statuary above its head, is seen against the far reaches of snow. The next, the form has shrunk--and shrunk--and shrunk, antlers laid back against its neck, till there is a vanishing speck on the horizon. The caribou has not been standing at all. It has skimmed out of sight; and if there is any clear ice across the marshes, it literally glides beyond vision from very speed. But, provided no man-smell crosses its course, the caribou is vulnerable in its habits. Morning and evening, it comes back to the same watering-place; and it returns to the same bed for the night. If the trapper can conceal himself without crossing its trail, he easily obtains the fine filling for his snow-shoes. * * * * * Moccasins must now be made. The trapper shears off the coarse hair with a sharp knife. The hide is soaked; and a blunter blade tears away the remaining hairs till the skin is white and clean. The flesh side is similarly cleaned and the skin rubbed with all the soap and grease it will absorb. A process of beating follows till the hide is limber. Carelessness at this stage makes buckskin soak up water like a sponge and dry to a shapeless board. The skin must be stretched and pulled till it will stretch no more. Frost helps the tanning, drying all moisture out; and the skin becomes as soft as down, without a crease. The smoke of punk from a rotten tree gives the dark yellow colour to the hide and prevents hardening. The skin is now ready for the needle; and all odd bits are hoarded away. Equipped with moccasins and snow-shoes, the trapper is now the winged messenger of the tragic fates to the forest world. CHAPTER XI THE INDIAN TRAPPER It is dawn when the Indian trapper leaves his lodge. In midwinter of the Far North, dawn comes late. Stars, which shine with a hard, clear, crystal radiance only seen in northern skies, pale in the gray morning gloom; and the sun comes over the horizon dim through mists of frost-smoke. In an hour the frost-mist, lying thick to the touch like clouds of steam, will have cleared; and there will be nothing from sky-line to sky-line but blinding sunlight and snowglare. The Indian trapper must be far afield before mid-day. Then the sun casts no man-shadow to scare game from his snares. Black is the flag of betrayal in northern midwinter. It is by the big liquid eye, glistening on the snow like a black marble, that the trapper detects the white hare; and a jet tail-tip streaking over the white wastes in dots and dashes tells him the little ermine, whose coat must line some emperor's coronation robe, is alternately scudding over the drifts and diving below the snow with the forward wriggling of a snake under cover. But the moving man-shadow is bigger and plainer on the snow than the hare's eye or the ermine's jet tip; so the Indian trapper sets out in the gray darkness of morning and must reach his hunting-grounds before high noon. With long snow-shoes, that carry him over the drifts in swift, coasting strides, he swings out in that easy, ambling, Indian trot, which gives never a jar to the runner, nor rests long enough for the snows to crunch beneath his tread. The old musket, which he got in trade from the fur post, is over his shoulder, or swinging lightly in one hand. A hunter's knife and short-handled woodman's axe hang through the beaded scarf, belting in his loose, caribou capote. Powder-horn and heavy musk-rat gantlets are attached to the cord about his neck; so without losing either he can fight bare-handed, free and in motion, at a moment's notice. And somewhere, in side pockets or hanging down his back, is his _skipertogan_--a skin bag with amulet against evil, matches, touchwood, and a scrap of pemmican. As he grows hot, he throws back his hood, running bareheaded and loose about the chest. Each breath clouds to frost against his face till hair and brows and lashes are fringed with frozen moisture. The white man would hugger his face up with scarf and collar the more for this; but the Indian knows better. Suddenly chilled breath would soak scarf and collar wet to his skin; and his face would be frozen before he could go five paces. But with dry skin and quickened blood, he can defy the keenest cold; so he loosens his coat and runs the faster. As the light grows, dim forms shape themselves in the gray haze. Pine groves emerge from the dark, wreathed and festooned in snow. Cones and domes and cornices of snow heap the underbrush and spreading larch boughs. Evergreens are edged with white. Naked trees stand like limned statuary with an antlered crest etched against the white glare. The snow stretches away in a sea of billowed, white drifts that seem to heave and fall to the motions of the runner, mounting and coasting and skimming over the unbroken waste like a bird winging the ocean. And against this endless stretch of drifts billowing away to a boundless circle, of which the man is the centre, his form is dwarfed out of all proportion, till he looks no larger than a bird above the sea. When the sun rises, strange colour effects are caused by the frost haze. Every shrub takes fire; for the ice drops are a prism, and the result is the same as if there had been a star shower or rainfall of brilliants. Does the Indian trapper see all this? The white man with white man arrogance doubts whether his tawny brother of the wilds sees the beauty about him, because the Indian has no white man's terms of expression. But ask the bronzed trapper the time of day; and he tells you by the length of shadow the sun casts, or the degree of light on the snow. Inquire the season of the year; and he knows by the slant sunlight coming up through the frost smoke of the southern horizon. And get him talking about his Happy Hunting-Grounds; and after he has filled it with the implements and creatures and people of the chase, he will describe it in the metaphor of what he has seen at sunrise and sunset and under the Northern Lights. He does not _see_ these things with the gabbling exclamatories of a tourist. He sees them because they sink into his nature and become part of his mental furniture. The most brilliant description the writer ever heard of the Hereafter was from an old Cree squaw, toothless, wrinkled like leather, belted at the waist like a sack of wool, with hands of dried parchment, and moccasins some five months too odoriferous. Her version ran that Heaven would be full of the music of running waters and south winds; that there would always be warm gold sunlight like a midsummer afternoon, with purple shadows, where tired women could rest; that the trees would be covered with blossoms, and all the pebbles of the shore like dewdrops. Pushed from the Atlantic seaboard back over the mountains, from the mountains to the Mississippi, west to the Rockies, north to the Great Lakes, all that was to be seen of nature in America the Indian trapper has seen; though he has not understood. But now he holds only a fringe of hunting-grounds, in the timber lands of the Great Lakes, in the cañons of the Rockies, and across that northern land which converges to Hudson Bay, reaching west to Athabasca, east to Labrador. It is in the basin of Hudson Bay regions that the Indian trapper will find his last hunting-grounds. Here climate excludes the white man, and game is plentiful. Here Indian trappers were snaring before Columbus opened the doors of the New World to the hordes of the Old; and here Indian trappers will hunt as long as the race lasts. When there is no more game, the Indian's doom is sealed; but that day is far distant for the Hudson Bay region. * * * * * The Indian trapper has set few large traps. It is midwinter; and by December there is a curious lull in the hunting. All the streams are frozen like rock; but the otter and pekan and mink and marten have not yet begun to forage at random across open field. Some foolish fish always dilly-dally up-stream till the ice shuts them in. Then a strange thing is seen--a kettle of living fish; fish gasping and panting in ice-hemmed water that is gradually lessening as each day's frost freezes another layer to the ice walls of their prison. The banks of such a pond hole are haunted by the otter and his fisher friends. By-and-bye, when the pond is exhausted, these lazy fishers must leave their safe bank and forage across country. Meanwhile, they are quiet. The bear, too, is still. After much wandering and fastidious choosing--for in trapper vernacular the bear takes a long time to please himself--bruin found an upturned stump. Into the hollow below he clawed grasses. Then he curled up with his nose on his toes and went to sleep under a snow blanket of gathering depth. Deer, moose, and caribou, too, have gone off to their feeding-grounds. Unless they are scattered by a wolf-pack or a hunter's gun, they will not be likely to move till this ground is eaten over. Nor are many beaver seen now. They have long since snuggled into their warm houses, where they will stay till their winter store is all used; and their houses are now hidden under great depths of deepening snow. But the fox and the hare and the ermine are at run; and as long as they are astir, so are their rampant enemies, the lynx and the wolverine and the wolf-pack, all ravenous from the scarcity of other game and greedy as spring crows. That thought gives wings to the Indian trapper's heels. The pelt of a coyote--or prairie wolf--would scarcely be worth the taking. Even the big, gray timber-wolf would hardly be worth the cost of the shot, except for service as a tepee mat. The white arctic wolf would bring better price. The enormous black or brown arctic wolf would be more valuable; but the value would not repay the risk of the hunt. But all these worthless, ravening rascals are watching the traps as keenly as the trapper does; and would eat up a silver fox, that would be the fortune of any hunter. The Indian comes to the brush where he has set his rabbit snares across a runway. His dog sniffs the ground, whining. The crust of the snow is broken by a heavy tread. The twigs are all trampled and rabbit fur is fluffed about. The game has been rifled away. The Indian notices several things. The rabbit has been devoured on the spot. That is unlike the wolverine. He would have carried snare, rabbit and all off for a guzzle in his own lair. The footprints have the appearance of having been brushed over; so the thief had a bushy tail. It is not the lynx. There is no trail away from the snare. The marauder has come with a long leap and gone with a long leap. The Indian and his dog make a circuit of the snare till they come on the trail of the intruder; and its size tells the Indian whether his enemy be fox or wolf. He sets no more snares across that runway, for the rabbits have had their alarm. Going through the brush he finds a fresh runway and sets a new snare. Then his snow-shoes are winging him over the drifts to the next trap. It is a deadfall. Nothing is in it. The bait is untouched and the trap left undisturbed. A wolverine would have torn the thing to atoms from very wickedness, chewed the bait in two, and spat it out lest there should be poison. The fox would have gone in and had his back broken by the front log. And there is the same brush work over the trampled snow, as if the visitor had tried to sweep out his own trail; and the same long leap away, clearing obstruction of log and drift, to throw a pursuer off the scent. This time the Indian makes two or three circuits; but the snow is so crusted it is impossible to tell whether the scratchings lead out to the open or back to the border of snow-drifted woods. If the animal had followed the line of the traps by running just inside the brush, the Indian would know. But the midwinter day is short, and he has no time to explore the border of the thicket. Perhaps he has a circle of thirty traps. Of that number he hardly expects game in more than a dozen. If six have a prize, he has done well. Each time he stops to examine a trap he must pause to cover all trace of the man-smell, daubing his own tracks with castoreum, or pomatum, or bears' grease; sweeping the snow over every spot touched by his hand; dragging the flesh side of a fresh pelt across his own trail. Mid-day comes, the time of the short shadow; and the Indian trapper has found not a thing in his traps. He only knows that some daring enemy has dogged the circle of his snares. That means he must kill the marauder, or find new hunting-grounds. If he had doubt about swift vengeance for the loss of a rabbit, he has none when he comes to the next trap. He sees what is too much for words: what entails as great loss to the poor Indian trapper as an exchange crash to the white man. One of his best steel-traps lies a little distance from the pole to which it was attached. It has been jerked up with a great wrench and pulled as far as the chain would go. The snow is trampled and stained and covered with gray fur as soft and silvery as chinchilla. In the trap is a little paw, fresh cut, scarcely frozen. He had caught a silver fox, the fortune of which hunters dream, as prospectors of gold, and speculators of stocks, and actors of fame. But the wolves, the great, black wolves of the Far North, with eyes full of a treacherous green fire and teeth like tusks, had torn the fur to scraps and devoured the fox not an hour before the trapper came. He knows now what his enemy is; for he has come so suddenly on their trail he can count four different footprints, and claw-marks of different length. They have fought about the little fox; and some of the smaller wolves have lost fur over it. Then, by the blood-marks, he can tell they have got under cover of the shrub growth to the right. The Indian says none of the words which the white man might say; but that is nothing to his credit; for just now no words are adequate. But he takes prompt resolution. After the fashion of the old Mosaic law, which somehow is written on the very face of the wilderness as one of its necessities, he decides that only life for life will compensate such loss. The danger of hunting the big, brown wolf--he knows too well to attempt it without help. He will bait his small traps with poison; take out his big, steel wolf traps to-morrow; then with a band of young braves follow the wolf-pack's trail during this lull in the hunting season. But the animal world knows that old trick of drawing a herring scent across the trail of wise intentions; and of all the animal world, none knows it better than the brown arctic wolf. He carries himself with less of a hang-dog air than his brother wolves, with the same pricking forward of sharp, erect ears, the same crouching trot, the same sneaking, watchful green eyes; but his tail, which is bushy enough to brush out every trace of his tracks, has not the skulking droop of the gray wolf's; and in size he is a giant among wolves. * * * * * The trapper shoulders his musket again, and keeping to the open, where he can travel fast on the long snow-shoes, sets out for the next trap. The man-shadow grows longer. It is late in the afternoon. Then all the shadows merge into the purple gloom of early evening; but the Indian travels on; for the circuit of traps leads back to his lodge. The wolf thief may not be far off; so the man takes his musket from the case. He may chance a shot at the enemy. Where there are woods, wolves run under cover, keeping behind a fringe of brush to windward. The wind carries scent of danger from the open, and the brush forms an ambuscade. Man tracks, where man's dog might scent the trail of a wolf, the wolf clears at a long bound. He leaps over open spaces, if he can; and if he can't, crouches low till he has passed the exposure. The trapper swings forward in long, straight strides, wasting not an inch of ground, deviating neither to right nor left by as much space as a white man takes to turn on his heels. Suddenly the trapper's dog utters a low whine and stops with ears pricked forward towards the brush. At the same moment the Indian, who has been keeping his eyes on the woods, sees a form rise out of the earth among the shadows. He is not surprised; for he knows the way the wolf travels, and the fox trap could not have been robbed more than an hour ago. The man thinks he has come on the thieves going to the next trap. That is what the wolf means him to think. And the man, too, dissembles; for as he looks the form fades into the gloom, and he decides to run on parallel to the brushwood, with his gun ready. Just ahead is a break in the shrubbery. At the clearing he can see how many wolves there are, and as he is heading home there is little danger. But at the clearing nothing crosses. The dog dashes off to the woods with wild barking, and the trapper scans the long, white stretch leading back between the bushes to a horizon that is already dim in the steel grays of twilight. Half a mile down this openway, off the homeward route of his traps, a wolfish figure looms black against the snow--and stands! The dog prances round and round as if he would hold the creature for his master's shot; and the Indian calculates--" After all, there is only one." What a chance to approach it under cover, as it has approached his traps! The stars are already pricking the blue darkness in cold, steel points; and the Northern Lights are swinging through the gloom like mystic censers to an invisible Spirit, the Spirit of the still, white, wide, northern wastes. It is as clear as day. One thought of his loss at the fox trap sends the Indian flitting through the underwoods like a hunted partridge. The sharp barkings of the dog increase in fury, and when the trapper emerges in the open, he finds the wolf has straggled a hundred yards farther. That was the meaning of the dog's alarm. Going back to cover, the hunter again advances. But the wolf keeps moving leisurely, and each time the man sights his game it is still out of range for the old-fashioned musket. The man runs faster now, determined to get abreast of the wolf and utterly heedless of the increasing danger, as each step puts greater distance between him and his lodge. He will pass the wolf, come out in front and shoot. But when he comes to the edge of the woods to get his aim, there is no wolf, and the dog is barking furiously at his own moonlit shadow. The wolf, after the fashion of his kind, has apparently disappeared into the ground, just as he always seems to rise from the earth. The trapper thinks of the "loup-garou," but no wolf-demon of native legend devoured the very real substance of that fox. The dog stops barking, gives a whine and skulks to his master's feet, while the trapper becomes suddenly aware of low-crouching forms gliding through the underbrush. Eyes look out of the dark in the flash of green lights from a prism. The figures are in hiding, but the moon is shining with a silvery clearness that throws moving wolf shadows on the snow to the trapper's very feet. Then the man knows that he has been tricked. The Indian knows the wolf-pack too well to attempt flight from these sleuths of the forest. He knows, too, one thing that wolves of forest and prairie hold in deadly fear--fire. Two or three shots ring into the darkness followed by a yelping howl, which tells him there is one wolf less, and the others will hold off at a safe distance. Contrary to the woodman's traditions of chopping only on a windy day, the Indian whips out his axe and chops with all his might till he has wood enough for a roaring fire. That will keep the rascals away till the pack goes off in full cry, or daylight comes. Whittling a limber branch from a sapling, the Indian hastily makes a bow, and shoots arrow after arrow with the tip in flame to high mid-air, hoping to signal the far-off lodges. But the night is too clear. The sky is silver with stars, and moonlight and reflected snowglare, and the Northern Lights flicker and wane and fade and flame with a brilliancy that dims the tiny blaze of the arrow signal. The smoke rising from his fire in a straight column falls at the height of the trees, for the frost lies on the land heavy, palpable, impenetrable. And for all the frost is thick to the touch, the night is as clear as burnished steel. That is the peculiarity of northern cold. The air seems to become absolutely compressed with the cold; but that same cold freezes out and precipitates every particle of floating moisture till earth and sky, moon and stars shine with the glistening of polished metal. A curious crackling, like the rustling of a flag in a gale, comes through the tightening silence. The intelligent half-breed says this is from the Northern Lights. The white man says it is electric activity in compressed air. The Indian says it is a spirit, and he may mutter the words of the braves in death chant: "If I die, I die valiant, I go to death fearless. I die a brave man. I go to those heroes who died without fear." Hours pass. The trapper gives over shooting fire arrows into the air. He heaps his fire and watches, musket in hand. The light of the moon is white like statuary. The snow is pure as statuary. The snow-edged trees are chiselled clear like statuary; and the silence is of stone. Only the snap of the blaze, the crackling of the frosted air, the break of a twig back among the brush, where something has moved, and the little, low, smothered barkings of the dog on guard. * * * * * By-and-bye the rustling through the brush ceases; and the dog at last lowers his ears and lies quiet. The trapper throws a stick into the woods and sends the dog after it. The dog comes back without any barkings of alarm. The man knows that the wolves have drawn off. Will he wait out that long Northern night? He has had nothing to eat but the piece of pemmican. The heavy frost drowsiness will come presently; and if he falls asleep the fire will go out. An hour's run will carry him home; but to make speed with the snow-shoes he must run in the open, exposed to all watchers. When an Indian balances motives, the motive of hunger invariably prevails. Pulling up his hood, belting in the caribou coat and kicking up the dog, the trapper strikes out for the open way leading back to the line of his traps, and the hollow where the lodges have been built for shelter against wind. There is another reason for building lodges in a hollow. Sound of the hunter will not carry to the game; but neither will sound of the game carry to the hunter. And if the game should turn hunter and the man turn hunted! The trapper speeds down the snowy slope, striding, sliding, coasting, vaulting over hummocks of snow, glissading down the drifts, leaping rather than running. The frosty air acts as a conductor to sound, and the frost films come in stings against the face of the man whose eye, ear, and touch are strained for danger. It is the dog that catches the first breath of peril, uttering a smothered "_woo! woo!_" The trapper tries to persuade himself the alarm was only the far scream of a wolf-hunted lynx; but it comes again, deep and faint, like an echo in a dome. One glance over his shoulder shows him black forms on the snow-crest against the sky. He has been tricked again, and knows how the fox feels before the dogs in full cry. The trapper is no longer a man. He is a hunted thing with terror crazing his blood and the sleuth-hounds of the wilds on his trail. Something goes wrong with his snow-shoe. Stooping to right the slip-strings, he sees that the dog's feet have been cut by the snow crust and are bleeding. It is life for life now; the old, hard, inexorable Mosaic law, that has no new dispensation in the northern wilderness, and demands that a beast's life shall not sacrifice a man's. One blow of his gun and the dog is dead. The far, faint howl has deepened to a loud, exultant bay. The wolf-pack are in full cry. The man has rounded the open alley between the trees and is speeding down the hillside winged with fear. He hears the pack pause where the dog fell. That gives him respite. The moon is behind, and the man-shadow flits before on the snow like an enemy heading him back. The deep bay comes again, hard, metallic, resonant, nearer! He feels the snow-shoe slipping, but dare not pause. A great drift thrusts across his way and the shadow in front runs slower. They are gaining on him. He hardly knows whether the crunch of snow and pantings for breath are his own or his pursuers'. At the crest of the drift he braces himself and goes to the bottom with the swiftness of a sled on a slide. The slant moonlight throws another shadow on the snow at his heels. It is the leader of the pack. The man turns, and tosses up his arms--an Indian trick to stop pursuit. Then he fires. The ravening hunter of man that has been ambushing him half the day rolls over with a piercing howl. The man is off and away. If he only had the quick rifle, with which white men and a body-guard of guides hunt down a single quarry, he would be safe enough now. But the old musket is slow loading, and speed will serve him better than another shot. Then the snow-shoe noose slips completely over his instep to his ankle, throwing the racquet on edge and clogging him back. Before he can right it they are upon him. There is nothing for it now but to face and fight to the last breath. His hood falls back, and he wheels with the moonlight full in his eyes and the Northern Lights waving their mystic flames high overhead. On one side, far away, are the tepee peaks of the lodges; on the other, the solemn, shadowy, snow-wreathed trees, like funeral watchers--watchers of how many brave deaths in a desolate, lonely land where no man raises a cross to him who fought well and died without fear! The wolf-pack attacks in two ways. In front, by burying the red-gummed fangs in the victim's throat; in the rear, by snapping at sinews of the runner's legs--called hamstringing. Who taught them this devilish ingenuity of attack? The same hard master who teaches the Indian to be as merciless as he is brave--hunger! [Illustration: They dodge the coming sweep of the uplifted arm.] Catching the muzzle of his gun, he beats back the snapping red mouths with the butt of his weapon; and the foremost beasts roll under. But the wolves are fighting from zest of the chase now, as much as from hunger. Leaping over their dead fellows, they dodge the coming sweep of the uplifted arm, and crouch to spring. A great brute is reaching for the forward bound; but a mean, small wolf sneaks to the rear of the hunter's fighting shadow. When the man swings his arm and draws back to strike, this miserable cur, that could not have worried the trapper's dog, makes a quick snap at the bend of his knees. Then the trapper's feet give below him. The wolf has bitten the knee sinews to the bone. The pack leap up, and the man goes down. * * * * * And when the spring thaw came, to carry away the heavy snow that fell over the northland that night, the Indians travelling to their summer hunting-grounds found the skeleton of a man. Around it were the bones of three dead wolves; and farther up the hill were the bleaching remains of a fourth.[35] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 35: A death almost similar to that on the shores of Hudson Bay occurred in the forests of the Boundary, west of Lake Superior, a few years ago. In this case eight wolves were found round the body of the dead trapper, and eight holes were empty in his cartridge-belt--which tells its own story.] CHAPTER XII BA'TISTE, THE BEAR HUNTER The city man, who goes bear-hunting with a body-guard of armed guides in a field where the hunted have been on the run from the hunter for a century, gets a very tame idea of the natural bear in its natural state. Bears that have had the fear of man inculcated with longe-range repeaters lose confidence in the prowess of an aggressive onset against invisible foes. The city man comes back from the wilds with a legend of how harmless bears have become. In fact, he doesn't believe a wild animal ever attacks unless it is attacked. He doubts whether the bear would go on its life-long career of rapine and death, if hunger did not compel it, or if repeated assault and battery from other animals did not teach the poor bear the art of self-defence. Grisly old trappers coming down to the frontier towns of the Western States once a year for provisions, or hanging round the forts of the Hudson's Bay Company in Canada for the summer, tell a different tale. Their hunting is done in a field where human presence is still so rare that it is unknown and the bear treats mankind precisely as he treats all other living beings from the moose and the musk-ox to mice and ants--as fair game for his own insatiable maw. Old hunters may be great spinners of yarns--"liars" the city man calls them--but Montagnais, who squats on his heels round the fur company forts on Peace River, carries ocular evidence in the artificial ridge of a deformed nose that the bear which he slew was a real one with an epicurean relish for that part of Indian anatomy which the Indian considers to be the most choice bit of a moose.[36] And the Kootenay hunter who was sent through the forests of Idaho to follow up the track of a lost brave brought back proof of an actual bear; for he found a dead man lying across a pile of logs with his skull crushed in like an eggshell by something that had risen swift and silent from a lair on the other side of the logs and dealt the climbing brave one quick terrible blow. And little blind Ba'tiste, wizened and old, who spent the last twenty years of his life weaving grass mats and carving curious little wooden animals for the children of the chief factor, could convince you that the bears he slew in his young days were very real bears, altogether different from the clumsy bruins that gambol with boys and girls through fairy books. That is, he could convince you if he would; for he usually sat weaving and weaving at the grasses--weaving bitter thoughts into the woof of his mat--without a word. Round his white helmet, such as British soldiers wear in hot lands, he always hung a heavy thick linen thing like the frill of a sun-bonnet, coming over the face as well as the neck--"to keep de sun off," he would mumble out if you asked him why. More than that of the mysterious frill worn on dark days as well as sunny, he would never vouch unless some town-bred man patronizingly pooh-poohed the dangers of bear-hunting. Then the grass strands would tremble with excitement and the little French hunter's body would quiver and he would begin pouring forth a jumble, half habitant half Indian with a mixture of all the oaths from both languages, pointing and pointing at his hidden face and bidding you look what the bear had done to him, but never lifting the thick frill. * * * * * It was somewhere between the tributary waters that flow north to the Saskatchewan and the rivers that start near the Saskatchewan to flow south to the Missouri. Ba'tiste and the three trappers who were with him did not know which side of the boundary they were on. By slow travel, stopping one day to trap beaver, pausing on the way to forage for meat, building their canoes where they needed them and abandoning the boats when they made a long overland _portage_, they were three weeks north of the American fur post on the banks of the Missouri. The hunters were travelling light-handed. That is, they were carrying only a little salt and tea and tobacco. For the rest, they were depending on their muskets. Game had not been plentiful. Between the prairie and "the Mountains of the Setting Sun"--as the Indians call the Rockies--a long line of tortuous, snaky red crawled sinuously over the crests of the foothills; and all game--bird and beast--will shun a prairie fire. There was no wind. It was the dead hazy calm of Indian summer in the late autumn with the sun swimming in the purplish smoke like a blood-red shield all day and the serpent line of flame flickering and darting little tongues of vermilion against the deep blue horizon all night, days filled with the crisp smell of withered grasses, nights as clear and cold as the echo of a bell. On a windless plain there is no danger from a prairie fire. One may travel for weeks without nearing or distancing the waving tide of fire against a far sky; and the four trappers, running short of rations, decided to try to flank the fire coming around far enough ahead to intercept the game that must be moving away from the fire line. Nearly all hunters, through some dexterity of natural endowment, unconsciously become specialists. One man sees beaver signs where another sees only deer. For Ba'tiste, the page of nature spelled _B-E-A-R_! Fifteen bear in a winter is a wonderfully good season's work for any trapper. Ba'tiste's record for one lucky winter was fifty-four. After that he was known as the bear hunter. Such a reputation affects keen hunters differently. The Indian grows cautious almost to cowardice. Ba'tiste grew rash. He would follow a wounded grisly to cover. He would afterward laugh at the episode as a joke if the wounded brute had treed him. "For sure, good t'ing dat was not de prairie dat tam," he would say, flinging down the pelt of his foe. The other trappers with Indian blood in their veins might laugh, but they shook their heads when his back was turned. Flanking the fire by some of the great gullies that cut the foothills like trenches, the hunters began to find the signs they had been seeking. For Ba'tiste, the many different signs had but one meaning. Where some summer rain pool had dried almost to a soft mud hole, the other trappers saw little cleft foot-marks that meant deer, and prints like a baby's fingers that spelled out the visit of some member of the weasel family, and broad splay-hoof impressions that had spread under the weight as some giant moose had gone shambling over the quaking mud bottom. But Ba'tiste looked only at a long shuffling foot-mark the length of a man's fore-arm with padded ball-like pressures as of monster toes. The French hunter would at once examine which way that great foot had pointed. Were there other impressions dimmer on the dry mud? Did the crushed spear-grass tell any tales of what had passed that mud hole? If it did, Ba'tiste would be seen wandering apparently aimlessly out on the prairie, carrying his uncased rifle carefully that the sunlight should not glint from the barrel, zigzagging up a foothill where perhaps wild plums or shrub berries hung rotting with frost ripeness. Ba'tiste did not stand full height at the top of the hill. He dropped face down, took off his hat, or scarlet "safety" handkerchief, and peered warily over the crest of the hill. If he went on over into the next valley, the other men would say they "guessed he smelt bear." If he came back, they knew he had been on a cold scent that had faded indistinguishably as the grasses thinned. Southern slopes of prairie and foothill are often matted tangles of a raspberry patch. Here Ba'tiste read many things--stories of many bears, of families, of cubs, of old cross fellows wandering alone. Great slabs of stone had been clawed up by mighty hands. Worms and snails and all the damp clammy things that cling to the cold dark between stone and earth had been gobbled up by some greedy forager. In the trenched ravines crossed by the trappers lay many a hidden forest of cottonwood or poplar or willow. Here was refuge, indeed, for the wandering creatures of the treeless prairie that rolled away from the tops of the cliffs. Many secrets could be read from the clustered woods of the ravines. The other hunters might look for the fresh nibbled alder bush where a busy beaver had been laying up store for winter, or detect the blink of a russet ear among the seared foliage betraying a deer, or wonder what flesh-eater had caught the poor jack rabbit just outside his shelter of thorny brush. The hawk soaring and dropping--lilting and falling and lifting again--might mean that a little mink was "playing dead" to induce the bird to swoop down so that the vampire beast could suck the hawk's blood, or that the hawk was watching for an unguarded moment to plunge down with his talons in a poor "fool-hen's" feathers. These things might interest the others. They did not interest Ba'tiste. Ba'tiste's eyes were for lairs of grass crushed so recently that the spear leaves were even now rising; for holes in the black mould where great ripping claws had been tearing up roots; for hollow logs and rotted stumps where a black bear might have crawled to take his afternoon siesta; for punky trees which a grisly might have torn open to gobble ants' eggs; for scratchings down the bole of poplar or cottonwood where some languid bear had been sharpening his claws in midsummer as a cat will scratch chair-legs; for great pits deep in the clay banks, where some silly badger or gopher ran down to the depths of his burrow in sheer terror only to have old bruin come ripping and tearing to the innermost recesses, with scattered fur left that told what had happened. Some soft oozy moss-padded lair, deep in the marsh with the reeds of the brittle cat-tails lifting as if a sleeper had just risen, sets Ba'tiste's pulse hopping--jumping--marking time in thrills like the lithe bounds of a pouncing mountain-cat. With tread soft as the velvet paw of a panther, he steals through the cane-brake parting the reeds before each pace, brushing aside softly--silently what might crush!--snap!--sound ever so slight an alarm to the little pricked ears of a shaggy head tossing from side to side--jerk--jerk--from right to left--from left to right--always on the listen!--on the listen!--for prey!--for prey! "Oh, for sure, that Ba'tiste, he was but a fool-hunter," as his comrades afterward said (it is always so very plain afterward); "that Ba'tiste, he was a fool! What man else go step--step--into the marsh after a bear!" But the truth was that Ba'tiste, the cunning rascal, always succeeded in coming out of the marsh, out of the bush, out of the windfall, sound as a top, safe and unscratched, with a bear-skin over his shoulder, the head swinging pendant to show what sort of fellow he had mastered. "Dat wan!--ah!--diable!--he has long sharp nose--he was thin--thin as a barrel all gone but de hoops--ah!--voilà!--he was wan ugly garçon, was dat bear!" Where the hunters found tufts of fur on the sage brush, bits of skin on the spined cactus, the others might vow coyotes had worried a badger. Ba'tiste would have it that the badger had been slain by a bear. The cached carcass of fawn or doe, of course, meant bear; for the bear is an epicure that would have meat gamey. To that the others would agree. And so the shortening autumn days with the shimmering heat of a crisp noon and the noiseless chill of starry twilights found the trappers canoeing leisurely up-stream from the northern tributaries of the Missouri nearing the long overland trail that led to the hunting-fields in Canada. One evening they came to a place bounded by high cliff banks with the flats heavily wooded by poplar and willow. Ba'tiste had found signs that were hot--oh! so hot! The mould of an uprooted gopher hole was so fresh that it had not yet dried. This was not a region of timber-wolves. What had dug that hole? Not the small, skulking coyote--the vagrant of prairie life! Oh!--no!--the coyote like other vagrants earns his living without work, by skulking in the wake of the business-like badger; and when the badger goes down in the gopher hole, Master Coyote stands nearby and gobbles up all the stray gophers that bolt to escape the invading badger.[37] What had dug the hole? Ba'tiste thinks that he knows. That was on open prairie. Just below the cliff is another kind of hole--a roundish pit dug between moss-covered logs and earth wall, a pit with grass clawed down into it, snug and hidden and sheltered as a bird's nest. If the pit is what Ba'tiste thinks, somewhere on the banks of the stream should be a watering-place. He proposes that they beach the canoes and camp here. Twilight is not a good time to still hunt an unseen bear. Twilight is the time when the bear himself goes still hunting. Ba'tiste will go out in the early morning. Meantime if he stumbles on what looks like a trail to the watering-place, he will set a trap. Camp is not for the regular trapper what it is for the amateur hunter--a time of rest and waiting while others skin the game and prepare supper. One hunter whittles the willow sticks that are to make the camp fire. Another gathers moss or boughs for a bed. If fish can be got, some one has out a line. The kettle hisses from the cross-bar between notched sticks above the fire, and the meat sizzling at the end of a forked twig sends up a flavour that whets every appetite. Over the upturned canoes bend a couple of men gumming afresh all the splits and seams against to-morrow's voyage. Then with a flip-flop that tells of the other side of the flap-jacks being browned, the cook yodels in crescendo that "Sup--per!--'s--read--ee!" Supper over, a trap or two may be set in likely places. The men may take a plunge; for in spite of their tawny skins, these earth-coloured fellows have closer acquaintance with water than their appearance would indicate. The man-smell is as acute to the beast's nose as the rank fur-animal-smell is to the man's nose; and the first thing that an Indian who has had a long run of ill-luck does is to get a native "sweating-bath" and make himself clean. On the ripple of the flowing river are the red bars of the camp fire. Among the willows, perhaps, the bole of some birch stands out white and spectral. Though there is no wind, the poplars shiver with a fall of wan, faded leaves like snow-flakes on the grave of summer. Red bills and whisky-jacks and lonely phoebe-birds came fluttering and pecking at the crumbs. Out from the gray thicket bounds a cottontail to jerk up on his hind legs with surprise at the camp fire. A blink of his long ear, and he has bounded back to tell the news to his rabbit family. Overhead, with shrill clangour, single file and in long wavering <big>V</big> lines, wing geese migrating southward for the season. The children's hour, has a great poet called a certain time of day? Then this is the hour of the wilderness hunter, the hour when "the Mountains of the Setting Sun" are flooded in fiery lights from zone to zenith with the snowy heights overtopping the far rolling prairie like clouds of opal at poise in mid-heaven, the hour when the camp fire lies on the russet autumn-tinged earth like a red jewel, and the far line of the prairie fire billows against the darkening east in a tide of vermilion flame. Unless it is raining, the _voyageurs_ do not erect their tent; for they will sleep in the open, feet to the fire, or under the canoes, close to the great earth, into whose very fibre their beings seem to be rooted. And now is the time when the hunters spin their yarns and exchange notes of all they have seen in the long silent day. There was the prairie chicken with a late brood of half-grown clumsy clucking chicks amply able to take care of themselves, but still clinging to the old mother's care. When the hunter came suddenly on them, over the old hen went, flopping broken-winged to decoy the trapper till her children could run for shelter--when--lo!--of a sudden, the broken wing is mended and away she darts on both wings before he has uncased his gun! There are the stories of bear hunters like Ba'tiste sitting on the other side of the fire there, who have been caught in their own bear traps and held till they died of starvation and their bones bleached in the rusted steel. That story has such small relish for Ba'tiste that he hitches farther away from the others and lies back flat on the ground close to the willow under-tangle with his head on his hand. "For sure," says Ba'tiste contemptuously, "nobody doesn't need no tree to climb here! Sacré!--cry wolf!--wolf!--and for sure!--diable!--de beeg loup-garou will eat you yet!" Down somewhere from those stars overhead drops a call silvery as a flute, clear as a piccolo--some night bird lilting like a mote on the far oceans of air. The trappers look up with a movement that in other men would be a nervous start; for any shrill cry pierces the silence of the prairie in almost a stab. Then the men go on with their yarn telling of how the Blackfeet murdered some traders on this very ground not long ago till the gloom gathering over willow thicket and encircling cliffs seems peopled with those marauding warriors. One man rises, saying that he is "goin' to turn in" and is taking a step through the dark to his canoe when there is a dull pouncing thud. For an instant the trappers thought that their comrade had stumbled over his boat. But a heavy groan--a low guttural cry--a shout of "Help--help--help Ba'tiste!" and the man who had risen plunged into the crashing cane-brake, calling out incoherently for them to "help--help Ba'tiste!" In the confusion of cries and darkness, it was impossible for the other two trappers to know what had happened. Their first thought was of the Indians whose crimes they had been telling. Their second was for their rifles--and they had both sprung over the fire where they saw the third man striking--striking--striking wildly at something in the dark. A low worrying growl--and they descried the Frenchman rolling over and over, clutched by or clutching a huge furry form--hitting--plunging with his knife--struggling--screaming with agony. "It's Ba'tiste! It's a bear!" shouted the third man, who was attempting to drive the brute off by raining blows on its head. Man and bear were an indistinguishable struggling mass. Should they shoot in the half-dark? Then the Frenchman uttered the scream of one in death-throes: "Shoot!--shoot!--shoot quick! She's striking my face!--she's striking my face----" And before the words had died, sharp flashes of light cleft the dark--the great beast rolled over with a coughing growl, and the trappers raised their comrade from the ground. The bear had had him on his back between her teeth by the thick chest piece of his double-breasted buckskin. Except for his face, he seemed uninjured; but down that face the great brute had drawn the claws of her fore paw. Ba'tiste raised his hands to his face. "Mon dieu!" he asked thickly, fumbling with both hands, "what is done to my eyes? Is the fire out? I cannot see!" Then the man who had fought like a demon armed with only a hunting-knife fainted because of what his hands felt. * * * * * Traitors there are among trappers as among all other classes, men like those who deserted Glass on the Missouri, and Scott on the Platte, and how many others whose treachery will never be known. But Ba'tiste's comrades stayed with him on the banks of the river that flows into the Missouri. One cared for the blind man. The other two foraged for game. When the wounded hunter could be moved, they put him in a canoe and hurried down-stream to the fur post before the freezing of the rivers. At the fur post, the doctor did what he could; but a doctor cannot restore what has been torn away. The next spring, Ba'tiste was put on a pack horse and sent to his relatives at the Canadian fur post. Here his sisters made him the curtain to hang round his helmet and set him to weaving grass mats that the days might not drag so wearily. Ask Ba'tiste whether he agrees with the amateur hunter that bears never attack unless they are attacked, that they would never become ravening creatures of prey unless the assaults of other creatures taught them ferocity, ask Ba'tiste this and something resembling the snarl of a baited beast breaks from the lipless face under the veil: "S--s--sz!--" with a quiver of inexpressible rage. "The bear--it is an animal!--the bear!--it is a beast!--toujours!--the bear!--it is a beast!--always--always!" And his hands clinch. Then he falls to carving of the little wooden animals and weaving of sad, sad, bitter thoughts into the warp of the Indian mat. Are such onslaughts common among bears, or are they the mad freaks of the bear's nature? President Roosevelt tells of two soldiers bitten to death in the South-West; and M. L'Abbé Dugast, of St. Boniface, Manitoba, incidentally relates an experience almost similar to that of Ba'tiste which occurred in the North-West. Lest Ba'tiste's case seem overdrawn, I quote the Abbé's words: "At a little distance Madame Lajimoniere and the other women were preparing the tents for the night, when all at once Bouvier gave a cry of distress and called to his companions to help him. At the first shout, each hunter seized his gun and prepared to defend himself against the attack of an enemy; they hurried to the other side of the ditch to see what was the matter with Bouvier, and what he was struggling with. They had no idea that a wild animal would come near the fire to attack a man even under cover of night; for fire usually has the effect of frightening wild beasts. However, almost before the four hunters knew what had happened, they saw their unfortunate companion dragged into the woods by a bear followed by her two cubs. She held Bouvier in her claws and struck him savagely in the face to stun him. As soon as she saw the four men in pursuit, she redoubled her fury against her prey, tearing his face with her claws. M. Lajimoniere, who was an intrepid hunter, baited her with the butt end of his gun to make her let go her hold, as he dared not shoot for fear of killing the man while trying to save him, but Bouvier, who felt himself being choked, cried with all his strength: 'Shoot; I would rather be shot than eaten alive!' M. Lajimoniere pulled the trigger as close to the bear as possible, wounding her mortally. She let go Bouvier and before her strength was exhausted made a wild attack upon M. Lajimoniere, who expected this and as his gun had only one barrel loaded, he ran towards the canoe, where he had a second gun fully charged. He had hardly seized it before the bear reached the shore and tried to climb into the canoe, but fearing no longer to wound his friend, M. Lajimoniere aimed full at her breast and this time she was killed instantly. As soon as the bear was no longer to be feared, Madame Lajimoniere, who had been trembling with fear during the tumult, went to raise the unfortunate Bouvier, who was covered with wounds and nearly dead. The bear had torn the skin from his face with her nails from the roots of his hair to the lower part of his chin. His eyes and nose were gone--in fact his features were indiscernible--but he was not mortally injured. His wounds were dressed as well as the circumstances would permit, and thus crippled he was carried to the Fort of the Prairies, Madame Lajimoniere taking care of him all through the journey. In time his wounds were successfully healed, but he was blind and infirm to the end of his life. He dwelt at the Fort of the Prairies for many years, but when the first missionaries reached Red River in 1818, he persuaded his friends to send him to St. Boniface to meet the priests and ended his days in M. Provencher's house. He employed his time during the last years of his life in making crosses and crucifixes blind as he was, but he never made any _chefs d'oeuvre_." Such is bear-hunting and such is the nature of the bear. And these things are not of the past. Wherever long-range repeaters have not put the fear of man in the animal heart, the bear is the aggressor. Even as I write comes word from a little frontier fur post which I visited in 1901, of a seven-year-old boy being waylaid and devoured by a grisly only four miles back from a transcontinental railway. This is the second death from the unprovoked attacks of bears within a month in that country--and that month, the month of August, 1902, when sentimental ladies and gentlemen many miles away from danger are sagely discussing whether the bear is naturally ferocious or not--whether, in a word, it is altogether _humane to hunt bears_. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 36: In further confirmation of Montagnais's bear, the chief factor's daughter, who told me the story, was standing in the fort gate when the Indian came running back with a grisly pelt over his shoulder. When he saw her his hands went up to conceal the price he had paid for the pelt.] [Footnote 37: This phase of prairie life must not be set down to writer's license. It is something that every rider of the plains can see any time he has patience to rein up and sit like a statue within field-glass distance of the gopher burrows about nightfall when the badgers are running.] CHAPTER XIII JOHN COLTER--FREE TRAPPER Long before sunrise hunters were astir in the mountains. The Crows were robbers, the Blackfeet murderers; and scouts of both tribes haunted every mountain defile where a white hunter might pass with provisions and peltries which these rascals could plunder. The trappers circumvented their foes by setting the traps after nightfall and lifting the game before daybreak. Night in the mountains was full of a mystery that the imagination of the Indians peopled with terrors enough to frighten them away. The sudden stilling of mountain torrent and noisy leaping cataract at sundown when the thaw of the upper snows ceased, the smothered roar of rivers under ice, the rush of whirlpools through the blackness of some far cañon, the crashing of rocks thrown down by unknown forces, the shivering echo that multiplied itself a thousandfold and ran "rocketing" from peak to peak startling the silences--these things filled the Indian with superstitious fears. The gnomes, called in trapper's vernacular "hoodoos"--great pillars of sandstone higher than a house, left standing in valleys by prehistoric floods--were to the Crows and Blackfeet petrified giants that only awakened at night to hurl down rocks on intruding mortals. And often the quiver of a shadow in the night wind gave reality to the Indian's fears. The purr of streams over rocky bed was whispering, the queer quaking echoes of falling rocks were giants at war, and the mists rising from swaying waterfalls, spirit-forms portending death. Morning came more ghostly among the peaks. Thick white clouds banked the mountains from peak to base, blotting out every scar and tor as a sponge might wash a slate. Valleys lay blanketed in smoking mist. As the sun came gradually up to the horizon far away east behind the mountains, scarp and pinnacle butted through the fog, stood out bodily from the mist, seemed to move like living giants from the cloud banks. "How could they do that if they were not alive?" asked the Indian. Elsewhere, shadows came from sun, moon, starlight, or camp-fire. But in these valleys were pencilled shadows of peaks upside down, shadows all the colours of the rainbow pointing to the bottom of the green Alpine lakes, hours and hours before any sun had risen to cause the shadows. All this meant "bad medicine" to the Indian, or, in white man's language, mystery. Unless they were foraging in large bands, Crows and Blackfeet shunned the mountains after nightfall. That gave the white man a chance to trap in safety. Early one morning two white men slipped out of their sequestered cabin built in hiding of the hills at the head waters of the Missouri. Under covert of brushwood lay a long odd-shaped canoe, sharp enough at the prow to cleave the narrowest waters between rocks, so sharp that French _voyageurs_ gave this queer craft the name "_canot à bec d'esturgeon_"--that is, a canoe like the nose of a sturgeon. This American adaptation of the Frenchman's craft was not of birch-bark. That would be too frail to essay the rock-ribbed cañons of the mountain streams. It was usually a common dugout, hollowed from a cottonwood or other light timber, with such an angular narrow prow that it could take the sheerest dip and mount the steepest wave-crest where a rounder boat would fill and swamp. Dragging this from cover, the two white men pushed out on the Jefferson Fork, dipping now on this side, now on that, using the reversible double-bladed paddles which only an amphibious boatman can manage. The two men shot out in mid-stream, where the mists would hide them from each shore; a moment later the white fog had enfolded them, and there was no trace of human presence but the trail of dimpling ripples in the wake of the canoe. No talking, no whistling, not a sound to betray them. And there were good reasons why these men did not wish their presence known. One was Potts, the other John Colter. Both had been with the Lewis and Clark exploring party of 1804-'05, when a Blackfoot brave had been slain for horse-thieving by the first white men to cross the Upper Missouri. Besides, the year before coming to the Jefferson, Colter had been with the Missouri Company's fur brigade under Manuel Lisa, and had gone to the Crows as an emissary from the fur company. While with the Crows, a battle had taken place against the Blackfeet, in which they suffered heavy loss owing to Colter's prowess. That made the Blackfeet sworn enemies to Colter. Turning off the Jefferson, the trappers headed their canoe up a side stream, probably one of those marshy reaches where beavers have formed a swamp by damming up the current of a sluggish stream. Such quiet waters are favourite resorts for beaver and mink and marten and pekan. Setting their traps only after nightfall, the two men could not possibly have put out more than forty or fifty. Thirty traps are a heavy day's work for one man. Six prizes out of thirty are considered a wonderful run of luck; but the empty traps must be examined as carefully as the successful ones. Many that have been mauled, "scented" by a beaver scout and left, must be replaced. Others must have fresh bait; others, again, carried to better grounds where there are more game signs. Either this was a very lucky morning and the men were detained taking fresh pelts, or it was a very unlucky morning and the men had decided to trap farther up-stream; for when the mists began to rise, the hunters were still in their canoe. Leaving the beaver meadow, they continued paddling up-stream away from the Jefferson. A more hidden water-course they could hardly have found. The swampy beaver-runs narrowed, the shores rose higher and higher into rampart walls, and the dark-shadowed waters came leaping down in the lumpy, uneven runnels of a small cañon. You can always tell whether the waters of a cañon are compressed or not, whether they come from broad, swampy meadows or clear snow streams smaller than the cañon. The marsh waters roll down swift and black and turbid, raging against the crowding walls; the snow streams leap clear and foaming as champagne, and are in too great a hurry to stop and quarrel with the rocks. It is altogether likely these men recognised swampy water, and were ascending the cañon in search of a fresh beaver-marsh; or they would not have continued paddling six miles above the Jefferson with daylight growing plainer at every mile. First the mist rose like a smoky exhalation from the river; then it flaunted across the rampart walls in banners; then the far mountain peaks took form against the sky, islands in a sea of fog; then the cloud banks were floating in mid-heaven blindingly white from a sun that painted each cañon wall in the depths of the water. How much farther would the cañon lead? Should they go higher up or not? Was it wooded or clear plain above the walls? The man paused. What was that noise? "Like buffalo," said Potts. "Might be Blackfeet," answered Colter. No. What would Blackfeet be doing, riding at a pace to make such thunder so close to a cañon? It was only a buffalo herd stampeding on the annual southern run. Again Colter urged that the noise _might_ be from Indians. It would be safer for them to retreat at once. At which Potts wanted to know if Colter were afraid, using a stronger word--"coward." Afraid? Colter afraid? Colter who had remained behind Lewis and Clark's men to trap alone in the wilds for nearly two years, who had left Manuel Lisa's brigade to go alone among the thieving Crows, whose leadership had helped the Crows to defeat the Blackfeet? Anyway, it would now be as dangerous to go back as forward. They plainly couldn't land here. Let them go ahead where the walls seemed to slope down to shore. Two or three strokes sent the canoe round an elbow of rock into the narrow course of a creek. Instantly out sprang five or six hundred Blackfeet warriors with weapons levelled guarding both sides of the stream. An Indian scout had discovered the trail of the white men and sent the whole band scouring ahead to intercept them at this narrow pass. The chief stepped forward, and with signals that were a command beckoned the hunters ashore. As is nearly always the case, the rash man was the one to lose his head, the cautious man the one to keep his presence of mind. Potts was for an attempt at flight, when every bow on both sides of the river would have let fly a shot. Colter was for accepting the situation, trusting to his own wit for subsequent escape. Colter, who was acting as steersman, sent the canoe ashore. Bottom had not grated before a savage snatched Potts's rifle from his hands. Springing ashore, Colter forcibly wrested the weapon back and coolly handed it to Potts. But Potts had lost all the rash courage of a moment before, and with one push sent the canoe into mid-stream. Colter shouted at him to come back--come back! Indians have more effective arguments. A bow-string twanged, and Potts screamed out, "Colter, I am wounded!" Again Colter urged him to land. The wound turned Pott's momentary fright to a paroxysm of rage. Aiming his rifle, he shot his Indian assailant dead. If it was torture that he feared, that act assured him at least a quick death; for, in Colter's language, man and boat were instantaneously "made a riddle of." No man admires courage more than the Indian; and the Blackfeet recognised in their captive one who had been ready to defend his comrade against them all, and who had led the Crows to victory against their own band. The prisoner surrendered his weapons. He was stripped naked, but neither showed sign of fear nor made a move to escape. Evidently the Blackfeet could have rare sport with this game white man. His life in the Indian country had taught him a few words of the Blackfoot language. He heard them conferring as to how he should be tortured to atone for all that the Blackfeet had suffered at white men's hands. One warrior suggested that the hunter be set up as a target and shot at. Would he then be so brave? But the chief shook his head. That was not game enough sport for Blackfeet warriors. That would be letting a man die passively. And how this man could fight if he had an opportunity! How he could resist torture if he had any chance of escaping the torture! But Colter stood impassive and listened. Doubtless he regretted having left the well-defended brigades of the fur companies to hunt alone in the wilderness. But the fascination of the wild life is as a gambler's vice--the more a man has, the more he wants. Had not Colter crossed the Rockies with Lewis and Clark and spent two years in the mountain fastnesses? Yet when he reached the Mandans on the way home, the revulsion against all the trammels of civilization moved him so strongly that he asked permission to return to the wilderness, where he spent two more years. Had he not set out for St. Louis a second time, met Lisa coming up the Missouri with a brigade of hunters, and for the third time turned his face to the wilderness? Had he not wandered with the Crows, fought the Blackfeet, gone down to St. Louis, and been impelled by that strange impulse of adventure which was to the hunter what the instinct of migration is to bird and fish and buffalo and all wild things--to go yet again to the wilderness? Such was the passion for the wilds that ruled the life of all free trappers. * * * * * The free trappers formed a class by themselves. Other trappers either hunted on a salary of $200, $300, $400 a year, or on shares, like fishermen of the Grand Banks outfitted by "planters," or like western prospectors outfitted by companies that supply provisions, boats, and horses, expecting in return the major share of profits. The free trappers fitted themselves out, owed allegiance to no man, hunted where and how they chose, and refused to carry their furs to any fort but the one that paid the highest prices. For the _mangeurs de lard_, as they called the fur company raftsmen, they had a supreme contempt. For the methods of the fur companies, putting rivals to sleep with laudanum or bullet and ever stirring the savages up to warfare, the free trappers had a rough and emphatically expressed loathing. The crime of corrupting natives can never be laid to the free trapper. He carried neither poison, nor what was worse than poison to the Indian--whisky--among the native tribes. The free trapper lived on good terms with the Indian, because his safety depended on the Indian. Renegades like Bird, the deserter from the Hudson's Bay Company, or Rose, who abandoned the Astorians, or Beckwourth of apocryphal fame, might cast off civilization and become Indian chiefs; but, after all, these men were not guilty of half so hideous crimes as the great fur companies of boasted respectability. Wyeth of Boston, and Captain Bonneville of the army, whose underlings caused such murderous slaughter among the Root Diggers, were not free trappers in the true sense of the term. Wyeth was an enthusiast who caught the fever of the wilds; and Captain Bonneville, a gay adventurer, whose men shot down more Indians in one trip than all the free trappers of America shot in a century. As for the desperado Harvey, whom Larpenteur reports shooting Indians like dogs, his crimes were committed under the walls of the American Fur Company's fort. MacLellan and Crooks and John Day--before they joined the Astorians--and Boone and Carson and Colter, are names that stand for the true type of free trapper. The free trapper went among the Indians with no defence but good behaviour and the keenness of his wit. Whatever crimes the free trapper might be guilty of towards white men, he was guilty of few towards the Indians. Consequently, free trappers were all through Minnesota and the region westward of the Mississippi forty years before the fur companies dared to venture among the Sioux. Fisher and Fraser and Woods knew the Upper Missouri before 1806; and Brugiere had been on the Columbia many years before the Astorians came in 1811. One crime the free trappers may be charged with--a reckless waste of precious furs. The great companies always encouraged the Indians not to hunt more game than they needed for the season's support. And no Indian hunter, uncorrupted by white men, would molest game while the mothers were with their young. Famine had taught them the punishment that follows reckless hunting. But the free trappers were here to-day and away to-morrow, like a Chinaman, to take all they could get regardless of results; and the results were the rapid extinction of fur-bearing game. Always there were more free trappers in the United States than in Canada. Before the union of Hudson's Bay and Nor' Wester in Canada, all classes of trappers were absorbed by one of the two great companies. After the union, when the monopoly enjoyed by the Hudson's Bay did not permit it literally to drive a free trapper out, it could always "freeze" him out by withholding supplies in its great white northern wildernesses, or by refusing to give him transport. When the monopoly passed away in 1871, free trappers pressed north from the Missouri, where their methods had exterminated game, and carried on the same ruthless warfare on the Saskatchewan. North of the Saskatchewan, where very remoteness barred strangers out, the Hudson's Bay Company still held undisputed sway; and Lord Strathcona, the governor of the company, was able to say only two years ago, "the fur trade is quite as large as ever it was." Among free hunters, Canada had only one commanding figure--John Johnston of the Soo, who settled at La Pointe on Lake Superior in 1792, formed league with Wabogish, "the White Fisher," and became the most famous trader of the Lakes. His life, too, was almost as eventful as Colter's. A member of the Irish nobility, some secret which he never chose to reveal drove him to the wilds. Wabogish, the "White Fisher," had a daughter who refused the wooings of all her tribe's warriors. In vain Johnston sued for her hand. Old Wabogish bade the white man go sell his Irish estates and prove his devotion by buying as vast estates in America. Johnston took the old chief at his word, and married the haughty princess of the Lake. When the War of 1812 set all the tribes by the ears, Johnston and his wife had as thrilling adventures as ever Colter knew among the Blackfeet. Many a free trapper, and partner of the fur companies as well, secured his own safety by marrying the daughter of a chief, as Johnston had. These were not the lightly-come, lightly-go affairs of the vagrant adventurer. If the husband had not cast off civilization like a garment, the wife had to put it on like a garment; and not an ill-fitting garment either, when one considers that the convents of the quiet nuns dotted the wilderness like oases in a desert almost contemporaneous with the fur trade. If the trapper had not sunk to the level of the savages, the little daughter of the chief was educated by the nuns for her new position. I recall several cases where the child was sent across the Atlantic to an English governess so that the equality would be literal and not a sentimental fiction. And yet, on no subject has the western fur trader received more persistent and unjust condemnation. The heroism that culminated in the union of Pocahontas with a noted Virginian won applause, and almost similar circumstances dictated the union of fur traders with the daughters of Indian chiefs; but because the fur trader has not posed as a sentimentalist, he has become more or less of a target for the index finger of the Pharisee.[38] North of the boundary the free trapper had small chance against the Hudson's Bay Company. As long as the slow-going Mackinaw Company, itself chiefly recruited from free trappers, ruled at the junction of the Lakes, the free trappers held the hunting-grounds of the Mississippi; but after the Mackinaw was absorbed by the aggressive American Fur Company, the free hunters were pushed westward. On the Lower Missouri competition raged from 1810, so that circumstances drove the free trapper westward to the mountains, where he is hunting in the twentieth century as his prototype hunted two hundred years ago. In Canada--of course after 1870--he entered the mountains chiefly by three passes: (1) Yellow Head Pass southward of the Athabasca; (2) the narrow gap where the Bow emerges to the plains--that is, the river where the Indians found the best wood for the making of bows; (3) north of the boundary, through that narrow defile overtowered by the lonely flat-crowned peak called Crows Nest Mountain--that is, where the fugitive Crows took refuge from the pursuing Blackfeet. In the United States, the free hunters also approached the mountains by three main routes: (1) Up the Platte; (2) westward from the Missouri across the plains; (3) by the Three Forks of the Missouri. For instance, it was coming down the Platte that poor Scott's canoe was overturned, his powder lost, and his rifles rendered useless. Game had retreated to the mountains with spring's advance. Berries were not ripe by the time trappers were descending with their winter's hunt. Scott and his famishing men could not find edible roots. Each day Scott weakened. There was no food. Finally, Scott had strength to go no farther. His men had found tracks of some other hunting party far to the fore. They thought that, in any case, he could not live. What ought they to do? Hang back and starve with him, or hasten forward while they had strength, to the party whose track they had espied? On pretence of seeking roots, they deserted the helpless man. Perhaps they did not come up with the advance party till they were sure that Scott must have died; for they did not go back to his aid. The next spring when these same hunters went up the Platte, they found the skeleton of poor Scott sixty miles from the place where they had left him. The terror that spurred the emaciated man to drag himself all this weary distance can barely be conceived; but such were the fearful odds taken by every free trapper who went up the Platte, across the parched plains, or to the head waters of the Missouri. The time for the free trappers to go out was, in Indian language, "when the leaves began to fall." If a mighty hunter like Colter, the trapper was to the savage "big Indian me"; if only an ordinary vagrant of woods and streams, the white man was "big knife you," in distinction to the red man carrying only primitive weapons. Very often the free trapper slipped away from the fur post secretly, or at night; for there were questions of licenses which he disregarded, knowing well that the buyer of his furs would not inform for fear of losing the pelts. Also and more important in counseling caution, the powerful fur companies had spies on the watch to dog the free trapper to his hunting-grounds; and rival hunters would not hesitate to bribe the natives with a keg of rum for all the peltries which the free trapper had already bought by advancing provisions to Indian hunters. Indeed, rival hunters have not hesitated to bribe the savages to pillage and murder the free trapper; for there was no law in the fur trading country, and no one to ask what became of the free hunter who went alone into the wilderness and never returned. Going out alone, or with only one partner, the free hunter encumbered himself with few provisions. Two dollars worth of tobacco would buy a thousand pounds of "jerked" buffalo meat, and a few gaudy trinkets for a squaw all the pemmican white men could use. Going by the river routes, four days out from St. Louis brought the trapper into regions of danger. Indian scouts hung on the watch among the sedge of the river bank. One thin line of upcurling smoke, or a piece of string--_babiche_ (leather cord, called by the Indians _assapapish_)--fluttering from a shrub, or little sticks casually dropped on the river bank pointing one way, all were signs that told of marauding bands. Some birch tree was notched with an Indian cipher--a hunter had passed that way and claimed the bark for his next year's canoe. Or the mark might be on a cottonwood--some man wanted this tree for a dugout. Perhaps a stake stood with a mark at the entrance to a beaver-marsh--some hunter had found this ground first and warned all other trappers off by the code of wilderness honour. Notched tree-trunks told of some runner gone across country, blazing a trail by which he could return. Had a piece of fungus been torn from a hemlock log? There were Indians near, and the squaw had taken the thing to whiten leather. If a sudden puff of black smoke spread out in a cone above some distant tree, it was an ominous sign to the trapper. The Indians had set fire to the inside of a punky trunk and the shooting flames were a rallying call. In the most perilous regions the trapper travelled only after nightfall with muffled paddles--that is, muffled where the handle might strike the gunwale. Camp-fires warned him which side of the river to avoid; and often a trapper slipping past under the shadow of one bank saw hobgoblin figures dancing round the flames of the other bank--Indians celebrating their scalp dance. In these places the white hunter ate cold meals to avoid lighting a fire; or if he lighted a fire, after cooking his meal he withdrew at once and slept at a distance from the light that might betray him. The greatest risk of travelling after dark during the spring floods arose from what the _voyageurs_ called _embarras_--trees torn from the banks sticking in the soft bottom like derelicts with branches to entangle the trapper's craft; but the _embarras_ often befriended the solitary white man. Usually he slept on shore rolled in a buffalo-robe; but if Indian signs were fresh, he moored his canoe in mid-current and slept under hiding of the driftwood. Friendly Indians did not conceal themselves, but came to the river bank waving a buffalo-robe and spreading it out to signal a welcome to the white man; when the trapper would go ashore, whiff pipes with the chiefs and perhaps spend the night listening to the tales of exploits which each notch on the calumet typified. Incidents that meant nothing to other men were full of significance to the lone _voyageur_ through hostile lands. Always the spring floods drifted down numbers of dead buffalo; and the carrion birds sat on the trees of the shore with their wings spread out to dry in the sun. The sudden flacker of a rising flock betrayed something prowling in ambush on the bank; so did the splash of a snake from overhanging branches into the water. Different sorts of dangers beset the free trapper crossing the plains to the mountains. The fur company brigades always had escort of armed guard and provision packers. The free trappers went alone or in pairs, picketing horses to the saddle overlaid with a buffalo-robe for a pillow, cooking meals on chip fires, using a slow-burning wormwood bark for matches, and trusting their horses or dog to give the alarm if the bands of coyotes hovering through the night dusk approached too near. On the high rolling plains, hostiles could be descried at a distance, coming over the horizon head and top first like the peak of a sail, or emerging from the "coolies"--dried sloughs--like wolves from the earth. Enemies could be seen soon enough; but where could the trapper hide on bare prairie? He didn't attempt to hide. He simply set fire to the prairie and took refuge on the lee side. That device failing, he was at his enemies' mercy. On the plains, the greatest danger was from lack of water. At one season the trapper might know where to find good camping streams. The next year when he came to those streams they were dry. "After leaving the buffalo meadows a dreadful scarcity of water ensued," wrote Charles MacKenzie, of the famous MacKenzie clan. He was journeying north from the Missouri. "We had to alter our course and steer to a distant lake. When we got there we found the lake dry. However, we dug a pit which produced a kind of stinking liquid which we all drank. It was salt and bitter, caused an inflammation of the mouth, left a disagreeable roughness of the throat, and seemed to increase our thirst.... We passed the night under great uneasiness. Next day we continued our journey, but not a drop of water was to be found, ... and our distress became insupportable.... All at once our horses became so unruly that we could not manage them. We observed that they showed an inclination towards a hill which was close by. It struck me that they might have scented water.... I ascended to the top, where, to my great joy, I discovered a small pool.... My horse plunged in before I could prevent him, ... and all the horses drank to excess." "_The plains across_"--which was a western expression meaning the end of that part of the trip--there rose on the west rolling foothills and dark peaked profiles against the sky scarcely to be distinguished from gray cloud banks. These were the mountains; and the real hazards of free trapping began. No use to follow the easiest passes to the most frequented valleys. The fur company brigades marched through these, sweeping up game like a forest fire; so the free trappers sought out the hidden, inaccessible valleys, going where neither pack horse nor _canot à bec d'esturgeon_ could follow. How did they do it? Very much the way Simon Fraser's hunters crawled down the river-course named after him. "Our shoes," said one trapper, "did not last a single day." "We had to plunge our daggers into the ground, ... otherwise we would slide into the river," wrote Fraser. "We cut steps into the declivity, fastened a line to the front of the canoe, with which some of the men ascended in order to haul it up. .. Our lives hung, as it were, upon a thread, as the failure of the line or the false step of the man might have hurled us into eternity.... We had to pass where no human being should venture.... Steps were formed like a ladder on the shrouds of a ship, by poles hanging to one another and crossed at certain distances with twigs, the whole suspended from the top to the foot of immense precipices, and fastened at both extremities to stones and trees." He speaks of the worst places being where these frail swaying ladders led up to the overhanging ledge of a shelving precipice. * * * * * Such were the very real adventures of the trapper's life, a life whose fascinations lured John Colter from civilization to the wilds again and again till he came back once too often and found himself stripped, helpless, captive, in the hands of the Blackfeet. It would be poor sport torturing a prisoner who showed no more fear than this impassive white man coolly listening and waiting for them to compass his death. So the chief dismissed the suggestion to shoot at their captive as a target. Suddenly the Blackfoot leader turned to Colter. "Could the white man run fast?" he asked. In a flash Colter guessed what was to be his fate. He, the hunter, was to be hunted. No, he cunningly signalled, he was only a poor runner. Bidding his warriors stand still, the chief roughly led Colter out three hundred yards. Then he set his captive free, and the exultant shriek of the running warriors told what manner of sport this was to be. It was a race for life. The white man shot out with all the power of muscles hard as iron-wood and tense as a bent bow. Fear winged the man running for his life to outrace the winged arrows coming from the shouting warriors three hundred yards behind. Before him stretched a plain six miles wide, the distance he had so thoughtlessly paddled between the rampart walls of the cañon but a few hours ago. At the Jefferson was a thick forest growth where a fugitive might escape. Somewhere along the Jefferson was his own hidden cabin. Across this plain sped Colter, pursued by a band of six hundred shrieking demons. Not one breath did he waste looking back over his shoulder till he was more than half-way across the plain, and could tell from the fading uproar that he was outdistancing his hunters. Perhaps it was the last look of despair; but it spurred the jaded racer to redoubled efforts. All the Indians had been left to the rear but one, who was only a hundred yards behind. There was, then, a racing chance of escape! Colter let out in a burst of renewed speed that brought blood gushing over his face, while the cactus spines cut his naked feet like knives. The river was in sight. A mile more, he would be in the wood! But the Indian behind was gaining at every step. Another backward look! The savage was not thirty yards away! He had poised his spear to launch it in Colter's back, when the white man turned fagged and beaten, threw up his arms and stopped! This is an Indian _ruse_ to arrest the pursuit of a wild beast. By force of habit it stopped the Indian too, and disconcerted him so that instead of launching his spear, he fell flat on his face, breaking the shaft in his hand. With a leap, Colter had snatched up the broken point and pinned the savage through the body to the earth. That intercepted the foremost of the other warriors, who stopped to rescue their brave and gave Colter time to reach the river. In he plunged, fainting and dazed, swimming for an island in mid-current where driftwood had formed a sheltered raft. Under this he dived, coming up with his head among branches of trees. * * * * * All that day the Blackfeet searched the island for Colter, running from log to log of the drift; but the close-grown brushwood hid the white man. At night he swam down-stream like any other hunted animal that wants to throw pursuers off the trail, went ashore and struck across country, seven days' journey for the Missouri Company's fort on the Bighorn River. Naked and unarmed, he succeeded in reaching the distant fur post, having subsisted entirely on roots and berries. * * * * * Chittenden says that poor Colter's adventure only won for him in St. Louis the reputation of a colossal liar. But traditions of his escape were current among all hunters and Indian tribes on the Missouri, so that when Bradbury, the English scientist, went west with the Astorians in 1811, he sifted the matter, accepted it as truth, and preserved the episode for history in a small-type foot-note to his book published in London in 1817. Two other adventures are on record similar to Colter's: one of Oskononton's escape by diving under a raft, told in Ross's Fur Hunters; the other of a poor Indian fleeing up the Ottawa from pursuing Iroquois of the Five Nations and diving under the broken bottom of an old beaver-dam, told in the original Jesuit Relations. And yet when the Astorians went up the Missouri a few years later, Colter could scarcely resist the impulse to go a fourth time to the wilds. But fascinations stronger than the wooings of the wilds had come to his life--he had taken to himself a bride. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 38: Would not such critics think twice before passing judgment if they recalled that General Parker was a full-blood Indian; that if Johnston had not married Wabogish's daughter and if Johnston's daughter had not preferred to marry Schoolcraft instead of going to her relatives of the Irish nobility, Longfellow would have written no Hiawatha? Would they not hesitate before slurring men like Premier Norquay of Manitoba and the famous MacKenzies, those princes of fur trade from St. Louis to the Arctic, and David Thompson, the great explorer? Do they forget that Lord Strathcona, one of the foremost peers of Britain, is related to the proudest race of plain-rangers that ever scoured the West, the _Bois-Brûlés_? The writer knows the West from only fifteen years of life and travel there; yet with that imperfect knowledge cannot recall a single fur post without some tradition of an unfamed Pocahontas.] CHAPTER XIV THE GREATEST FUR COMPANY OF THE WORLD In the history of the world only one corporate company has maintained empire over an area as large as Europe. Only one corporate company has lived up to its constitution for nearly three centuries. Only one corporate company's sway has been so beneficent that its profits have stood in exact proportion to the well-being of its subjects. Indeed, few armies can boast a rank and file of men who never once retreated in three hundred years, whose lives, generation after generation, were one long bivouac of hardship, of danger, of ambushed death, of grim purpose, of silent achievement. Such was the company of "Adventurers of England Trading into Hudson's Bay," as the charter of 1670 designated them.[39] Such is the Hudson's Bay Company to-day still trading with savages in the white wilderness of the north as it was when Charles II granted a royal charter for the fur trade to his cousin Prince Rupert. Governors and chief factors have changed with the changing centuries; but the character of the company's personnel has never changed. Prince Rupert, the first governor, was succeeded by the Duke of York (James II); and the royal governor by a long line of distinguished public men down to Lord Strathcona, the present governor, and C. C. Chipman, the chief commissioner or executive officer. All have been men of noted achievement, often in touch with the Crown, always with that passion for executive and mastery of difficulty which exults most when the conflict is keenest. Pioneers face the unknown when circumstances push them into it. Adventurers rush into the unknown for the zest of conquering it. It has been to the adventuring class that fur traders have belonged. Radisson and Groseillers, the two Frenchmen who first brought back word of the great wealth in furs round the far northern sea, had been gentlemen adventurers--"rascals" their enemies called them. Prince Rupert, who leagued himself with the Frenchmen to obtain a charter for his fur trade, had been an adventurer of the high seas--"pirate" we would say--long before he became first governor of the Hudson's Bay Company. And the Duke of Marlborough, the company's third governor, was as great an adventurer as he was a general. Latterly the word "adventurer" has fallen in such evil repute, it may scarcely be applied to living actors. But using it in the old-time sense of militant hero, what cavalier of gold braid and spurs could be more of an adventurer than young Donald Smith who traded in the desolate wastes of Labrador, spending seventeen years in the hardest field of the fur company, tramping on snow-shoes half the width of a continent, camping where night overtook him under blanketing of snow-drifts, who rose step by step from trader on the east coast to commissioner in the west? And this Donald Smith became Lord Strathcona, the governor of the Hudson's Bay Company. Men bold in action and conservative in traditions have ruled the company. The governor resident in England is now represented by the chief commissioner, who in turn is represented at each of the many inland forts by a chief factor of the district. Nominally, the fur-trader's northern realm is governed by the Parliament of Canada. Virtually, the chief factor rules as autocratically to-day as he did before the Canadian Government took over the proprietary rights of the fur company. How did these rulers of the wilds, these princes of the fur trade, live in lonely forts and mountain fastnesses? Visit one of the northern forts as it exists to-day. The colder the climate, the finer the fur. The farther north the fort, the more typical it is of the fur-trader's realm. For six, seven, eight months of the year, the fur-trader's world is a white wilderness of snow; snow water-waved by winds that sweep from the pole; snow drifted into ramparts round the fort stockades till the highest picket sinks beneath the white flood and the corner bastions are almost submerged and the entrance to the central gate resembles the cutting of a railway tunnel; snow that billows to the unbroken reaches of the circling sky-line like a white sea. East, frost-mist hides the low horizon in clouds of smoke, for the sun which rises from the east in other climes rises from the south-east here; and until the spring equinox, bringing summer with a flood-tide of thaw, gray darkness hangs in the east like a fog. South, the sun moves across the snowy levels in a wheel of fire, for it has scarcely risen full sphered above the sky-line before it sinks again etching drift and tip of half-buried brush in long lonely fading shadows. The west shimmers in warm purplish grays, for the moist Chinook winds come over the mountains melting the snow by magic. North, is the cold steel of ice by day; and at night Northern Lights darting through the polar dark like burnished spears. Christmas day is welcomed at the northern fur posts by a firing of cannon from the snow-muffled bastions. Before the stars have faded, chapel services begin. Frequently on either Christmas or New Year's day, a grand feast is given the tawny-skinned _habitués_ of the fort, who come shuffling to the main mess-room with no other announcement than the lifting of the latch, and billet themselves on the hospitality of a host that has never turned hungry Indians from its doors. For reasons well-known to the woodcraftsman, a sudden lull falls on winter hunting in December, and all the trappers within a week's journey from the fort, all the half-breed guides who add to the instinct of native craft the reasoning of the white, all the Indian hunters ranging river-course and mountain have come by snow-shoes and dog train to spend festive days at the fort. A great jangling of bells announces the huskies (dog trains) scampering over the crusted snow-drifts. A babel of barks and curses follows, for the huskies celebrate their arrival by tangling themselves up in their harness and enjoying a free fight. Dogs unharnessed, in troop the trappers to the banquet-hall, flinging packs of tightly roped peltries down promiscuously, to be sorted next day. One Indian enters just as he has left the hunting-field, clad from head to heel in white caribou with the antlers left on the capote as a decoy. His squaw has togged out for the occasion in a comical medley of brass bracelets and finger-rings, with a bear's claw necklace and ermine ruff which no city connoisseur could possibly mistake for rabbit. If a daughter yet remain unappropriated she will display the gayest attire--red flannel galore, red shawl, red scarf, with perhaps an apron of white fox-skin and moccasins garnished in coloured grasses. The braves outdo even a vain young squaw. Whole fox, mink, or otter skins have been braided to the end of their hair, and hang down in two plaits to the floor. Whitest of buckskin has been ornamented with brightest of beads, and over all hangs the gaudiest of blankets, it may be a musk-ox-skin with the feats of the warrior set forth in rude drawings on the smooth side. Children and old people, too, come to the feast, for the Indian's stomach is the magnet that draws his soul. Grotesque little figures the children are, with men's trousers shambling past their heels, rabbit-skin coats with the fur turned in, and on top of all some old stovepipe hat or discarded busby coming half-way down to the urchin's neck. The old people have more resemblance to parchment on gnarled sticks than to human beings. They shiver under dirty blankets with every sort of cast-off rag tied about their limbs, hobbling lame from frozen feet or rheumatism, mumbling toothless requests for something to eat or something to wear, for tobacco, the solace of Indian woes, or what is next best--tea. Among so many guests are many needs. One half-breed from a far wintering outpost, where perhaps a white man and this guide are living in a chinked shack awaiting a hunting party's return, arrives at the fort with frozen feet. Little Labree's feet must be thawed out, and sometimes little Labree dies under the process, leaving as a legacy to the chief factor the death-bed pledge that the corpse be taken to a distant tribal burying-ground. And no matter how inclement the winter, the chief factor keeps his pledge, for the integrity of a promise is the only law in the fur-trader's realm. Special attentions, too, must be paid those old retainers who have acted as mentors of the fort in times of trouble. A few years ago it would not have been safe to give this treat inside the fort walls. Rations would have been served through loop-holes and the feast held outside the gates; but so faithfully have the Indians become bound to the Hudson's Bay Company there are not three forts in the fur territory where Indians must be excluded. Of the feast little need be said. Like the camel, the Indian lays up store for the morrow, judging from his capacity for weeks of morrows. His benefactor no more dines with him than a plantation master of the South would have dined with feasting slaves. Elsewhere a bell calls the company officers to breakfast at 7.30, dinner at 1, supper at 7. Officers dine first, white hunters and trappers second, that difference between master and servant being maintained which is part of the company's almost military discipline. In the large forts are libraries, whither resort the officers for the long winter nights. But over the feast wild hilarity reigns. A French-Canadian fiddler strikes up a tuneless jig that sets the Indians pounding the floor in figureless dances with moccasined heels till midday glides into midnight and midnight to morning. I remember hearing of one such midday feast in Red River settlement that prolonged itself past four of the second morning. Against the walls sit old folks spinning yarns of the past. There is a print of Sir George Simpson behind one _raconteur's_ head. Ah! yes, the oldest guides all remember Sir George, though half a century has passed since his day. He was the governor who travelled with flags flying from every prow, and cannon firing when he left the forts, and men drawn up in procession like soldiers guarding an emperor when he entered the fur posts with _coureurs_ and all the flourish of royal state. Then some story-teller recalls how he has heard the old guides tell of the imperious governor once provoking personal conflict with an equally imperious steersman, who first ducked the governor into a lake they were traversing and then ducked into the lake himself to rescue the governor. And there is a crucifix high on the wall left by Père Lacomb the last time the famous missionary to the red men of the Far North passed this way; and every Indian calls up some kindness done, some sacrifice by Father Lacomb. On the gun-rack are old muskets and Indian masks and scalp-locks, bringing back the days when Russian traders instigated a massacre at this fort and when white traders flew at each other's throats as Nor' Westers struggled with Hudson's Bay for supremacy in the fur trade. "Ah, oui, those white men, they were brave fighters, they did not know how to stop. Mais, sacré, they were fools, those white men after all! Instead of hiding in ambush to catch the foe, those white men measured off paces, stood up face to face and fired blank--oui--fired blank! Ugh! Of course, one fool he was kill' and the other fool, most like, he was wound'! Ugh, by Gar! What Indian would have so little sense?"[40] Of hunting tales, the Indian store is exhaustless. That enormous bear-skin stretched to four pegs on the wall brings up Montagnais, the Noseless One, who still lives on Peace River and once slew the largest bear ever killed in the Rockies, returning to this very fort with one hand dragging the enormous skin and the other holding the place which his nose no longer graced. "Montagnais? Ah, bien messieur! Montagnais, he brave man! Venez ici--bien--so--I tole you 'bout heem," begins some French-Canadian trapper with a strong tinge of Indian blood in his swarthy skin. "Bigosh! He brave man! I tole you 'bout dat happen! Montagnais, he go stumble t'rough snow--how you call dat?--hill, steep--steep! Oui, by Gar! dat vas steep hill! de snow, she go slide, slide, lak' de--de gran' rapeed, see?" emphasizing the snow-slide with illustrative gesture. "Bien, donc! Mais, Montagnais, he stick gun-stock in de snow stop heem fall--so--see? Tonnerre! Bigosh! for sure she go off wan beeg bang! Sacré! She make so much noise she wake wan beeg ol' bear sleep in snow. Montagnais, he tumble on hees back! Mais, messieur, de bear--diable! 'fore Montagnais wink hees eye de bear jump on top lak' wan beeg loup-garou! Montagnais, he brave man--he not scare--he say wan leetle prayer, wan han' he cover his eyes! Odder han'--sacré--dat grab hees knife out hees belt--sz-sz-sz, messieur. For sure he feel her breat'--diable!--for sure he fin' de place her heart beat--Tonnerre! Vite! he stick dat knife in straight up hees wrist, into de heart dat bear! Dat bes' t'ing do--for sure de leetle prayer dat tole him best t'ing do! De bear she roll over--over--dead's wan stone--c'est vrai! she no mor' jump top Montagnais! Bien, ma frien'! Montagnais, he roll over too--leetle bit scare! Mais, hees nose! Ah! bigosh! de bear she got dat; dat all nose he ever haf no mor'! C'est vrai messieur, bien!" And with a finishing flourish the story-teller takes to himself all the credit of Montagnais's heroism. But in all the feasting, trade has not been forgotten; and as soon as the Indians recover from post-prandial torpor bartering begins. In one of the warehouses stands a trader. An Indian approaches with a pack of peltries weighing from eighty to a hundred pounds. Throwing it down, he spreads out the contents. Of otter and mink and pekan there will be plenty, for these fish-eaters are most easily taken before midwinter frost has frozen the streams solid. In recent years there have been few beaver-skins, a closed season of several years giving the little rodents a chance to multiply. By treaty the Indian may hunt all creatures of the chase as long as "the sun rises and the rivers flow"; but the fur-trader can enforce a closed season by refusing to barter for the pelts. Of musk-rat-skins, hundreds of thousands are carried to the forts every season. The little haycock houses of musk-rats offer the trapper easy prey when frost freezes the sloughs, shutting off retreat below, and heavy snow-fall has not yet hidden the little creatures' winter home. The trading is done in several ways. Among the Eskimo, whose arithmetical powers seldom exceed a few units, the trader holds up his hand with one, two, three fingers raised, signifying that he offers for the skin before him equivalents in value to one, two, three prime beaver. If satisfied, the Indian passes over the furs and the trader gives flannel, beads, powder, knives, tea, or tobacco to the value of the beaver-skins indicated by the raised fingers. If the Indian demands more, hunter and trader wrangle in pantomime till compromise is effected. But always beaver-skin is the unit of coin. Beaver are the Indian's dollars and cents, his shillings and pence, his tokens of currency. South of the Arctics, where native intelligence is of higher grade, the beaver values are represented by goose-quills, small sticks, bits of shell, or, most common of all, disks of lead, tea-chests melted down, stamped on one side with the company arms, on the other with the figures 1, 2, 1/2, 1/4, representing so much value in beaver. First of all, then, furs in the pack must be sorted, silver fox worth five hundred dollars separated from cross fox and blue and white worth from ten dollars down, according to quality, and from common red fox worth less. Twenty years ago it was no unusual thing for the Hudson's Bay Company to send to England yearly 10,000 cross fox-skins, 7,000 blue, 100,000 red, half a dozen silver. Few wolf-skins are in the trapper's pack unless particularly fine specimens of brown arctic and white arctic, bought as a curiosity and not for value as skins. Against the wolf, the trapper wages war as against a pest that destroys other game, and not for its skin. Next to musk-rat the most plentiful fur taken by the Indian, though not highly esteemed by the trader, will be that of the rabbit or varying hare. Buffalo was once the staple of the hunter. What the buffalo was the white rabbit is to-day. From it the Indian gets clothing, tepee, covers, blankets, thongs, food. From it the white man who is a manufacturer of furs gets gray fox and chinchilla and seal in imitation. Except one year in seven, when a rabbit plague spares the land by cutting down their prolific numbers, the varying hare is plentiful enough to sustain the Indian. Having received so many bits of lead for his furs, the Indian goes to the store counter where begins interminable dickering. Montagnais's squaw has only fifty "beaver" coin, and her desires are a hundredfold what those will buy. Besides, the copper-skinned lady enjoys beating down prices and driving a bargain so well that she would think the clerk a cheat if he asked a fixed price from the first. She expects him to have a sliding scale of prices for his goods as she has for her furs. At the termination of each bargain, so many coins pass across the counter. Frequently an Indian presents himself at the counter without beaver enough to buy necessaries. What then? I doubt if in all the years of Hudson's Bay Company rule one needy Indian has ever been turned away. The trader advances what the Indian needs and chalks up so many "beaver" against the trapper's next hunt. Long ago, when rival traders strove for the furs, whisky played a disgracefully prominent part in all bartering, the drunk Indian being an easier victim than the sober, and the Indian mad with thirst for liquor the most easily cajoled of all. But to-day when there is no competition, whisky plays no part whatever. Whisky is in the fort, so is pain killer, for which the Indian has as keen an appetite, both for the exigencies of hazardous life in an unsparing climate beyond medical aid; but the first thing Hudson's Bay traders did in 1885, when rebel Indians surrounded the Saskatchewan forts, was to split the casks and spill all alcohol. The second thing was to bury ammunition--showing which influence they considered the more dangerous. Ermine is at its best when the cold is most intense, the tawny weasel coat turning from fawn to yellow, from yellow to cream and snow-white, according to the latitude north and the season. Unless it is the pelt of the baby ermine, soft as swan's down, tail-tip jet as onyx, the best ermine is not likely to be in a pack brought to the fort as early as Christmas. Fox, lynx, mink, marten, otter, and bear, the trapper can take with steel-traps of a size varying with the game, or even with the clumsily constructed deadfall, the log suspended above the bait being heavy or light, according to the hunter's expectation of large or small intruder; but the ermine with fur as easily damaged as finest gauze must be handled differently. Going the rounds of his traps, the hunter has noted curious tiny tracks like the dots and dashes of a telegraphic code. Here are little prints slurring into one another in a dash; there, a dead stop, where the quick-eared stoat has paused with beady eyes alert for snowbird or rabbit. Here, again, a clear blank on the snow where the crafty little forager has dived below the light surface and wriggled forward like a snake to dart up with a plunge of fangs into the heart-blood of the unwary snow-bunting. From the length of the leaps, the trapper judges the age of the ermine; fourteen inches from nose to tail-tip means a full-grown ermine with hair too coarse to be damaged by a snare. The man suspends the noose of a looped twine across the runway from a twig bent down so that the weight of the ermine on the string sends the twig springing back with a jerk that lifts the ermine off the ground, strangling it instantly. Perhaps on one side of the twine he has left bait--smeared grease, or a bit of meat. If the tracks are like the prints of a baby's fingers, close and small, the trapper hopes to capture a pelt fit for a throne cloak, the skin for which the Louis of France used to pay, in modern money, from a hundred dollars to a hundred and fifty dollars. The full-grown ermines will be worth only some few "beaver" at the fort. Perfect fur would be marred by the twine snare, so the trapper devises as cunning a death for the ermine as the ermine devises when it darts up through the snow with its spear-teeth clutched in the throat of a poor rabbit. Smearing his hunting-knife with grease, he lays it across the track. The little ermine comes trotting in dots and dashes and gallops and dives to the knife. It smells the grease, and all the curiosity which has been teaching it to forage for food since it was born urges it to put out its tongue and taste. That greasy smell of meat it knows; but that frost-silvered bit of steel is something new. The knife is frosted like ice. Ice the ermine has licked, so he licks the knife. But alas for the resemblance between ice and steel! Ice turns to water under the warm tongue; steel turns to fire that blisters and holds the foolish little stoat by his inquisitive tongue a hopeless prisoner till the trapper comes. And lest marauding wolverine or lynx should come first and gobble up priceless ermine, the trapper comes soon. And that is the end for the ermine. Before settlers invaded the valley of the Saskatchewan the furs taken at a leading fort would amount to: Bear of all varieties 400 Ermine, medium 200 Blue fox 4 Red fox 91 Silver fox 3 Marten 2,000 Musk-rat 200,000 Mink 8,000 Otter 500 Skunk 6 Wolf 100 Beaver 5,000 Pekan (fisher) 50 Cross fox 30 White fox 400 Lynx 400 Wolverine 200 The value of these furs in "beaver" currency varied with the fashions of the civilized world, with the scarcity or plenty of the furs, with the locality of the fort. Before beaver became so scarce, 100 beaver equalled 40 marten or 10 otter or 300 musk-rat; 25 beaver equalled 500 rabbit; 1 beaver equalled 2 white fox; and so on down the scale. But no set table of values can be given other than the prices realized at the annual sale of Hudson's Bay furs, held publicly in London. To understand the values of these furs to the Indian, "beaver" currency must be compared to merchandise, one beaver buying such a red handkerchief as trappers wear around their brows to notify other hunters not to shoot; one beaver buys a hunting-knife, two an axe, from eight to twenty a gun or rifle, according to its quality. And in one old trading list I found--vanity of vanities--"one beaver equals looking-glass." Trading over, the trappers disperse to their winter hunting-grounds, which the main body of hunters never leaves from October, when they go on the fall hunt, to June, when the long straggling brigades of canoes and keel boats and pack horses and jolting ox-carts come back to the fort with the harvest of winter furs. Signs unnoted by the denizens of city serve to guide the trappers over trackless wastes of illimitable snow. A whitish haze of frost may hide the sun, or continuous snow-fall-blur every land-mark. What heeds the trapper? The slope of the rolling hills, the lie of the frozen river-beds, the branches of underbrush protruding through billowed drifts are hands that point the trapper's compass. For those hunters who have gone westward to the mountains, the task of threading pathless forest stillness is more difficult. At a certain altitude in the mountains, much frequented by game because undisturbed by storms, snow falls--falls--falls, without ceasing, heaping the pines with snow mushrooms, blotting out the sun, cloaking in heavy white flakes the notched bark blazed as a trail, transforming the rustling green forests to a silent spectral world without a mark to direct the hunter. Here the woodcraftsman's lore comes to his aid. He looks to the snow-coned tops of the pine trees. The tops of pine trees lean ever so slightly towards the rising sun. With his snow-shoes he digs away the snow at the roots of trees to get down to the moss. Moss grows from the roots of trees on the shady side--that is, the north. And simplest of all, demanding only that a wanderer use his eyes--which the white man seldom does--the limbs of the northern trees are most numerous on the south. The trapper may be waylaid by storms, or starved by sudden migration of game from the grounds to which he has come, or run to earth by the ravenous timber-wolves that pursue the dog teams for leagues; but the trapper with Indian blood in his veins will not be lost. One imminent danger is of accident beyond aid. A young Indian hunter of Moose Factory set out with his wife and two children for the winter hunting-grounds in the forest south of James Bay. To save the daily allowance of a fish for each dog, they did not take the dog teams. When chopping, the hunter injured his leg. The wound proved stubborn. Game was scarce, and they had not enough food to remain in the lodge. Wrapping her husband in robes on the long toboggan sleigh, the squaw placed the younger child beside him and with the other began tramping through the forest drawing the sleigh behind. The drifts were not deep enough for swift snow-shoeing over underbrush, and their speed was not half so speedy as the hunger that pursues northern hunters like the Fenris Wolf of Norse myth. The woman sank exhausted on the snow and the older boy, nerved with fear, pushed on to Moose Factory for help. Guided by the boy back through the forests, the fort people found the hunter dead in the sleigh, the mother crouched forward unconscious from cold, stripped of the clothing which she had wrapped round the child taken in her arms to warm with her own body. The child was alive and well. The fur traders nursed the woman back to life, though she looked more like a withered creature of eighty than a woman barely in her twenties. She explained with a simple unconsciousness of heroism that the ground had been too hard for her to bury her husband, and she was afraid to leave the body and go on to the fort lest the wolves should molest the dead.[41] The arrival of the mail packet is one of the most welcome breaks in the monotony of life at the fur post. When the mail comes, all white habitants of the fort take a week's holidays to read letters and news of the outside world. Railways run from Lake Superior to the Pacific; but off the line of railways mail is carried as of old. In summer-time overland runners, canoe, and company steamers bear the mail to the forts of Hudson Bay, of the Saskatchewan, of the Rockies, and the MacKenzie. In winter, scampering huskies with a running postman winged with snow-shoes dash across the snowy wastes through silent forests to the lonely forts of the bay, or slide over the prairie drifts with the music of tinkling bells and soft crunch-crunch of sleigh runners through the snow crust to the leagueless world of the Far North. Forty miles a day, a couch of spruce boughs where the racquets have dug a hole in the snow, sleighs placed on edge as a wind break, dogs crouched on the buffalo-robes snarling over the frozen fish, deep bayings from the running wolf-pack, and before the stars have faded from the frosty sky, the mail-carrier has risen and is coasting away fast as the huskies can gallop. Another picturesque feature of the fur trade was the long caravan of ox-carts that used to screech and creak and jolt over the rutted prairie roads between Winnipeg and St. Paul. More than 1,500 Hudson's Bay Company carts manned by 500 traders with tawny spouses and black-eyed impish children, squatted on top of the load, left Canada for St. Paul in August and returned in October. The carts were made without a rivet of iron. Bent wood formed the tires of the two wheels. Hardwood axles told their woes to the world in the scream of shrill bagpipes. Wooden racks took the place of cart box. In the shafts trod a staid old ox guided from the horns or with a halter, drawing the load with collar instead of a yoke. The harness was of skin thongs. In place of the ox sometimes was a "shagganippy" pony, raw and unkempt, which the imps lashed without mercy or the slightest inconvenience to the horse. A red flag with the letters H. B. C. in white decorated the leading cart. During the Sioux massacres the fur caravans were unmolested, for the Indians recognised the flags and wished to remain on good terms with the fur traders. Ox-carts still bring furs to Hudson's Bay Company posts, and screech over the corduroyed swamps of the MacKenzie; but the railway has replaced the caravan as a carrier of freight. [Illustration: Carrying goods over long _portage_ in MacKenzie River region with the old-fashioned Red River ox-carts.] Hudson's Bay Company steamers now ply on the largest of the inland rivers with long lines of fur-laden barges in tow; but the canoe brigades still bring the winter's hunt to the forts in spring. Five to eight craft make a brigade, each manned by eight paddlers with an experienced steersman, who is usually also guide. But the one ranking first in importance is the bowman, whose quick eye must detect signs of nearing rapids, whose steel-shod pole gives the cue to the other paddlers and steers the craft past foamy reefs. The bowman it is who leaps out first when there is "tracking"--pulling the craft up-stream by tow-line--who stands waist high in ice water steadying the rocking bark lest a sudden swirl spill furs to the bottom, who hands out the packs to the others when the waters are too turbulent for "tracking" and there must be a "_portage_," and who leads the brigade on a run--half trot, half amble--overland to the calmer currents. "Pipes" are the measure of a _portage_--that is, the pipes smoked while the _voyageurs_ are on the run. The bowman it is who can thread a network of water-ways by day or dark, past rapids or whirlpools, with the certainty of an arrow to the mark. On all long trips by dog train or canoe, pemmican made of buffalo meat and marrow put in air-tight bags was the standard food. The pemmican now used is of moose or caribou beef. The only way to get an accurate idea of the size of the kingdom ruled by these monarchs of the lonely wastes is by comparison. Take a map of North America. On the east is Labrador, a peninsula as vast as Germany and Holland and Belgium and half of France. On the coast and across the unknown interior are the magical letters H. B. C., meaning Hudson's Bay Company fort (past or present), a little whitewashed square with eighteen-foot posts planted picket-wise for a wall, match-box bastions loopholed for musketry, a barracks-like structure across the court-yard with a high lookout of some sort near the gate. Here some trader with wife and children and staff of Indian servants has held his own against savagery and desolating loneliness. In one of these forts Lord Strathcona passed his youth. Once more to the map. With one prong of a compass in the centre of Hudson Bay, describe a circle. The northern half embraces the baffling arctics; but on the line of the southern circumference like beads on a string are Churchill high on the left, York below in black capitals as befits the importance of the great fur emporium of the bay, Severn and Albany and Moose and Rupert and Fort George round the south, and to the right, larger and more strongly built forts than in Labrador, with the ruins of stone walls at Churchill that have a depth of fifteen feet. Six-pounders once mounted these bastions. The remnants of galleries for soldiery run round the inside walls. A flag floats over each fort with the letters H. B. C.[42] Officers' dwellings occupy the centre of the court-yard. Banked against the walls are the men's quarters, fur presses, stables, storerooms. Always there is a chapel, at one fort a hospital, at others the relics of stoutly built old powder magazines made to withstand the siege of hand grenades tossed in by French assailants from the bay, who knew that the loot of a fur post was better harvest than a treasure ship. Elsewhere two small bastions situated diagonally across from each other were sufficient to protect the fur post by sending a raking fire along the walls; but here there was danger of the French fleet, and the walls were built with bastion and trench and rampart. Again to the map. Between Hudson Bay and the Rocky Mountains stretches an American Siberia--the Barren Lands. Here, too, on every important waterway, Athabasca and the Liard and the MacKenzie into the land of winter night and midnight sun, extend Hudson's Bay Company posts. We think of these northern streams as ice-jammed, sluggish currents, with mean log villages on their banks. The fur posts of the sub-arctics are not imposing with picket fences in place of stockades, for no French foe was feared here. But the MacKenzie River is one of the longest in the world, with two tributaries each more than 1,000 miles in length. It has a width of a mile, and a succession of rapids that rival the St. Lawrence, and palisaded banks higher than the Hudson River's, and half a dozen lakes into one of which you could drop two New England States without raising a sand bar. The map again. Between the prairie and the Pacific Ocean is a wilderness of peaks, a Switzerland stretched into half the length of a continent. Here, too, like eagle nests in rocky fastnesses are fur posts. Such is the realm of the Hudson's Bay Company to-day. Before 1812 there was no international boundary in the fur trade. But after the war Congress barred out Canadian companies. The next curtailment of hunting-ground came in 1869-'70, when the company surrendered proprietary rights to the Canadian Government, retaining only the right to trade in the vast north land. The formation of new Canadian provinces took place south of the Saskatchewan; but north the company barters pelts undisturbed as of old. Yearly the staffs are shifted from post to post as the fortunes of the hunt vary; but the principal posts not including winter quarters for a special hunt have probably not exceeded two hundred in number, nor fallen below one hundred for the last century. Of these the greater numbers are of course in the Far North. When the Hudson's Bay Company was fighting rivals, Nor' Westers from Montreal, Americans from St. Louis, it must have employed as traders, packers, _coureurs_, canoe men, hunters, and guides, at least 5,000 men; for its rival employed that number, and "The Old Lady," as the enemy called it, always held her own. Over this wilderness army were from 250 to 300 officers, each with the power of life and death in his hands. To the honour of the company, be it said, this power was seldom abused.[43] Occasionally a brutal sea-captain might use lash and triangle and branding along the northern coast; but officers defenceless among savage hordes must of necessity have lived on terms of justice with their men. The Canadian Government now exercises judicial functions; but where less than 700 mounted police patrol a territory as large as Siberia, the company's factor is still the chief representative of the law's power. Times without number under the old _régime_ has a Hudson's Bay officer set out alone and tracked an Indian murderer to hidden fastness, there to arrest him or shoot him dead on the spot; because if murder went unpunished that mysterious impulse to kill which is as rife in the savage heart as in the wolf's would work its havoc unchecked. Just as surely as "the sun rises and the rivers flow" the savage knows when the hunt fails he will receive help from the Hudson's Bay officer. But just as surely he knows if he commits any crime that same unbending, fearless white man will pursue--and pursue--and pursue guilt to the death. One case is on record of a trader thrashing an Indian within an inch of his life for impudence to officers two or three years before. Of course, the vendetta may cut both ways, the Indian treasuring vengeance in his heart till he can wreak it. That is an added reason why the white man's justice must be unimpeachable. "_Pro pelle cutem_," says the motto of the company arms. Without flippancy it might be said "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," as well as "A skin for a skin"--which explains the freedom from crime among northern Indians. And who are the subjects living under this Mosaic paternalism? Stunted Eskimo of the Far North, creatures as amphibious as the seals whose coats they wear, with the lustreless eyes of dwarfed intelligence and the agility of seal flippers as they whisk double-bladed paddles from side to side of the darting kyacks; wandering Montagnais from the domed hills of Labrador, lonely and sad and silent as the naked desolation of their rugged land; Ojibways soft-voiced as the forest glooms in that vast land of spruce tangle north of the Great Lakes; Crees and Sioux from the plains, cunning with the stealth of creatures that have hunted and been hunted on the shelterless prairie; Blackfeet and Crows, game birds of the foothills that have harried all other tribes for tribute, keen-eyed as the eagles on the mountains behind them, glorying in war as the finest kind of hunting; mountain tribes--Stonies, Kootenais, Shoshonies--splendid types of manhood because only the fittest can survive the hardships of the mountains; coast Indians, Chinook and Chilcoot--low and lazy because the great rivers feed them with salmon and they have no need to work. Over these lawless Arabs of the New World wilderness the Hudson's Bay Company has ruled for two and a half centuries with smaller loss of life in the aggregate than the railways of the United States cause in a single year. Hunters have been lost in the wilds. White trappers have been assassinated by Indians. Forts have been wiped out of existence. Ten, twenty, thirty traders have been massacred at different times. But, then, the loss of life on railways totals up to thousands in a single year. When fighting rivals long ago, it is true that the Hudson's Bay Company recognised neither human nor divine law. Grant the charge and weigh it against the benefits of the company's rule. When Hearne visited Chippewyans two centuries ago he found the Indians in a state uncontaminated by the trader; and that state will give the ordinary reader cold shivers of horror at the details of massacre and degradation. Every visitor since has reported the same tribe improved in standard of living under Hudson's Bay rule. Recently a well-known Canadian governor making an itinerary of the territory round the bay found the Indians such devout Christians that they put his white retinue to shame. Returning to civilization, the governor was observed attending the services of his own denomination with a greater fury than was his wont. Asked the reason, he confided to a club friend that he would be _blanked_ if he could allow heathen Indians to be better Christians than he was. Some of the shiftless Indians may be hopelessly in debt to the company for advanced provisions, but if the company had not made these advances the Indians would have starved, and the debt is never exacted by seizure of the hunt that should go to feed a family. Of how many other creditors may that be said? Of how many companies that it has cared for the sick, sought the lost, fed the starving, housed the homeless? With all its faults, that is the record of the Hudson's Bay Company. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 39: The spelling of the name with an apostrophe in the charter seems to be the only reason for the company's name always having the apostrophe, whereas the waters are now known simply as Hudson Bay.] [Footnote 40: To the Indian mind the hand-to-hand duels between white traders were incomprehensible pieces of folly.] [Footnote 41: It need hardly be explained that it is the prairie Indian and not the forest Ojibway who places the body on high scaffolding above the ground; hence the woman's dilemma.] [Footnote 42: The flag was hoisted on Sundays to notify the Indians there would be no trade.] [Footnote 43: Governor Norton will, of course, be recalled as the most conspicuous for his brutality.] CHAPTER XV KOOT AND THE BOB-CAT Old whaling ships, that tumble round the world and back again from coast to coast over strange seas, hardly ever suffer any of the terrible disasters that are always overtaking the proud men-of-war and swift liners equipped with all that science can do for them against misfortune. Ask an old salt why this is, and he will probably tell you that he _feels_ his way forward or else that he steers by the same chart as _that_--jerking his thumb sideways from the wheel towards some sea gull careening over the billows. A something, that is akin to the instinct of wild creatures warning them when to go north for the summer, when to go south for the winter, when to scud for shelter from coming storm, guides the old whaler across chartless seas. So it is with the trapper. He may be caught in one of his great steel-traps and perish on the prairie. He may run short of water and die of thirst on the desert. He may get his pack horses tangled up in a valley where there is no game and be reduced to the alternative of destroying what will carry him back to safety or starving with a horse still under him, before he can get over the mountains into another valley--but the true trapper will literally never lose himself. Lewis and Clark rightly merit the fame of having first _explored_ the Missouri-Columbia route; but years before the Louisiana purchase, free trappers were already on the Columbia. David Thompson of the North-West Company was the first Canadian to _explore_ the lower Columbia; but before Thompson had crossed the Rockies, French hunters were already ranging the forests of the Pacific slope. How did these coasters of the wilds guide themselves over prairies that were a chartless sea and mountains that were a wilderness? How does the wavey know where to find the rush-grown inland pools? Who tells the caribou mother to seek refuge on islands where the water will cut off the wolves that would prey on her young? Something, which may be the result of generations of accumulated observation, guides the wavey and the caribou. Something, which may be the result of unconscious inference from a life-time of observation, guides the man. In the animal we call it instinct, in the man, reason; and in the case of the trapper tracking pathless wilds, the conscious reason of the man seems almost merged in the automatic instinct of the brute. It is not sharp-sightedness--though no man is sharper of sight than the trapper. It is not acuteness of hearing--though the trapper learns to listen with the noiseless stealth of the pencil-eared lynx. It is not touch--in the sense of tactile contact--any more than it is touch that tells a suddenly awakened sleeper of an unexpected noiseless presence in a dark room. It is something deeper than the tabulated five senses, a sixth sense--a sense of _feel_, without contact--a sense on which the whole sensate world writes its records as on a palimpsest. This palimpsest is the trapper's chart, this sense of _feel_, his weapon against the instinct of the brute. What part it plays in the life of every ranger of the wilds can best be illustrated by telling how Koot found his way to the fur post after the rabbit-hunt. * * * * * When the midwinter lull falls on the hunt, there is little use in the trapper going far afield. Moose have "yarded up." Bear have "holed up" and the beaver are housed till dwindling stores compel them to come out from their snow-hidden domes. There are no longer any buffalo for the trapper to hunt during the lull; but what buffalo formerly were to the hunter, rabbit are to-day. Shields and tepee covers, moccasins, caps and coats, thongs and meat, the buffalo used to supply. These are now supplied by "wahboos--little white chap," which is the Indian name for rabbit. And there is no midwinter lull for "wahboos." While the "little white chap" runs, the long-haired, owlish-eyed lynx of the Northern forest runs too. So do all the lynx's feline cousins, the big yellowish cougar of the mountains slouching along with his head down and his tail lashing and a footstep as light and sinuous and silent as the motion of a snake; the short-haired lucifee gorging himself full of "little white chaps" and stretching out to sleep on a limb in a dapple of sunshine and shadow so much like the lucifee's skin not even a wolf would detect the sleeper; the bunchy bob-cat bounding and skimming over the snow for all the world like a bouncing football done up in gray fur--all members of the cat tribe running wherever the "little white chaps" run. So when the lull fell on the hunt and the mink trapping was well over and marten had not yet begun, Koot gathered up his traps, and getting a supply of provisions at the fur post, crossed the white wastes of prairie to lonely swamp ground where dwarf alder and willow and cottonwood and poplar and pine grew in a tangle. A few old logs dovetailed into a square made the wall of a cabin. Over these he stretched the canvas of his tepee for a roof at a sharp enough angle to let the heavy snow-fall slide off from its own weight. Moss chinked up the logs. Snow banked out the wind. Pine boughs made the floor, two logs with pine boughs, a bed. An odd-shaped stump served as chair or table; and on the logs of the inner walls hung wedge-shaped slabs of cedar to stretch the skins. A caribou curtain or bear-skin across the entrance completed Koot's winter quarters for the rabbit-hunt. Koot's genealogy was as vague as that of all old trappers hanging round fur posts. Part of him--that part which served best when he was on the hunting-field--was Ojibway. The other part, which made him improvise logs into chair and table and bed, was white man; and that served him best when he came to bargain with the chief factor over the pelts. At the fur post he attended the Catholic mission. On the hunting-field, when suddenly menaced by some great danger, he would cry out in the Indian tongue words that meant "O Great Spirit!" And it is altogether probable that at the mission and on the hunting-field, Koot was worshipping the same Being. When he swore--strange commentary on civilization--he always used white man's oaths, French _patois_ or straight English. Though old hermits may be found hunting alone through the Rockies, Idaho, Washington, and Minnesota, trappers do not usually go to the wilds alone; but there was so little danger in rabbit-snaring, that Koot had gone out accompanied by only the mongrel dog that had drawn his provisions from the fort on a sort of toboggan sleigh. The snow is a white page on which the wild creatures write their daily record for those who can read. All over the white swamp were little deep tracks; here, holes as if the runner had sunk; there, padded marks as from the bound--bound--bound of something soft; then, again, where the thicket was like a hedge with only one breach through, the footprints had beaten a little hard rut walled by the soft snow. Koot's dog might have detected a motionless form under the thicket of spiney shrubs, a form that was gray almost to whiteness and scarcely to be distinguished from the snowy underbrush but for the blink of a prism light--the rabbit's eye. If the dog did catch that one tell-tale glimpse of an eye which a cunning rabbit would have shut, true to the training of his trapper master he would give no sign of the discovery except perhaps the pricking forward of both ears. Koot himself preserved as stolid a countenance as the rabbit playing dead or simulating a block of wood. Where the footprints ran through the breached hedge, Koot stooped down and planted little sticks across the runway till there was barely room for a weasel to pass. Across the open he suspended a looped string hung from a twig bent so that the slightest weight in the loop would send it up with a death jerk for anything caught in the tightening twine. All day long, Koot goes from hedge to hedge, from runway to runway, choosing always the places where natural barriers compel the rabbit to take this path and no other, travelling if he can in a circle from his cabin so that the last snare set will bring him back with many a zigzag to the first snare made. If rabbits were plentiful--as they always were in the fur country of the North except during one year in seven when an epidemic spared the land from a rabbit pest--Koot's circuit of snares would run for miles through the swamp. Traps for large game would be set out so that the circuit would require only a day; but where rabbits are numerous, the foragers that prey--wolf and wolverine and lynx and bob-cat--will be numerous, too; and the trapper will not set out more snares than he can visit twice a day. Noon--the Indian's hour of the short shadow--is the best time for the first visit, nightfall, the time of no shadow at all, for the second. If the trapper has no wooden door to his cabin, and in it--instead of caching in a tree--keeps fish or bacon that may attract marauding wolverine, he will very probably leave his dogs on guard while he makes the round of the snares. Finding tracks about the shack when he came back for his noonday meal, Koot shouted sundry instructions into the mongrel's ear, emphasized them with a moccasin kick, picked up the sack in which he carried bait, twine, and traps, and set out in the evening to make the round of his snares, unaccompanied by the dog. Rabbit after rabbit he found, gray and white, hanging stiff and stark, dead from their own weight, strangled in the twine snares. Snares were set anew, the game strung over his shoulder, and Koot was walking through the gray gloaming for the cabin when that strange sense of _feel_ told him that he was being followed. What was it? Could it be the dog? He whistled--he called it by name. In all the world, there is nothing so ghostly silent, so deathly quiet as the swamp woods, muffled in the snow of midwinter, just at nightfall. By day, the grouse may utter a lonely cluck-cluck, or the snowbuntings chirrup and twitter and flutter from drift to hedge-top, or the saucy jay shriek some scolding impudence. A squirrel may chatter out his noisy protest at some thief for approaching the nuts which lie cached under the rotten leaves at the foot of the tree, or the sun-warmth may set the melting snow showering from the swan's-down branches with a patter like rain. But at nightfall the frost has stilled the drip of thaw. Squirrel and bird are wrapped in the utter quiet of a gray darkness. And the marauders that fill midnight with sharp bark, shrill trembling scream, deep baying over the snow are not yet abroad in the woods. All is shadowless--stillness--a quiet that is audible. Koot turned sharply and whistled and called his dog. There wasn't a sound. Later when the frost began to tighten, sap-frozen twigs would snap. The ice of the swamp, frozen like rock, would by-and-bye crackle with the loud echo of a pistol-shot--crackle--and strike--and break as if artillery were firing a fusillade and infantry shooters answering sharp. By-and-bye, moon and stars and Northern Lights would set the shadows dancing; and the wail of the cougar would be echoed by the lifting scream of its mate. But now, was not a sound, not a motion, not a shadow, only the noiseless stillness, the shadowless quiet, and the _feel_, the _feel_ of something back where the darkness was gathering like a curtain in the bush. It might, of course, be only a silly long-ears loping under cover parallel to the man, looking with rabbit curiosity at this strange newcomer to the swamp home of the animal world. Koot's sense of _feel_ told him that it wasn't a rabbit; but he tried to persuade himself that it was, the way a timid listener persuades herself that creaking floors are burglars. Thinking of his many snares, Koot smiled and walked on. Then it came again, that _feel_ of something coursing behind the underbrush in the gloom of the gathering darkness. Koot stopped short--and listened--and listened--listened to a snow-muffled silence, to a desolating solitude that pressed in on the lonely hunter like the waves of a limitless sea round a drowning man. The sense of _feel_ that is akin to brute instinct gave him the impression of a presence. Reason that is man's told him what it might be and what to do. Was he not carrying the snared rabbits over his shoulder? Some hungry flesh-eater, more bloodthirsty than courageous, was still hunting him for the food on his back and only lacked the courage to attack. Koot drew a steel-trap from his bag. He did not wish to waste a rabbit-skin, so he baited the spring with a piece of fat bacon, smeared the trap, the snow, everything that he had touched with a rabbit-skin, and walked home through the deepening dark to the little log cabin where a sharp "woof-woof" of welcome awaited him. That night, in addition to the skins across the doorway, Koot jammed logs athwart; "to keep the cold out" he told himself. Then he kindled a fire on the rough stone hearth built at one end of the cabin and with the little clay pipe beneath his teeth sat down on the stump chair to broil rabbit. The waste of the rabbit he had placed in traps outside the lodge. Once his dog sprang alert with pricked ears. Man and dog heard the sniff--sniff--sniff of some creature attracted to the cabin by the smell of broiling meat, and now rummaging at its own risk among the traps. And once when Koot was stretched out on a bear-skin before the fire puffing at his pipe-stem, drying his moccasins and listening to the fusillade of frost rending ice and earth, a long low piercing wail rose and fell and died away. Instantly from the forest of the swamp came the answering scream--a lifting tumbling eldritch shriek. "I should have set two traps," says Koot. "They are out in pairs." * * * * * Black is the flag of danger to the rabbit world. The antlered shadows of the naked poplar or the tossing arms of the restless pines, the rabbit knows to be harmless shadows unless their dapple of sun and shade conceals a brindled cat. But a shadow that walks and runs means to the rabbit a foe; so the wary trapper prefers to visit his snares at the hour of the short shadow. It did not surprise the trapper after he had heard the lifting wail from the swamp woods the night before that the bacon in the trap lay untouched. The still hunter that had crawled through the underbrush lured by the dead rabbits over Koot's shoulder wanted rabbit, not bacon. But at the nearest rabbit snare, where a poor dead prisoner had been torn from the twine, were queer padded prints in the snow, not of the rabbit's making. Koot stood looking at the tell-tale mark. The dog's ears were all aprick. So was Koot's sense of _feel_, but he couldn't make this thing out. There was no trail of approach or retreat. The padded print of the thief was in the snow as if the animal had dropped from the sky and gone back to the sky. Koot measured off ten strides from the rifled snare and made a complete circuit round it. The rabbit runway cut athwart the snow circle, but no mark like that shuffling padded print. "It isn't a wolverine, and it isn't a fisher, and it isn't a coyote," Koot told himself. The dog emitted stupid little sharp barks looking everywhere and nowhere as if he felt what he could neither see nor hear. Koot measured off ten strides more from this circuit and again walked completely round the snare. Not even the rabbit runways cut this circle. The white man grows indignant when baffled, the Indian superstitious. The part that was white man in Koot sent him back to the scene in quick jerky steps to scatter poisoned rabbit meat over the snow and set a trap in which he readily sacrificed a full-grown bunny. The part that was Indian set a world of old memories echoing, memories that were as much Koot's nature as the swarth of his skin, memories that Koot's mother and his mother's ancestors held of the fabulous man-eating wolf called the loup-garou, and the great white beaver father of all beavers and all Indians that glided through the swamp mists at night like a ghost, and the monster grisly that stalked with uncouth gambols through the dark devouring benighted hunters. This time when the mongrel uttered his little sharp barkings that said as plainly as a dog could speak, "Something's somewhere! Be careful there--oh!--I'll be _on_ to you in just one minute!" Koot kicked the dog hard with plain anger; and his anger was at himself because his eyes and his ears failed to localize, to _real_-ize, to visualize what those little pricks and shivers tingling down to his finger-tips meant. Then the civilized man came uppermost in Koot and he marched off very matter of fact to the next snare. But if Koot's vision had been as acute as his sense of _feel_ and he had glanced up to the topmost spreading bough of a pine just above the snare, he might have detected lying in a dapple of sun and shade something with large owl eyes, something whose pencilled ear-tufts caught the first crisp of the man's moccasins over the snow-crust. Then the ear-tufts were laid flat back against a furry form hardly differing from the dapple of sun and shade. The big owl eyes closed to a tiny blinking slit that let out never a ray of tell-tale light. The big round body mottled gray and white like the snowy tree widened--stretched---flattened till it was almost a part of the tossing pine bough. Only when the man and dog below the tree had passed far beyond did the pencilled ears blink forward and the owl eyes open and the big body bunch out like a cat with elevated haunches ready to spring. But by-and-bye the man's snares began to tell on the rabbits. They grew scarce and timid. And the thing that had rifled the rabbit snares grew hunger-bold. One day when Koot and the dog were skimming across the billowy drifts, something black far ahead bounced up, caught a bunting on the wing, and with another bounce disappeared among the trees. Koot said one word--"Cat!"--and the dog was off full cry. Ever since he had heard that wailing call from the swamp woods, he had known that there were rival hunters, the keenest of all still hunters among the rabbits. Every day he came upon the trail of their ravages, rifled snares, dead squirrels, torn feathers, even the remains of a fox or a coon. And sometimes he could tell from the printings on the white page that the still hunter had been hunted full cry by coyote or timber-wolf. Against these wolfish foes the cat had one sure refuge always--a tree. The hungry coyote might try to starve the bob-cat into surrender; but just as often, the bob-cat could starve the coyote into retreat; for if a foolish rabbit darted past, what hungry coyote could help giving chase? The tree had even defeated both dog and man that first week when Koot could not find the cat. But a dog in full chase could follow the trail to a tree, and a man could shoot into the tree. As the rabbits decreased, Koot set out many traps for the bob-cats now reckless with hunger, steel-traps and deadfalls and pits and log pens with a live grouse clucking inside. The midwinter lull was a busy season for Koot. Towards March, the sun-glare has produced a crust on the snow that is almost like glass. For Koot on his snow-shoes this had no danger; but for the mongrel that was to draw the pelts back to the fort, the snow crust was more troublesome than glass. Where the crust was thick, with Koot leading the way snow-shoes and dog and toboggan glided over the drifts as if on steel runners. But in midday the crust was soft and the dog went floundering through as if on thin ice, the sharp edge cutting his feet. Koot tied little buckskin sacks round the dog's feet and made a few more rounds of the swamp; but the crust was a sign that warned him it was time to prepare for the marten-hunt. To leave his furs at the fort, he must cross the prairie while it was yet good travelling for the dog. Dismantling the little cabin, Koot packed the pelts on the toboggan, roped all tightly so there could be no spill from an upset, and putting the mongrel in the traces, led the way for the fort one night when the snow-crust was hard as ice. * * * * * The moon came up over the white fields in a great silver disk. Between the running man and the silver moon moved black skulking forms--the foragers on their night hunt. Sometimes a fox loped over a drift, or a coyote rose ghostly from the snow, or timber-wolves dashed from wooded ravines and stopped to look till Koot fired a shot that sent them galloping. In the dark that precedes daylight, Koot camped beside a grove of poplars--that is, he fed the dog a fish, whittled chips to make a fire and boil some tea for himself, then digging a hole in the drift with his snow-shoe, laid the sleigh to windward and cuddled down between bear-skins with the dog across his feet. Daylight came in a blinding glare of sunshine and white snow. The way was untrodden. Koot led at an ambling run, followed by the dog at a fast trot, so that the trees were presently left far on the offing and the runners were out on the bare white prairie with never a mark, tree or shrub, to break the dazzling reaches of sunshine and snow from horizon to horizon. A man who is breaking the way must keep his eyes on the ground; and the ground was so blindingly bright that Koot began to see purple and yellow and red patches dancing wherever he looked on the snow. He drew his capote over his face to shade his eyes; but the pace and the sun grew so hot that he was soon running again unprotected from the blistering light. Towards the afternoon, Koot knew that something had gone wrong. Some distance ahead, he saw a black object against the snow. On the unbroken white, it looked almost as big as a barrel and seemed at least a mile away. Lowering his eyes, Koot let out a spurt of speed, and the next thing he knew he had tripped his snow-shoe and tumbled. Scrambling up, he saw that a stick had caught the web of his snow-shoe; but where was the barrel for which he had been steering? There wasn't any barrel at all--the barrel was this black stick which hadn't been fifty yards away. Koot rubbed his eyes and noticed that black and red and purple patches were all over the snow. The drifts were heaving and racing after each other like waves on an angry sea. He did not go much farther that day; for every glint of snow scorched his eyes like a hot iron. He camped at the first bluff and made a poultice of cold tea leaves which he laid across his blistered face for the night. Any one who knows the tortures of snow-blindness will understand why Koot did not sleep that night. It was a long night to the trapper, such a very long night that the sun had been up for two hours before its heat burned through the layers of his capote into his eyes and roused him from sheer pain. Then he sprang up, put up an ungantled hand and knew from the heat of the sun that it was broad day. But when he took the bandage off his eyes, all he saw was a black curtain one moment, rockets and wheels and dancing patches of purple fire the next. Koot was no fool to become panicky and feeble from sudden peril. He knew that he was snow-blind on a pathless prairie at least two days away from the fort. To wait until the snow-blindness had healed would risk the few provisions that he had and perhaps expose him to a blizzard. The one rule of the trapper's life is to go ahead, let the going cost what it may; and drawing his capote over his face, Koot went on. The heat of the sun told him the directions; and when the sun went down, the crooning west wind, bringing thaw and snow-crust, was his compass. And when the wind fell, the tufts of shrub-growth sticking through the snow pointed to the warm south. Now he tied himself to his dog; and when he camped beside trees into which he had gone full crash before he knew they were there, he laid his gun beside the dog and sleigh. Going out the full length of his cord, he whittled the chips for his fire and found his way back by the cord. On the second day of his blindness, no sun came up; nor could he guide himself by the feel of the air, for there was no wind. It was one of the dull dead gray days that precedes storms. How would he get his directions to set out? Memory of last night's travel might only lead him on the endless circling of the lost. Koot dug his snow-shoe to the base of a tree, found moss, felt it growing on only one side of the tree, knew that side must be the shady cold side, and so took his bearings from what he thought was the north. Koot said the only time that he knew any fear was on the evening of the last day. The atmosphere boded storm. The fort lay in a valley. Somewhere between Koot and that valley ran a trail. What if he had crossed the trail? What if the storm came and wiped out the trail before he could reach the fort? All day, whisky-jack and snow-bunting and fox scurried from his presence; but this night in the dusk when he felt forward on his hands and knees for the expected trail, the wild creatures seemed to grow bolder. He imagined that he felt the coyotes closer than on the other nights. And then the fearful thought came that he might have passed the trail unheeding. Should he turn back? Afraid to go forward or back, Koot sank on the ground, unhooded his face and tried to _force_ his eyes to see. The pain brought biting salty tears. It was quite useless. Either the night was very dark, or the eyes were very blind. And then white man or Indian--who shall say which came uppermost?--Koot cried out to the Great Spirit. In mockery back came the saucy scold of a jay. But that was enough for Koot--it was prompt answer to his prayer; for where do the jays quarrel and fight and flutter but on the trail? Running eagerly forward, the trapper felt the ground. The rutted marks of a "jumper" sleigh cut the hard crust. With a shout, Koot headed down the sloping path to the valley where lay the fur post, the low hanging smoke of whose chimneys his eager nostrils had already sniffed. CHAPTER XVI OTHER LITTLE ANIMALS BESIDES WAHBOOS THE RABBIT--BEING AN ACCOUNT OF MUSQUASH THE MUSK-RAT, SIKAK THE SKUNK, WENUSK THE BADGER, AND OTHERS I _Musquash the Musk-rat_ Every chapter in the trapper's life is not a "stunt." There are the uneventful days when the trapper seems to do nothing but wander aimlessly through the woods over the prairie along the margin of rush-grown marshy ravines where the stagnant waters lap lazily among the flags, though a feathering of ice begins to rim the quiet pools early in autumn. Unless he is duck-shooting down there in the hidden slough where is a great "quack-quack" of young teals, the trapper may not uncase his gun. For a whole morning he lies idly in the sunlight beside some river where a roundish black head occasionally bobs up only to dive under when it sees the man. Or else he sits by the hour still as a statue on the mossy log of a swamp where a long wriggling--wriggling trail marks the snaky motion of some creature below the amber depths. To the city man whose days are regulated by clockwork and electric trams with the ceaseless iteration of gongs and "step fast there!" such a life seems the type of utter laziness. But the best-learned lessons are those imbibed unconsciously and the keenest pleasures come unsought. Perhaps when the great profit-and-loss account of the hereafter is cast up, the trapper may be found to have a greater sum total of happiness, of usefulness, of real knowledge than the multi-millionaire whose life was one buzzing round of drive and worry and grind. Usually the busy city man has spent nine or ten of the most precious years of his youth in study and travel to learn other men's thoughts for his own life's work. The trapper spends an idle month or two of each year wandering through a wild world learning the technic of his craft at first hand. And the trapper's learning is all done leisurely, calmly, without bluster or drive, just as nature herself carries on the work of her realm. On one of these idle days when the trapper seems to be slouching so lazily over the prarie comes a whiff of dank growth on the crisp autumn air. Like all wild creatures travelling up-wind, the trapper at once heads a windward course. It comes again, just a whiff as if the light green musk-plant were growing somewhere on a dank bank. But ravines are not dank in the clear fall days; and by October the musk-plant has wilted dry. This is a fresh living odour with all the difference between it and dead leaves that there is between June roses and the dried dust of a rose jar. The wind falls. He may not catch the faintest odour of swamp growth again, but he knows there must be stagnant water somewhere in these prairie ravines; and a sense that is part _feel_, part intuition, part inference from what the wind told of the marsh smell, leads his footsteps down the browned hillside to the soggy bottom of a slough. A covey of teals--very young, or they would not be so bold--flackers up, wings about with a clatter, then settles again a space farther ahead when the ducks see that the intruder remains so still. The man parts the flags, sits down on a log motionless as the log itself--and watches! Something else had taken alarm from the crunch of the hunter's moccasins through the dry reeds; for a wriggling trail is there, showing where a creature has dived below and is running among the wet under-tangle. Not far off on another log deep in the shade of the highest flags solemnly perches a small prairie-owl. It is almost the russet shade of the dead log. It hunches up and blinks stupidly at all this noise in the swamp. "Oho," thinks the trapper, "so I've disturbed a still hunt," and he sits if anything stiller than ever, only stooping to lay his gun down and pick up a stone. At first there is nothing but the quacking of the ducks at the far end of the swamp. A lapping of the water against the brittle flags and a water-snake has splashed away to some dark haunt. The whisky-jack calls out officious note from a topmost bough, as much as to say: "It's all right! Me--me!--I'm always there!--I've investigated!--it's all right!--he's quite harmless!" And away goes the jay on business of state among the gopher mounds. Then the interrupted activity of the swamp is resumed, scolding mother ducks reading the riot act to young teals, old geese coming craning and craning their long necks to drink at the water's edge, lizards and water-snakes splashing down the banks, midgets and gnats sunning themselves in clouds during the warmth of the short autumn days, with a feel in the air as of crisp ripeness, drying fruit, the harvest-home of the year. In all the prairie region north and west of Minnesota--the Indian land of "sky-coloured water"--the sloughs lie on the prairie under a crystal sky that turns pools to silver. On this almost motionless surface are mirrored as if by an etcher's needle the sky above, feathered wind clouds, flag stems, surrounding cliffs, even the flight of birds on wing. As the mountains stand for majesty, the prairies for infinity, so the marsh lands are types of repose. But it is not a lifeless repose. Barely has the trapper settled himself when a little sharp black nose pokes up through the water at the fore end of the wriggling trail. A round rat-shaped head follows this twitching proboscis. Then a brownish earth-coloured body swims with a wriggling sidelong movement for the log, where roosts the blinking owlet. A little noiseless leap! and a dripping musk-rat with long flat tail and webbed feet scrabbles up the moss-covered tree towards the stupid bird. Another moment, and the owl would have toppled into the water with a pair of sharp teeth clutched to its throat. Then the man shies a well-aimed stone! Splash! Flop! The owl is flapping blindly through the flags to another hiding-place, while the wriggle-wriggle of the waters tells where the marsh-rat has darted away under the tangled growth. From other idle days like these, the trapper has learned that musk-rats are not solitary but always to be found in colonies. Now if the musk-rat were as wise as the beaver to whom the Indians say he is closely akin, that alarmed marauder would carry the news of the man-intruder to the whole swamp. Perhaps if the others remembered from the prod of a spear or the flash of a gun what man's coming meant, that news would cause terrified flight of every musk-rat from the marsh. But musquash--little beaver, as the Indians call him--is not so wise, not so timid, not so easily frightened from his home as _amisk_,[44] the beaver. In fact, nature's provision for the musk-rat's protection seems to have emboldened the little rodent almost to the point of stupidity. His skin is of that burnt umber shade hardly to be distinguished from the earth. At one moment his sharp nose cuts the water, at the next he is completely hidden in the soft clay of the under-tangle; and while you are straining for a sight of him through the pool, he has scurried across a mud bank to his burrow. Hunt him as they may, men and boys and ragged squaws wading through swamps knee-high, yet after a century of hunting from the Chesapeake and the Hackensack to the swamps of "sky-coloured water" on the far prairie, little musquash still yields 6,000,000 pelts a year with never a sign of diminishing. A hundred years ago, in 1788, so little was musk-rat held in esteem as a fur, the great North-West Company of Canada sent out only 17,000 or 20,000 skins a year. So rapidly did musk-rat grow in favour as a lining and imitation fur that in 1888 it was no unusual thing for 200,000 musk-rat-skins to be brought to a single Hudson's Bay Company fort. In Canada the climate compels the use of heavier furs than in the United States, so that the all-fur coat is in greater demand than the fur-lined; but in Canada, not less than 2,000,000 musk-rat furs are taken every year. In the United States the total is close on 4,000,000. In one city alone, St. Paul, 50,000 musk-rat-skins are cured every year. A single stretch of good marsh ground has yielded that number of skins year after year without a sign of the hunt telling on the prolific little musquash. Multiply 50,000 by prices varying from 7 cents to 75 cents and the value of the musk-rat-hunt becomes apparent. What is the secret of the musk-rat's survival while the strong creatures of the chase like buffalo and timber-wolf have been almost exterminated? In the first place, settlers can't farm swamps; so the musk-rat thrives just as well in the swamps of New Jersey to-day as when the first white hunter set foot in America. Then musquash lives as heartily on owls and frogs and snakes as on water mussels and lily-pads. If one sort of food fails, the musk-rat has as omnivorous powers of digestion as the bear and changes his diet. Then he can hide as well in water as on land. And most important of all, musk-rat's family is as numerous as a cat's, five to nine rats in a litter, and two or three litters a year. These are the points that make for little musquash's continuance in spite of all that shot and trap can do. Having discovered what the dank whiff, half animal, half vegetable, signified, the trapper sets about finding the colony. He knows there is no risk of the little still-hunter carrying alarm to the other musk-rats. If he waits, it is altogether probable that the fleeing musk-rat will come up and swim straight for the colony. On the other hand, the musk-rat may have scurried overland through the rushes. Besides, the trapper observed tracks, tiny leaf-like tracks as of little webbed feet, over the soft clay of the marsh bank. These will lead to the colony, so the trapper rises and parting the rushes not too noisily, follows the little footprint along the margin of the swamp. Here the track is lost at the narrow ford of an inflowing stream, but across the creek lies a fallen poplar littered with--what? The feathers and bones of a dead owlet. Balancing himself--how much better the moccasins cling than boots!--the trapper crosses the log and takes up the trail through the rushes. But here musquash has dived off into the water for the express purpose of throwing a possible pursuer off the scent. But the tracks betrayed which way musquash was travelling; so the trapper goes on, knowing if he does not find the little haycock houses on this side, he can cross to the other. [Illustration: Fort MacPherson, now the most northerly post of the Hudson's Bay Company, beyond tree line; hence the houses are built of imported timber, with thatch roofs.] Presently, he almost stumbles over what sent the musk-rat diving just at this place. It is the wreck of a wolverine's ravage--a little wattled dome-shaped house exposed to that arch-destroyer by the shrinking of the swamp. So shallow has the water become, that a wolverine has easily waded and leaped clear across to the roof of the musk-rat's house. A beaver-dam two feet thick cannot resist the onslaught of the wolverine's claws; how much less will this round nest of reeds and grass and mosses cemented together with soft clay? The roof has been torn from the domed house, leaving the inside bare and showing plainly the domestic economy of the musk-rat home, smooth round walls inside, a floor or gallery of sticks and grasses, where the family had lived in an air chamber above the water, rough walls below the water-line and two or three little openings that must have been safely under water before the swamp receded. Perhaps a mussel or lily bulb has been left in the deserted larder. From the oozy slime below the mid-floor to the topmost wall will not measure more than two or three feet. If the swamp had not dried here, the stupid little musk-rats that escaped the ravager's claws would probably have come back to the wrecked house, built up the torn roof, and gone on living in danger till another wolverine came. But a water doorway the musk-rat must have. That he has learned by countless assaults on his house-top, so when the marsh retreated the musk-rats abandoned their house. All about the deserted house are runways, tiny channels across oozy peninsulas and islands of the musk-rat's diminutive world such as a very small beaver might make. The trapper jumps across to a dry patch or mound in the midst of the slimy bottom and prods an earth bank with a stick. It is as he thought--hollow; a musk-rat burrow or gallery in the clay wall where the refugees from this house had scuttled from the wolverine. But now all is deserted. The water has shrunk--that was the danger signal to the musk-rat; and there had been a grand moving to a deeper part of the swamp. Perhaps, after all, this is a very old house not used since last winter. Going back to the bank, the trapper skirts through the crush of brittle rushes round the swamp. Coming sharply on deeper water, a dank, stagnant bayou, heavy with the smell of furry life, the trapper pushes aside the flags, peers out and sees what resembles a prairie-dog town on water--such a number of wattled houses that they had shut in the water as with a dam. Too many flags and willows lie over the colony for a glimpse of the tell-tale wriggling trail across the water; but from the wet tangle of grass and moss comes an oozy pattering. If it were winter, the trapper could proceed as he would against a beaver colony, staking up the outlet from the swamp, trenching the ice round the different houses, breaking open the roofs and penning up any fugitives in their own bank burrows till he and his dog and a spear could clear out the gallery. But in winter there is more important work than hunting musk-rat. Musk-rat-trapping is for odd days before the regular hunt. Opening the sack which he usually carries on his back, the trapper draws out three dozen small traps no larger than a rat or mouse trap. Some of these he places across the runways without any bait; for the musk-rat must pass this way. Some he smears with strong-smelling pomatum. Some he baits with carrot or apple. Others he does not bait at all, simply laying them on old logs where he knows the owlets roost by day. But each of the traps--bait or no bait--he attaches to a stake driven into the water so that the prisoner will be held under when he plunges to escape till he is drowned. Otherwise, he would gnaw his foot free of the trap and disappear in a burrow. If the marsh is large, there will be more than one musk-rat colony. Having exhausted his traps on the first, the trapper lies in wait at the second. When the moon comes up over the water, there is a great splashing about the musk-rat nests; for autumn is the time for house-building and the musk-rats work at night. If the trapper is an Eastern man, he will wade in as they do in New Jersey; but if he is a type of the Western hunter, he lies on the log among the rushes, popping a shot at every head that appears in the moonlit water. His dog swims and dives for the quarry. By the time the stupid little musk-rats have taken alarm and hidden, the man has twenty or thirty on the bank. Going home, he empties and resets the traps. Thirty marten traps that yield six martens do well. Thirty musk-rat traps are expected to give thirty musk-rats. Add to that the twenty shot, and what does the day's work represent? Here are thirty skins of a coarse light reddish hair, such as lines the poor man's overcoat. These will sell for from 7 to 15 cents each. They may go roughly for $3 at the fur post. Here are ten of the deeper brown shades, with long soft fur that lines a lady's cloak. They are fine enough to pass for mink with a little dyeing, or imitation seal if they are properly plucked. These will bring 25 or 30 cents--say $2.50 in all. But here are ten skins, deep, silky, almost black, for which a Russian officer will pay high prices, skins that will go to England, and from England to Paris, and from Paris to St. Petersburg with accelerating cost mark till the Russian grandee is paying $1 or more for each pelt. The trapper will ask 30, 40, 50 cents for these, making perhaps $3.50 in all. Then this idle fellow's day has totaled up to $9, not a bad day's work, considering he did not go to the university for ten years to learn his craft, did not know what wear and tear and drive meant as he worked, did not spend more than a few cents' worth of shot. But for his musk-rat-pelts the man will not get $9 in coin unless he lives very near the great fur markets. He will get powder and clothing and food and tobacco whose first cost has been increased a hundredfold by ship rates and railroad rates, by keel-boat freight and pack-horse expenses and _portage_ charges past countless rapids. But he will get all that he needs, all that he wants, all that his labour is worth, this "lazy vagabond" who spends half his time idling in the sun. Of how many other men can that be said? But what of the ruthless slaughter among the little musk-rats? Does humanity not revolt at the thought? Is this trapping not after all brutal butchery? Animal kindliness--if such a thing exists among musk-rats--could hardly protest against the slaughter, seeing the musk-rats themselves wage as ruthless a war against water-worm and owlet as man wages against musk-rats. It is the old question, should animal life be sacrificed to preserve human life? To that question there is only one answer. Linings for coats are more important life-savers than all the humane societies of the world put together. It is probable that the first thing the prehistoric man did to preserve his own life when he realized himself was to slay some destructive animal and appropriate its coat. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 44: _Amisk_, the Chippewyan, _umisk_, the Cree, with much the same sound. A well-known trader told the writer that he considered the variation in Indian language more a matter of dialect than difference in meaning, and that while he could speak only Ojibway he never had any difficulty in understanding and being understood by Cree, Chippewyan, and Assiniboine. For instance, rabbit, "the little white chap," is _wahboos_ on the Upper Ottawa, _wapus_ on the Saskatchewan, _wapauce_ on the MacKenzie.] II _Sikak the Skunk_ Sikak the skunk it is who supplies the best imitations of sable. But cleanse the fur never so well, on a damp day it still emits the heavy sickening odour that betrays its real nature. That odour is sikak's invincible defence against the white trapper. The hunter may follow the little four-abreast galloping footprints that lead to a hole among stones or to rotten logs, but long before he has reached the nesting-place of his quarry comes a stench against which white blood is powerless. Or the trapper may find an unexpected visitor in one of the pens which he has dug for other animals--a little black creature the shape of a squirrel and the size of a cat with white stripings down his back and a bushy tail. It is then a case of a quick deadly shot, or the man will be put to rout by an odour that will pollute the air for miles around and drive him off that section of the hunting-field. The cuttlefish is the only other creature that possesses as powerful means of defence of a similar nature, one drop of the inky fluid which it throws out to hide it from pursuers burning the fisherman's eyes like scalding acid. As far as white trappers are concerned, sikak is only taken by the chance shots of idle days. Yet the Indian hunts the skunk apparently utterly oblivious of the smell. Traps, poison, deadfalls, pens are the Indian weapons against the skunk; and a Cree will deliberately skin and stretch a pelt in an atmosphere that is blue with what is poison to the white man. The only case I ever knew of white trappers hunting the skunk was of three men on the North Saskatchewan. One was an Englishman who had been long in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company and knew all the animals of the north. The second was the guide, a French-Canadian, and the third a Sandy, fresh "frae oot the land o' heather." The men were wakened one night by the noise of some animal scrambling through the window into their cabin and rummaging in the dark among the provisions. The Frenchman sprang for a light and Sandy got hold of his gun. "Losh, mon, it's a wee bit beastie a' strip't black and white wi' a tail like a so'dier's cocade!" That information brought the Englishman to his feet howling, "Don't shoot it! Don't shoot it! Leave that thing alone, I tell you!" But Sandy being a true son of Scotia with a Presbyterian love of argument wished to debate the question. "An' what for wu'd a leave it eating a' the oatmeal? I'll no leave it rampagin' th' eatables--I wull be pokin' it oot!--shoo!--shoo!" At that the Frenchman flung down the light and bolted for the door, followed by the English trader cursing between set teeth that before "that blundering blockhead had argued the matter" something would happen. Something did happen. Sandy came through the door with such precipitate haste that the topmost beam brought his head a mighty thwack, roaring out at the top of his voice that the deil was after him for a' the sins that iver he had committed since he was born. III _Wenusk the Badger_ Badger, too, is one of the furs taken by the trapper on idle days. East of St. Paul and Winnipeg, the fur is comparatively unknown, or if known, so badly prepared that it is scarcely recognisable for badger. This is probably owing to differences in climate. Badger in its perfect state is a long soft fur, resembling wood marten, with deep overhairs almost the length of one's hand and as dark as marten, with underhairs as thick and soft and yielding as swan's-down, shading in colour from fawn to grayish white. East of the Mississippi, there is too much damp in the atmosphere for such a long soft fur. Consequently specimens of badger seen in the East must either be sheared of the long overhairs or left to mat and tangle on the first rainy day. In New York, Quebec, Montreal, and Toronto--places where the finest furs should be on sale if anywhere--I have again and again asked for badger, only to be shown a dull matted short fawnish fur not much superior to cheap dyed furs. It is not surprising there is no demand for such a fur and Eastern dealers have stopped ordering it. In the North-West the most common mist during the winter is a frost mist that is more a snow than a rain, so there is little injury to furs from moisture. Here the badger is prime, long, thick, and silky, almost as attractive as ermine if only it were enhanced by as high a price. Whether badger will ever grow in favour like musk-rat or 'coon, and play an important part in the returns of the fur exporters, is doubtful. The world takes its fashions from European capitals; and European capitals are too damp for badger to be in fashion with them. Certainly, with the private dealers of the North and West, badger is yearly becoming more important. Like the musk-rat, badger is prime in the autumn. Wherever the hunting-grounds of the animals are, there will the hunting-grounds of the trapper be. Badgers run most where gophers sit sunning themselves on the clay mounds, ready to bolt down to their subterranean burrows on the first approach of an enemy. Eternal enemies these two are, gopher and badger, though they both live in ground holes, nest their lairs with grasses, run all summer and sleep all winter, and alike prey on the creatures smaller than themselves--mice, moles, and birds. The gopher, or ground squirrel, is smaller than the wood squirrel, while the badger is larger than a Manx cat, with a shape that varies according to the exigencies of the situation. Normally, he is a flattish, fawn-coloured beast, with a turtle-shaped body, little round head, and small legs with unusually strong claws. Ride after the badger across the prairie and he stretches out in long, lithe shape, resembling a baby cougar, turning at every pace or two to snap at your horse, then off again at a hulking scramble of astonishing speed. Pour water down his burrow to compel him to come up or down, and he swells out his body, completely filling the passage, so that his head, which is downward, is in dry air, while his hind quarters alone are in the water. In captivity the badger is a business-like little body, with very sharp teeth, of which his keeper must beware, and some of the tricks of the skunk, but inclined, on the whole, to mind his affairs if you will mind yours. Once a day regularly every afternoon out of his lair he emerges for the most comical sorts of athletic exercises. Hour after hour he will trot diagonally--because that gives him the longest run--from corner to corner of his pen, rearing up on his hind legs as he reaches one corner, rubbing the back of his head, then down again and across to the other corner, where he repeats the performance. There can be no reason for the badger doing this, unless it was his habit in the wilds when he trotted about leaving dumb signs on mud banks and brushwood by which others of his kind might know where to find him at stated times. Sunset is the time when he is almost sure to be among the gopher burrows. In vain the saucy jay shrieks out a warning to the gophers. Of all the prairie creatures, they are the stupidest, the most beset with curiosity to know what that jay's shriek may mean. Sunning themselves in the last rays of daylight, the gophers perch on their hind legs to wait developments of what the jay announced. But the badger's fur and the gopher mounds are almost the same colour. He has pounced on some playful youngsters before the rest see him. Then there is a wild scuttling down to the depths of the burrows. That, too, is vain; for the badger begins ripping up the clay bank like a grisly, down--down--in pursuit, two, three, five feet, even twelve. Then is seen one of the most curious freaks in all the animal life of the prairie. The underground galleries of the gophers connect and lead up to different exits. As the furious badger comes closer and closer on the cowering gophers, the little cowards lose heart, dart up the galleries to open doors, and try to escape through the grass of the prairie. But no sooner is the badger hard at work than a gray form seems to rise out of the earth, a coyote who had been slinking to the rear all the while; and as the terrified gophers scurry here, scurry there, coyote's white teeth snap!--snap! He is here--there--everywhere--pouncing--jumping--having the fun of his life, gobbling gophers as cats catch mice. Down in the bottom of the burrow, the badger may get half a dozen poor cooped huddling prisoners; but the coyote up on the prairie has devoured a whole colony. Do these two, badger and coyote, consciously hunt together? Some old trappers vow they do--others just as vehemently that they don't. The fact remains that wherever the badger goes gopher-hunting on an unsettled prairie, there the coyote skulks reaping reward of all the badger's work. The coincidence is no stranger than the well-known fact that sword-fish and thrasher--two different fish--always league together to attack the whale. One thing only can save the gopher colony, and that is the gun barrel across yon earth mound where a trapper lies in wait for the coming of the badger. IV _The 'Coon_ Sir Alexander MacKenzie reported that in 1798 the North-West Company sent out only 100 raccoon from the fur country. Last year the city of St. Paul alone cured 115,000 'coon-skins. What brought about the change? Simply an appreciation of the qualities of 'coon, which combines the greatest warmth with the lightest weight and is especially adapted for a cold climate and constant wear. What was said of badger applies with greater force to 'coon. The 'coon in the East is associated in one's mind with cabbies, in the West with fashionably dressed men and women. And there is just as wide a difference in the quality of the fur as in the quality of the people. The cabbies' 'coon coat is a rough yellow fur with red stripes. The Westerner's 'coon is a silky brown fur with black stripes. One represents the fall hunt of men and boys round hollow logs, the other the midwinter hunt of a professional trapper in the Far North. A dog usually bays the 'coon out of hiding in the East. Tiny tracks, like a child's hand, tell the Northern hunter where to set his traps. Wahboos the rabbit, musquash the musk-rat, sikak the skunk, wenusk the badger, and the common 'coon--these are the little chaps whose hunt fills the idle days of the trapper's busy life. At night, before the rough stone hearth which he has built in his cabin, he is still busy by fire-light preparing their pelts. Each skin must be stretched and cured. Turning the skin fur side in, the trapper pushes into the pelt a wedge-shaped slab of spliced cedar. Into the splice he shoves another wedge of wood which he hammers in, each blow widening the space and stretching the skin. All pelts are stretched fur in but the fox. Tacking the stretched skin on a flat board, the trapper hangs it to dry till he carries all to the fort; unless, indeed, he should need a garment for himself--cap, coat, or gantlets--in which case he takes out a square needle and passes his evenings like a tailor, sewing. CHAPTER XVII THE RARE FURS--HOW THE TRAPPER TAKES SAKWASEW THE MINK, NEKIK THE OTTER, WUCHAK THE FISHER, AND WAPISTAN THE MARTEN I _Sakwasew the Mink_ There are other little chaps with more valuable fur than musquash, whose skin seldom attains higher honour than inside linings, and wahboos, whose snowy coat is put to the indignity of imitating ermine with a dotting of black cat for the ermine's jet tip. There are mink and otter and fisher and fox and ermine and sable, all little fellows with pelts worth their weight in coin of the realm. On one of those idle days when the trapper seems to be doing nothing but lying on his back in the sun, he has witnessed a curious, but common, battle in pantomime between bird and beast. A prairie-hawk circles and drops, lifts and wheels again with monotonous silent persistence above the swamp. What quarry does he seek, this lawless forager of the upper airs still hunting a hidden nook of the low prairie? If he were out purely for exercise, like the little badger when it goes rubbing the back of its head from post to post, there would be a buzzing of wings and shrill lonely callings to an unseen mate. But the circling hawk is as silent as the very personification of death. Apparently he can't make up his mind for the death-drop on some rat or frog down there in the swamp. The trapper notices that the hawk keeps circling directly above the place where the waters of the swamp tumble from the ravine in a small cataract to join a lower river. He knows, too, from the rich orange of the plumage that the hawk is young. An older fellow would not be advertising his intentions in this fashion. Besides, an older hawk would have russet-gray feathering. Is the rascally young hawk meditating a clutch of talons round some of the unsuspecting trout that usually frequent the quiet pools below a waterfall. Or does he aim at bigger game? A young hawk is bold with the courage that has not yet learned the wisdom of caution. That is why there are so many more of the brilliant young red hawks in our museums than old grizzled gray veterans whose craft circumvents the specimen hunter's cunning. Now the trapper comes to have as keen a sense of _feel_ for all the creatures of the wilds as the creatures of the wilds have for man; so he shifts his position that he may find what is attracting the hawk. Down on the pebbled beach below the waterfalls lies an auburn bundle of fur, about the size of a very long, slim, short-legged cat, still as a stone--some member of the weasel family gorged torpid with fish, stretched out full length to sleep in the sun. To sleep, ah, yes, and as the Danish prince said, "perchance to dream"; for all the little fellows of river and prairie take good care never to sleep where they are exposed to their countless enemies. This sleep of the weasel arouses the man's suspicion. The trapper draws out his field-glass. The sleeper is a mink, and its sleep is a sham with beady, red eyes blinking a deal too lively for real death. Why does it lie on its back rigid and straight as if it were dead with all four tiny paws clutched out stiff? The trapper scans the surface of the swamp to see if some foolish musk-rat is swimming dangerously near the sleeping mink. Presently the hawk circles lower--lower!--Drop, straight as a stone! Its talons are almost in the mink's body, when of a sudden the sleeper awakens--awakens--with a leap of the four stiff little feet and a darting spear-thrust of snapping teeth deep in the neck of the hawk! At first the hawk rises tearing furiously at the clinging mink with its claws. The wings sag. Down bird and beast fall. Over they roll on the sandy beach, hawk and mink, over and over with a thrashing of the hawk's wings to beat the treacherous little vampire off. Now the blood-sucker is on top clutching--clutching! Now the bird flounders up craning his neck from the death-grip. Then the hawk falls on his back. His wings are prone. They cease to flutter. Running to the bank the trapper is surprised to see the little blood-sucker making off with the prey instead of deserting it as all creatures akin to the weasel family usually do. That means a family of mink somewhere near, to be given their first lesson in bird-hunting, in mink-hawking by the body of this poor, dead, foolish gyrfalcon. By a red mark here, by a feather there, crushed grass as of something dragged, a little webbed footprint on the wet clay, a tiny marking of double dots where the feet have crossed a dry stone, the trapper slowly takes up the trail of the mink. Mink are not prime till the late fall. Then the reddish fur assumes the shades of the russet grasses where they run until the white of winter covers the land. Then--as if nature were to exact avengement for all the red slaughter the mink has wrought during the rest of the year--his coat becomes dark brown, almost black, the very shade that renders him most conspicuous above snow to all the enemies of the mink world. But while the trapper has no intention of destroying what would be worthless now but will be valuable in the winter, it is not every day that even a trapper has a chance to trail a mink back to its nest and see the young family. But suddenly the trail stops. Here is a sandy patch with some tumbled stones under a tangle of grasses and a rivulet not a foot away. Ah--there it is--a nest or lair, a tiny hole almost hidden by the rushes! But the nest seems empty. Fast as the trapper has come, the mink came faster and hid her family. To one side, the hawk had been dropped among the rushes. The man pokes a stick in the lair but finds nothing. Putting in his hand, he is dragging out bones, feathers, skeleton musk-rats, putrid frogs, promiscuous remnants of other quarries brought to the burrow by the mink, when a little cattish _s-p-i-t!_ almost touches his hand. His palm closes over something warm, squirming, smaller than a kitten with very downy fur, on a soft mouse-like skin, eyes that are still blind and a tiny mouth that neither meows nor squeaks, just _spits!--spits!--spits!_--in impotent viperish fury. All the other minklets, the mother had succeeded in hiding under the grasses, but somehow this one had been left. Will he take it home and try the experiment of rearing a young mink with a family of kittens? The trapper calls to mind other experiments. There was the little beaver that chewed up his canoe and gnawed a hole of escape through the door. There were the three little bob-cats left in the woods behind his cabin last year when he refrained from setting out traps and tied up his dog to see if he could not catch the whole family, mother and kittens, for an Eastern museum. Furtively at first, the mother had come to feed her kittens. Then the man had put out rugs to keep the kittens warm and lain in wait for the mother; but no sooner did she see her offspring comfortably cared for, than she deserted them entirely, evidently acting on the proverb that the most gracious enemy is the most dangerous, or else deciding that the kits were so well off that she was not needed. Adopting the three little wild-cats, the trapper had reared them past blind-eyes, past colic and dumps and all the youthful ills to which live kittens are heirs, when trouble began. The longing for the wilds came. Even catnip green and senna tea boiled can't cure that. So keenly did the gipsy longing come to one little bob that he perished escaping to the woods by way of the chimney flue. The second little bob succeeded in escaping through a parchment stop-gap that served the trapper as a window. And the third bobby dealt such an ill-tempered gash to the dog's nose that the combat ended in instant death for the cat. Thinking over these experiments, the trapper wisely puts the mink back in the nest with words which it would have been well for that litle ball of down to have understood. He told it he would come back for it next winter and to be sure to have its best black coat on. For the little first-year minks wear dark coats, almost as fine as Russian sable. Yes--he reflects, poking it back to the hole and retreating quickly so that the mother will return--better leave it till the winter; for wasn't it Koot who put a mink among his kittens, only to have the little viper set on them with tooth and claw as soon as its eyes opened? Also mink are bad neighbours to a poultry-yard. Forty chickens in a single night will the little mink destroy, not for food but--to quote man's words--for the zest of the sport. The mink, you must remember, like other pot-hunters, can boast of a big bag. The trapper did come back next fall. It was when he was ranging all the swamp-lands for beaver-dams. Swamp lands often mean beaver-dams; and trappers always note what stops the current of a sluggish stream. Frequently it is a beaver colony built across a valley in the mountains, or stopping up the outlet of a slough. The trapper was sleeping under his canoe on the banks of the river where the swamp tumbled out from the ravine. Before retiring to what was a boat by day and a bed by night, he had set out a fish net and some loose lines--which the flow of the current would keep in motion--below the waterfall. Carelessly, next day, he threw the fish-heads among the stones. The second morning he found such a multitude of little tracks dotting the rime of the hoar frost that he erected a tent back from the waterfalls, and decided to stay trapping there till the winter. The fish-heads were no longer thrown away. They were left among the stones in small steel-traps weighted with other stones, or attached to a loose stick that would impede flight. And if the poor gyrfalcon could have seen the mink held by the jaws of a steel-trap, hissing, snarling, breaking its teeth on the iron, spitting out all the rage of its wicked nature, the bird would have been avenged. And as winter deepened, the quality of minks taken from the traps became darker, silkier, crisper, almost brown black in some of the young, but for light fur on the under lip. The Indians say that sakwasew the mink would sell his family for a fish, and as long as fish lay among the stones, the trapper gathered his harvest of fur: reddish mink that would be made into little neck ruffs and collar pieces, reddish brown mink that would be sewed into costly coats and cloaks, rare brownish black mink that would be put into the beautiful flat scarf collars almost as costly as a full coat. And so the mink-hunt went on merrily for the man till the midwinter lull came at Christmas. For that year the mink-hunt was over. II _Nekik the Otter_ Sakwasew was not the only fisher at the pool below the falls. On one of those idle days when the trapper sat lazily by the river side, a round head slightly sunburned from black to russet had hobbled up to the surface of the water, peered sharply at the man sitting so still, paddled little flipper-like feet about, then ducked down again. Motionless as the mossed log under him sits the man; and in a moment up comes the little black head again, round as a golf ball, about the size of a very large cat, followed by three other little bobbing heads--a mother otter teaching her babies to dive and swim and duck from the river surface to the burrows below the water along the river bank. Perhaps the trapper has found a dead fish along this very bank with only the choice portions of the body eaten--a sure sign that nekik the otter, the little epicure of the water world, has been fishing at this river. With a scarcely perceptible motion, the man turns his head to watch the swimmers. Instantly, down they plunge, mother and babies, to come to the surface again higher up-stream, evidently working up-current like the beaver in spring for a glorious frolic in the cold clear waters of the upper sources. At one place on the sandy beach they all wade ashore. The man utters a slight "Hiss!" Away they scamper, the foolish youngsters, landward instead of to the safe water as the hesitating mother would have them do, all the little feet scrambling over the sand with the funny short steps of a Chinese lady in tight boots. Maternal care proves stronger than fear. The frightened mother follows the young otter and will no doubt read them a sound lecture on land dangers when she has rounded them back to the safe water higher up-stream. Of all wild creatures, none is so crafty in concealing its lairs as the otter. Where did this family come from? They had not been swimming up-stream; for the man had been watching on the river bank long before they appeared on the surface. Stripping, the trapper dives in mid-stream, then half wades, half swims along the steepest bank, running his arm against the clay cliff to find a burrow. On land he could not do this at the lair of the otter; for the smell of the man-touch would be left on his trail, and the otter, keener of scent and fear than the mink, would take alarm. But for the same reason that the river is the safest refuge for the otter, it is the surest hunting for the man--water does not keep the scent of a trail. So the man runs his arm along the bank. The river is the surest hunting for the man, but not the safest. If an old male were in the bank burrow now, or happened to be emerging from grass-lined subterranean air chambers above the bank gallery, it might be serious enough for the exploring trapper. One bite of nekik the otter has crippled many an Indian. Knowing from the remnants of half-eaten fish and from the holes in the bank that he has found an otter runway, the man goes home as well satisfied as if he had done a good day's work. And so that winter when he had camped below the swamp for the mink-hunt, the trapper was not surprised one morning to find a half-eaten fish on the river bank. Sakwasew the mink takes good care to leave no remnants of his greedy meal. What he cannot eat he caches. Even if he has strangled a dozen water-rats in one hunt, they will be dragged in a heap and covered. The half-eaten fish left exposed is not mink's work. Otter has been here and otter will come back; for as the frost hardens, only those pools below the falls keep free from ice. No use setting traps with fish-heads as long as fresh fish are to be had for the taking. Besides, the man has done nothing to conceal his tracks; and each morning the half-eaten fish lie farther off the line of the man-trail. By-and-bye the man notices that no more half-eaten fish are on his side of the river. Little tracks of webbed feet furrowing a deep rut in the soft snow of the frozen river tell that nekik has taken alarm and is fishing from the other side. And when Christmas comes with a dwindling of the mink-hunt, the man, too, crosses to the other side. Here he finds that the otter tracks have worn a path that is almost a toboggan slide down the crusted snow bank to the iced edge of the pool. By this time nekik's pelt is prime, almost black, and as glossy as floss. By this time, too, the fish are scarce and the epicure has become ravenous as a pauper. One night when the trapper was reconnoitring the fish hole, he had approached the snow bank so noiselessly that he came on a whole colony of otters without their knowledge of his presence. Down the snow bank they tumbled, head-first, tail-first, slithering through the snow with their little paws braced, rolling down on their backs like lads upset from a toboggan, otter after otter, till the man learned that the little beasts were not fishing at all, but coasting the snow bank like youngsters on a night frolic. No sooner did one reach the bottom than up he scampered to repeat the fun; and sometimes two or three went down in a rolling bunch mixed up at the foot of a slide as badly as a couple of toboggans that were unpremeditatedly changing their occupants. Bears wrestle. The kittens of all the cat tribe play hide and seek. Little badger finds it fun to run round rubbing the back of his head on things; and here was nekik the otter at the favourite amusement of his kind--coasting down a snow bank. If the trapper were an Indian, he would lie in wait at the landing-place and spear the otter as they came from the water. But the white man's craft is deeper. He does not wish to frighten the otter till the last had been taken. Coming to the slide by day, he baits a steel-trap with fish and buries it in the snow just where the otter will be coming down the hill or up from the pool. Perhaps he places a dozen such traps around the hole with nothing visible but the frozen fish lying on the surface. If he sets his traps during a snow-fall, so much the better. His own tracks will be obliterated and the otter's nose will discover the fish. Then he takes a bag filled with some substance of animal odour, pomatum, fresh meat, pork, or he may use the flesh side of a fresh deer-hide. This he drags over the snow where he has stepped. He may even use a fresh hide to handle the traps, as a waiter uses a serviette to pass plates. There must be no man-smell, no man-track near the otter traps. While the mink-hunt is fairly over by midwinter, otter-trapping lasts from October to May. The value of all rare furs, mink, otter, marten, ermine, varies with two things: (1) the latitude of the hunting-field; (2) the season of the hunt. For instance, ask a trapper of Minnesota or Lake Superior what he thinks of the ermine, and he will tell you that it is a miserable sort of weasel of a dirty drab brown not worth twenty-five cents a skin. Ask a trapper of the North Saskatchewan what he thinks of ermine; and he will tell you it is a pretty little whitish creature good for fur if trapped late enough in the winter and always useful as a lining. But ask a trapper of the Arctic about the ermine, and he describes it as the finest fur that is taken except the silver fox, white and soft as swan's-down, with a tail-tip like black onyx. This difference in the fur of the animal explains the wide variety of prices paid. Ermine not worth twenty-five cents in Wisconsin might be worth ten times as much on the Saskatchewan. [Illustration: Fur press in use at Fort Good Hope, at the extreme north of Hudson's Bay Company's territory. Old wedge press in use at Fort Resolution, of the sub-Arctics. Types of Fur Presses.] So it is with the otter. All trapped between latitude thirty-five and sixty is good fur; and the best is that taken toward the end of winter when scarcely a russet hair should be found in the long over-fur of nekik's coat. III _Wuchak the Fisher, or Pekan_ Wherever the waste of fish or deer is thrown, there will be found lines of double tracks not so large as the wild-cat's, not so small as the otter's, and without the same webbing as the mink's. This is wuchak the fisher, or pekan, commonly called "the black cat"--who, in spite of his fishy name, hates water as cats hate it. And the tracks are double because pekan travel in pairs. He is found along the banks of streams because he preys on fish and fisher, on mink and otter and musk-rat, on frogs and birds and creatures that come to drink. He is, after all, a very greedy fellow, not at all particular about his diet, and, like all gluttons, easily snared. While mink and otter are about, the trapper will waste no steel-traps on pekan. A deadfall will act just as effectively; but there is one point requiring care. Pekan has a sharp nose. It is his nose that brings him to all carrion just as surely as hawks come to pick dead bones. But that same nose will tell him of man's presence. So when the trapper has built his pen of logs so that the front log or deadfall will crush down on the back of an intruder tugging at the bait inside, he overlays all with leaves and brush to quiet the pekan's suspicions. Besides, the pekan has many tricks akin to the wolverine. He is an inveterate thief. There is a well-known instance of Hudson's Bay trappers having a line of one hundred and fifty marten traps stretching for fifty miles robbed of their bait by pekan. The men shortened the line to thirty miles and for six times in succession did pekan destroy the traps. Then the men set themselves to trap the robber. He will rifle a deadfall from the slanting back roof where there is no danger; so the trapper overlays the back with heavy brush. Pekan do not yield a rare fur; but they are always at run where the trapper is hunting the rare furs, and for that reason are usually snared at the same time as mink and otter. IV _Wapistan the Marten_ When Koot went blind on his way home from the rabbit-hunt, he had intended to set out for the pine woods. Though blizzards still howl over the prairie, by March the warm sun of midday has set the sap of the forests stirring and all the woodland life awakens from its long winter sleep. Cougar and lynx and bear rove through the forest ravenous with spring hunger. Otter, too, may be found where the ice mounds of a waterfall are beginning to thaw. But it is not any of these that the trapper seeks. If they cross his path, good--they, too, will swell his account at the fur post. It is another of the little chaps that he seeks, a little, long, low-set animal whose fur is now glistening bright on the deep dark overhairs, soft as down in the thick fawn underhairs, wapistan the marten. When the forest begins to stir with the coming of spring, wapistan stirs too, crawling out from the hollow of some rotten pine log, restless with the same blood-thirst that set the little mink playing his tricks on the hawk. And yet the marten is not such a little viper as the mink. Wapistan will eat leaves and nuts and roots if he can get vegetable food, but failing these, that ravenous spring hunger of his must be appeased with something else. And out he goes from his log hole hunger-bold as the biggest of all other spring ravagers. That boldness gives the trapper his chance at the very time when wapistan's fur is best. All winter the trapper may have taken marten; but the end of winter is the time when wapistan wanders freely from cover. Thus the trapper's calendar would have months of musk-rat first, then beaver and mink and pekan and bear and fox and ermine and rabbit and lynx and marten, with a long idle midsummer space when he goes to the fort for the year's provisions and gathers the lore of his craft. Wapistan is not hard to track. Being much longer and heavier than a cat with very short legs and small feet, his body almost drags the ground and his tracks sink deep, clear, and sharp. His feet are smaller than otter's and mink's, but easily distinguishable from those two fishers. The water animal leaves a spreading footprint, the mark of the webbed toes without any fur on the padding of the toe-balls. The land animal of the same size has clear cut, narrower, heavier marks. By March, these dotting foot-tracks thread the snow everywhere. Coming on marten tracks at a pine log, the trapper sends in his dog or prods with a stick. Finding nothing, he baits a steel-trap with pomatum, covers it deftly with snow, drags the decoy skin about to conceal his own tracks, and goes away in the hope that the marten will come back to this log to guzzle on his prey and sleep. If the track is much frequented, or the forest over-run with marten tracks, the trapper builds deadfalls, many of them running from tree to tree for miles through the forest in a circle whose circuit brings him back to his cabin. Remnants of these log traps may be seen through all parts of the Rocky Mountain forests. Thirty to forty traps are considered a day's work for one man, six or ten marten all that he expects to take in one round; but when marten are plentiful, the unused traps of to-day may bring a prize to-morrow. The Indian trapper would use still another kind of trap. Where the tracks are plainly frequently used runways to watering-places or lair in hollow tree, the Indian digs a pit across the marten's trail. On this he spreads brush in such roof fashion that though the marten is a good climber, if once he falls in, it is almost impossible for him to scramble out. If a poor cackling grouse or "fool-hen" be thrust into the pit, the Indian is almost sure to find a prisoner. This seems to the white man a barbarous kind of trapping; but the poor "fool-hen," hunted by all the creatures of the forest, never seems to learn wisdom, but invites disaster by popping out of the brush to stare at every living thing that passes. If she did not fall a victim in the pit, she certainly would to her own curiosity above ground. To the steel-trap the hunter attaches a piece of log to entangle the prisoner's flight as he rushes through the underbush. Once caught in the steel jaws, little wapistan must wait--wait for what? For the same thing that comes to the poor "fool-hen" when wapistan goes crashing through the brush after her; for the same thing that comes to the baby squirrels when wapistan climbs a tree to rob the squirrel's nest, eat the young, and live in the rifled house; for the same thing that comes to the hoary marmot whistling his spring tune just outside his rocky den when wapistan, who has climbed up, pounces down from above. Little death-dealer he has been all his life; and now death comes to him for a nobler cause than the stuffing of a greedy maw--for the clothing of a creature nobler than himself--man. The otter can protect himself by diving, even diving under snow. The mink has craft to hide himself under leaves so that the sharpest eyes cannot detect him. Both mink and otter furs have very little of that animal smell which enables the foragers to follow their trail. What gift has wapistan, the marten, to protect himself against all the powers that prey? His strength and his wisdom lie in the little stubby feet. These can climb. A trapper's dog had stumbled on a marten in a stump hole. A snap of the marten's teeth sent the dog back with a jump. Wapistan will hang on to the nose of a dog to the death; and trappers' dogs grow cautious. Before the dog gathered courage to make another rush, the marten escaped by a rear knot-hole, getting the start of his enemy by fifty yards. Off they raced, the dog spending himself in fury, the marten keeping under the thorny brush where his enemy could not follow, then across open snow where the dog gained, then into the pine woods where the trail ended on the snow. Where had the fugitive gone? When the man came up, he first searched for log holes. There were none. Then he lifted some of the rocks. There was no trace of wapistan. But the dog kept baying a special tree, a blasted trunk, bare as a mast pole and seemingly impossible for any animal but a squirrel to climb. Knowing the trick by which creatures like the bob-cat can flatten their body into a resemblance of a tree trunk, the trapper searched carefully all round the bare trunk. It was not till many months afterward when a wind storm had broken the tree that he discovered the upper part had been hollow. Into this eerie nook the pursued marten had scrambled and waited in safety till dog and man retired. In one of his traps the man finds a peculiarly short specimen of the marten. In the vernacular of the craft this marten's bushy tail will not reach as far back as his hind legs can stretch. Widely different from the mink's scarcely visible ears, this fellow's ears are sharply upright, keenly alert. He is like a fox, where the mink resembles a furred serpent. Marten moves, springs, jumps like an animal. Mink glides like a snake. Marten has the strong neck of an animal fighter. Mink has the long, thin, twisting neck which reptiles need to give them striking power for their fangs. Mink's under lip has a mere rim of white or yellow. Marten's breast is patched sulphur. But this short marten with a tail shorter than other marten differs from his kind as to fur. Both mink and marten fur are reddish brown; but this short marten's fur is almost black, of great depth, of great thickness, and of three qualities: (1) There are the long dark overhairs the same as the ordinary marten, only darker, thicker, deeper; (2) there is the soft under fur of the ordinary marten, usually fawn, in this fellow deep brown; (3) there is the skin fur resembling chicken-down, of which this little marten has such a wealth--to use a technical expression--you cannot find his scalp. Without going into the old quarrel about species, when a marten has these peculiarities, he is known to the trapper as sable. Whether he is the American counterpart to the Russia sable is a disputed point. Whether his superior qualities are owing to age, climate, species, it is enough for the trapper to know that short, dark marten yields the trade--sable. CHAPTER XVIII UNDER THE NORTH STAR--WHERE FOX AND ERMINE RUN I _Of Foxes, Many and Various--Red, Cross, Silver, Black, Prairie, Kit or Swift, Arctic, Blue, and Gray_ Wherever grouse and rabbit abound, there will foxes run and there will the hunter set steel-traps. But however beautiful a fox-skin may be as a specimen, it has value as a fur only when it belongs to one of three varieties--Arctic, black, and silver. Other foxes--red, cross, prairie, swift, and gray--the trapper will take when they cross his path and sell them in the gross at the fur post, as he used to barter buffalo-hides. But the hunter who traps the fox for its own sake, and not as an uncalculated extra to the mink-hunt or the beaver total, must go to the Far North, to the land of winter night and midnight sun, to obtain the best fox-skins. It matters not to the trapper that the little kit fox or swift at run among the hills between the Missouri and Saskatchewan is the most shapely of all the fox kind, with as finely pointed a nose as a spitz dog, ears alert as a terrier's and a brush, more like a lady's gray feather boa than fur, curled round his dainty toes. Little kit's fur is a grizzled gray shading to mottled fawn. The hairs are coarse, horsey, indistinctly marked, and the fur is of small value to the trader; so dainty little swift, who looks as if nature made him for a pet dog instead of a fox, is slighted by the hunter, unless kit persists in tempting a trap. Rufus the red fellow, with his grizzled gray head and black ears and whitish throat and flaunting purplish tinges down his sides like a prince royal, may make a handsome mat; but as a fur he is of little worth. His cousin with the black fore feet, the prairie fox, who is the largest and strongest and scientifically finest of all his kind, has more value as a fur. The colour of the prairie fox shades rather to pale ochre and yellow that the nondescript grizzled gray that is of so little value as a fur. Of the silver-gray fox little need be said. He lives too far south--California and Texas and Mexico--to acquire either energy or gloss. He is the one indolent member of the fox tribe, and his fur lacks the sheen that only winter cold can give. The value of the cross fox depends on the markings that give him his name. If the bands, running diagonally over his shoulders in the shape of a cross, shade to grayish blue he is a prize, if to reddish russet, he is only a curiosity. The Arctic and black and silver foxes have the pelts that at their worst equal the other rare furs, at their best exceed the value of all other furs by so much that the lucky trapper who takes a silver fox has made his fortune. These, then, are the foxes that the trapper seeks and these are to be found only on the white wastes of the polar zone. That brings up the question--what is a silver fox? Strange as it may seem, neither scientist nor hunter can answer that question. Nor will study of all the park specimens in the world tell the secret, for the simple reason that only an Arctic climate can produce a silver fox; and parks are not established in the Arctics yet. It is quite plain that the prairie fox is in a class by himself. The uniformity of his size, his strength, his habits, his appearance, distinguish him from other foxes. It is quite plain that the little kit fox or swift is of a kind distinct from other foxes. His smallness, the shape of his bones, the cast of his face, the trick of sitting rather than lying, that wonderful big bushy soft tail of which a peacock might be vain--all differentiate him from other foxes. The same may be said of the Arctic fox with a pelt that is more like white wool than hairs of fur. He is much smaller than the red. His tail is bushier and larger than the swift, and like all Arctic creatures, he has the soles of his feet heavily furred. All this is plain and simple classification. But how about Mr. Blue Fox of the same size and habit as the white Arctic? Is he the Arctic fox in summer clothing? Yes, say some trappers; and they show their pelts of an Arctic fox taken in summer of a rusty white. But no, vow other trappers--that is impossible, for here are blue fox-skins captured in the depths of midwinter with not a white hair among them. Look closely at the skins. The ears of one blue fox are long, perfect, unbitten by frost or foe--he was a young fellow; and he is blue. Here is another with ears almost worn to stubs by fights and many winters' frosts--he is an old fellow; and he, too, is blue. Well, then, the blue fox may sometimes be the white Arctic fox in summer dress; but the blue fox who is blue all the year round, varying only in the shades of blue with the seasons, is certainly not the white Arctic fox. The same difficulty besets distinction of silver fox from black. The old scientists classified these as one and the same creature. Trappers know better. So do the later scientists who almost agree with the unlearned trapper's verdict--there are as many species as there are foxes. Black fox is at its best in midwinter, deep, brilliantly glossy, soft as floss, and yet almost impenetrable--the very type of perfection of its kind. But with the coming of the tardy Arctic spring comes a change. The snows are barely melted in May when the sheen leaves the fur. By June, the black hairs are streaked with gray; and the black fox is a gray fox. Is it at some period of the transition that the black fox becomes a silver fox, with the gray hairs as sheeny as the black and each gray hair delicately tipped with black? That question, too, remains unanswered; for certainly the black fox trapped when in his gray summer coat is not the splendid silver fox of priceless value. Black fox turning to a dull gray of midsummer may not be silver fox; but what about gray fox turning to the beautiful glossy black of midwinter? Is that what makes silver fox? Is silver fox simply a fine specimen of black caught at the very period when he is blooming into his greatest beauty? The distinctive difference between gray fox and silver is that gray fox has gray hairs among hairs of other colour, while silver fox has silver hair tipped with glossiest black on a foundation of downy gray black. Even greater confusion surrounds the origin of cross and red and gray. Trappers find all these different cubs in one burrow; but as the cubs grow, those pronounced cross turn out to be red, or the red becomes cross; and what they become at maturity, that they remain, varying only with the seasons.[45] It takes many centuries to make one perfect rose. Is it the same with the silver fox? Is he a freak or a climax or the regular product of yearly climatic changes caught in the nick of time by some lucky trapper? Ask the scientist that question, and he theorizes. Ask the trapper, and he tells you if he could only catch enough silver foxes to study that question, he would quit trapping. In all the maze of ignorance and speculation, there is one anchored fact. While animals turn a grizzled gray with age, the fine gray coats are not caused by age. Young animals of the rarest furs--fox and ermine--are born in ashy colour that turns to gray while they are still in their first nest. To say that silver fox is costly solely because it is rare is sheerest nonsense. It would be just as sensible to say that labradorite, which is rare, should be as costly as diamonds. It is the intrinsic beauty of the fur, as of the diamonds, that constitutes its first value. The facts that the taking of a silver fox is always pure luck, that the luck comes seldom, that the trapper must have travelled countless leagues by snow-shoe and dog train over the white wastes of the North, that trappers in polar regions are exposed to more dangers and hardships than elsewhere and that the fur must have been carried a long distance to market--add to the first high value of silver fox till it is not surprising that little pelts barely two feet long have sold for prices ranging from $500 to $5,000. For the trapper the way to the fortune of a silver fox is the same as the road to fortune for all other men--by the homely trail of every-day work. Cheers from the fort gates bid trappers setting out for far Northern fields God-speed. Long ago there would have been a firing of cannon when the Northern hunters left for their distant camping-grounds; but the cannon of Churchill lie rusting to-day and the hunters who go to the sub-Arctics and the Arctics no longer set out from Churchill on the bay, but from one of the little inland MacKenzie River posts. If the fine powdery snow-drifts are glossed with the ice of unbroken sun-glare, the runners strap iron crampets to their snow-shoes, and with a great jingling of the dog-bells, barking of the huskies, and yelling of the drivers, coast away for the leagueless levels of the desolate North. Frozen river-beds are the only path followed, for the high cliffs--almost like ramparts on the lower MacKenzie--shut off the drifting east winds that heap barricades of snow in one place and at another sweep the ground so clear that the sleighs pull heavy as stone. Does a husky fag? A flourish of whips and off the laggard scampers, keeping pace with the others in the traces, a pace that is set for forty miles a day with only one feeding time, nightfall when the sleighs are piled as a wind-break and the frozen fish are doled out to the ravenous dogs. Gun signals herald the hunter's approach to a chance camp; and no matter how small and mean the tepee, the door is always open for whatever visitor, the meat pot set simmering for hungry travellers. When the snow crust cuts the dogs' feet, buckskin shoes are tied on the huskies; and when an occasional dog fags entirely, he is turned adrift from the traces to die. Relentless as death is Northern cold; and wherever these long midwinter journeys are made, gruesome traditions are current of hunter and husky. I remember hearing of one old husky that fell hopelessly lame during the north trip. Often the drivers are utter brutes to their dogs, speaking in curses which they say is the only language a husky can understand, emphasized with the blows of a club. Too often, as well, the huskies are vicious curs ready to skulk or snap or bolt or fight, anything but work. But in this case the dog was an old reliable that kept the whole train in line, and the driver had such an affection for the veteran husky that when rheumatism crippled the dog's legs the man had not the heart to shoot such a faithful servant. The dog was turned loose from the traces and hobbled lamely behind the scampering teams. At last he fell behind altogether, but at night limped into camp whining his joy and asking dumbly for the usual fish. In the morning when the other teams set out, the old husky was powerless to follow. But he could still whine and wag his tail. He did both with all his might, so that when the departing driver looked back over his shoulder, he saw a pair of eyes pleading, a head with raised alert ears, shoulders straining to lift legs that refused to follow, and a bushy tail thwacking--thwacking--thwacking the snow! "You ought to shoot him," advised one driver. "You do it--you're a dead sure aim," returned the man who had owned the dog. But the other drivers were already coasting over the white wastes. The owner looked at his sleighs as if wondering whether they would stand an additional burden. Then probably reflecting that old age is not desirable for a suffering dog in a bitingly keen frost, he turned towards the husky with his hand in his belt. Thwack--thwack went the tail as much as to say: "Of course he wouldn't desert me after I've hauled his sleigh all my life! Thwack--thwack! I'd get up and jump all around him if I could; there isn't a dog-gone husky in all polar land with half as good a master as I have!" The man stopped. Instead of going to the dog he ran back to his sleigh, loaded his arms full of frozen fish and threw them down before the dog. Then he put one caribou-skin under the old dog, spread another over him and ran away with his train while the husky was still guzzling. The fish had been poisoned to be thrown out to the wolves that so often pursue Northern dog trains. Once a party of hunters crossing the Northern Rockies came on a dog train stark and stiff. Where was the master who had bidden them stand while he felt his way blindly through the white whirl of a blizzard for the lost path? In the middle of the last century, one of that famous family of fur traders, a MacKenzie, left Georgetown to go north to Red River in Canada. He never went back to Georgetown and he never reached Red River; but his coat was found fluttering from a tree, a death signal to attract the first passer-by, and the body of the lost trader was discovered not far off in the snow. Unless it is the year of the rabbit pest and the rabbit ravagers are bold with hunger, the pursuing wolves seldom give full chase. They skulk far to the rear of the dog trains, licking up the stains of the bleeding feet, or hanging spectrally on the dim frosty horizon all night long. Hunger drives them on; but they seem to lack the courage to attack. I know of one case where the wolves followed the dog trains bringing out a trader's family from the North down the river-bed for nearly five hundred miles. What man hunter would follow so far? The farther north the fox hunter goes, the shorter grow the days, till at last the sun, which has rolled across the south in a wheel of fire, dwindles to a disk, the disk to a rim--then no rim at all comes up, and it is midwinter night, night but not darkness. The white of endless unbroken snow, the glint of icy particles filling the air, the starlight brilliant as diamond points, the Aurora Borealis in curtains and shafts and billows of tenuous impalpable rose-coloured fire--all brighten the polar night so that the sun is unmissed. This is the region chiefly hunted by the Eskimo, with a few white men and Chippewyan half-breeds. The regular Northern hunters do not go as far as the Arctics, but choose their hunting-ground somewhere in the region of "little sticks," meaning the land where timber growth is succeeded by dwarf scrubs. The hunting-ground is chosen always from the signs written across the white page of the snow. If there are claw-marks, bird signs of Northern grouse or white ptarmigan or snow-bunting, ermine will be plentiful; for the Northern birds with their clogged stockings of feet feathers have a habit of floundering under the powdery snow; and up through that powdery snow darts the snaky neck of stoat, the white weasel-hunter of birds. If there are the deep plunges of the white hare, lynx and fox and mink and marten and pekan will be plentiful; for the poor white hare feeds all the creatures of the Northern wastes, man and beast. If there are little dainty tracks--oh, such dainty tracks that none but a high-stepping, clear-cut, clean-limbed, little thoroughbred could make them!--tracks of four toes and a thumb claw much shorter than the rest, with a padding of five basal foot-bones behind the toes, tracks that show a fluff on the snow as of furred foot-soles, tracks that go in clean, neat, clear long leaps and bounds--the hunter knows that he has found the signs of the Northern fox. Here, then, he will camp for the winter. Camping in the Far North means something different from the hastily pitched tent of the prairie. The north wind blows biting, keen, unbroken in its sweep. The hunter must camp where that wind will not carry scent of his tent to the animal world. For his own sake, he must camp under shelter from that wind, behind a cairn of stones, below a cliff, in a ravine. Poles have been brought from the land of trees on the dog sleigh. These are put up, criss-crossed at top, and over them is laid, not the canvas tent, but a tent of skins, caribou, wolf, moose, at a sharp enough angle to let the snow slide off. Then snow is banked deep, completely round the tent. For fire, the Eskimo depends on whale-oil and animal grease. The white man or half-breed from the South hoards up chips and sticks. But mainly he depends on exercise and animal food for warmth. At night he sleeps in a fur bag. In the morning that bag is frozen stiff as boards by the moisture of his own breath. Need one ask why the rarest furs, which can only be produced by the coldest of climates, are so costly? Having found the tracks of the fox, the hunter sets out his traps baited with fish or rabbit or a bird-head. If the snow be powdery enough, and the trapper keen in wild lore, he may even know what sort of a fox to expect. In the depths of midwinter, the white Arctic fox has a wool fur to his feet like a brahma chicken. This leaves its mark in the fluffy snow. A ravenous fellow he always is, this white fox of the hungry North, bold from ignorance of man, but hard to distinguish from the snow because of his spotless coat. The blue fox being slightly smaller than the full-grown Arctic, lopes along with shorter leaps by which the trapper may know the quarry; but the blue fox is just as hard to distinguish from the snow as his white brother. The gray frost haze is almost the same shade as his steel-blue coat; and when spring comes, blue fox is the same colour as the tawny moss growth. Colour is blue fox's defence. Consequently blue foxes show more signs of age than white--stubby ears frozen low, battle-worn teeth, dulled claws. The chances are that the trapper will see the black fox himself almost as soon as he sees his tracks; for the sheeny coat that is black fox's beauty betrays him above the snow. Bushy tail standing straight out, every black hair bristling erect with life, the white tail-tip flaunting a defiance, head up, ears alert, fore feet cleaving the air with the swift ease of some airy bird--on he comes, jump--jump--jump--more of a leap than a lope, galloping like a wolf, altogether different from the skulking run of little foxes, openly exulting in his beauty and his strength and his speed! There is no mistaking black fox. If the trapper does not see the black fox scurrying over the snow, the tell-tale characteristics of the footprints are the length and strength of the leaps. Across these leaps the hunter leaves his traps. Does he hope for a silver fox? Does every prospector expect to find gold nuggets? In the heyday of fur company prosperity, not half a dozen true silver foxes would be sent out in a year. To-day I doubt if more than one good silver fox is sent out in half a dozen years. But good white fox and black and blue are prizes enough in themselves, netting as much to the trapper as mink or beaver or sable. II _The White Ermine_ All that was said of the mystery of fox life applies equally to ermine. Why is the ermine of Wisconsin and Minnesota and Dakota a dirty little weasel noted for killing forty chickens in a night, wearing a mahogany-coloured coat with a sulphur strip down his throat, while the ermine of the Arctics is as white as snow, noted for his courage, wearing a spotless coat which kings envy, yes, and take from him? For a long time the learned men who study animal life from museums held that the ermine's coat turned white from the same cause as human hair, from senility and debility and the depleting effect of an intensely trying climate. But the trappers told a different story. They told of baby ermine born in Arctic burrows, in March, April, May, June, while the mother was still in white coat, babies born in an ashy coat something like a mouse-skin that turned to fleecy white within ten days. They told of ermine shedding his brown coat in autumn to display a fresh layer of iron-gray fur that turned sulphur white within a few days. They told of the youngest and smallest and strongest ermine with the softest and whitest coats. That disposed of the senility theory. All the trapper knows is that the whitest ermine is taken when the cold is most intense and most continuous, that just as the cold slackens the ermine coat assumes the sulphur tinges, deepening to russet and brown, and that the whitest ermine instead of showing senility, always displays the most active and courageous sort of deviltry. Summer or winter, the Northern trapper is constantly surrounded by ermine and signs of ermine. There are the tiny claw-tracks almost like frost tracery across the snow. There is the rifled nest of a poor grouse--eggs sucked, or chickens murdered, the nest fouled so that it emits the stench of a skunk, or the mother hen lying dead from a wound in her throat. There is the frightened rabbit loping across the fields in the wildest, wobbliest, most woe-begone leaps, trying to shake something off that is clinging to his throat till over he tumbles--the prey of a hunter that is barely the size of rabbit's paw. There is the water-rat flitting across the rocks in blind terror, regardless of the watching trapper, caring only to reach safety--water--water! Behind comes the pursuer--this is no still hunt but a straight open chase--a little creature about the length of a man's hand, with a tail almost as long, a body scarcely the thickness of two fingers, a mouth the size of a bird's beak, and claws as small as a sparrow's. It gallops in lithe bounds with its long neck straight up and its beady eyes fastened on the flying water-rat. Splash--dive--into the water goes the rat! Splash--dive--into the water goes the ermine! There is a great stirring up of the muddy bottom. The water-rat has tried to hide in the under-tangle; and the ermine has not only dived in pursuit but headed the water-rat back from the safe retreat of his house. Up comes a black nose to the surface of the water. The rat is foolishly going to try a land race. Up comes a long neck like a snake's, the head erect, the beady eyes on the fleeing water-rat--then with a splash they race overland. The water-rat makes for a hole among the rocks. Ermine sees and with a spurt of speed is almost abreast when the rat at bay turns with a snap at his pursuer. But quick as flash, the ermine has pirouetted into the air. The long writhing neck strikes like a serpent's fangs and the sharp fore teeth have pierced the brain of the rat. The victim dies without a cry, without a struggle, without a pain. That long neck was not given the ermine for nothing. Neither were those muscles massed on either side of his jaws like bulging cheeks. In winter the ermine's murderous depredations are more apparent. Now the ermine, too, sets itself to reading the signs of the snow. Now the ermine becomes as keen a still hunter as the man. Sometimes a whirling snow-fall catches a family of grouse out from furze cover. The trapper, too, is abroad in the snow-storm; for that is the time when he can set his traps undetected. The white whirl confuses the birds. They run here, there, everywhere, circling about, burying themselves in the snow till the storm passes over. The next day when the hunter is going the rounds of these traps, along comes an ermine. It does not see him. It is following a scent, head down, body close to ground, nose here, there, threading the maze which the crazy grouse had run. But stop, thinks the trapper, the snow-fall covered the trail. Exactly--that is why the little ermine dives under snow just as it would under water, running along with serpentine wavings of the white powdery surface till up it comes again where the wind has blown the snow-fall clear. Along it runs, still intent, quartering back where it loses the scent--along again till suddenly the head lifts--that motion of the snake before it strikes! The trapper looks. Tail feathers, head feathers, stupid blinking eyes poke through the fluffy snow-drift. And now the ermine no longer runs openly. There are too many victims this time--it may get all the foolish hidden grouse; so it dives and if the man had not alarmed the stupid grouse, ermine would have darted up through the snow with a finishing stab for each bird. By still hunt and open hunt, by nose and eye, relentless as doom, it follows its victims to the death. Does the bird perch on a tree? Up goes the ermine, too, on the side away from the bird's head. Does the mouse thread a hundred mazes and hide in a hole? The ermine threads every maze, marches into the hidden nest and takes murderous possession. Does the rat hide under rock? Under the rock goes the ermine. Should the trapper follow to see the outcome of the contest, the ermine will probably sit at the mouth of the rat-hole, blinking its beady eyes at him. If he attacks, down it bolts out of reach. If he retires, out it comes looking at this strange big helpless creature with bold contempt. The keen scent, the keen eyes, the keen ears warn it of an enemy's approach. Summer and winter, its changing coat conceals it. The furze where it runs protects it from fox and lynx and wolverine. Its size admits it to the tiniest of hiding-places. All that the ermine can do to hunt down a victim, it can do to hide from an enemy. These qualities make it almost invincible to other beasts of the chase. Two joints in the armour of its defence has the little ermine. Its black tail-tip moving across snow betrays it to enemies in winter: the very intentness on prey, its excess of self-confidence, leads it into danger; for instance, little ermine is royally contemptuous of man's tracks. If the man does not molest it, it will follow a scent and quarter and circle under his feet; so the man has no difficulty in taking the little beast whose fur is second only to that of the silver fox. So bold are the little creatures that the man may discover their burrows under brush, in rock, in sand holes, and take the whole litter before the game mother will attempt to escape. Indeed, the plucky little ermine will follow the captor of her brood. Steel rat traps, tiny deadfalls, frosted bits of iron smeared with grease to tempt the ermine's tongue which the frost will hold like a vice till the trapper comes, and, most common of all, twine snares such as entrap the rabbit, are the means by which the ermine comes to his appointed end at the hands of men. The quality of the pelt shows as wide variety as the skin of the fox; and for as mysterious reasons. Why an ermine a year old should have a coat like sulphur and another of the same age a coat like swan's-down, neither trapper nor scientist has yet discovered. The price of the perfect ermine-pelt is higher than any other of the rare furs taken in North America except silver fox; but it no longer commands the fabulous prices that were certainly paid for specimen ermine-skins in the days of the Georges in England and the later Louis in France. How were those fabulously costly skins prepared? Old trappers say no perfectly downy pelt is ever taken from an ermine, that the downy effect is produced by a trick of the trade--scraping the flesh side so deftly that all the coarse hairs will fall out, leaving only the soft under-fur. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 45: That is, as far as trappers yet know.] CHAPTER XIX WHAT THE TRAPPER STANDS FOR Waging ceaseless war against beaver and moose, types of nature's most harmless creatures, against wolf and wolverine, types of nature's most destructive agents, against traders who were rivals and Indians who were hostiles, the trapper would almost seem to be himself a type of nature's arch-destroyer. Beautiful as a dream is the silent world of forest and prairie and mountain where the trapper moves with noiseless stealth of the most skilful of all the creatures that prey. In that world, the crack of the trapper's rifle, the snap of the cruel steel jaws in his trap, seem the only harsh discords in the harmony of an existence that riots with a very fulness of life. But such a world is only a dream. The reality is cruel as death. Of all the creatures that prey, man is the most merciful. Ordinarily, knowledge of animal life is drawn from three sources. There are park specimens, stuffed to the utmost of their eating capacity and penned off from the possibility of harming anything weaker than themselves. There are the private pets fed equally well, pampered and chained safely from harming or being harmed. There are the wild creatures roaming natural haunts, some two or three days' travel from civilization, whose natures have been gradually modified generation by generation from being constantly hunted with long-range repeaters. Judging from these sorts of wild animals, it certainly seems that the brute creation has been sadly maligned. The bear cubs lick each other's paws with an amatory singing that is something between the purr of a cat and the grunt of a pig. The old polars wrestle like boys out of school, flounder in grotesque gambols that are laughably clumsy, good-naturedly dance on their hind legs, and even eat from their keeper's hand. And all the deer family can be seen nosing one another with the affection of turtle-doves. Surely the worst that can be said of these animals is that they shun the presence of man. Perhaps some kindly sentimentalist wonders if things hadn't gone so badly out of gear in a certain historic garden long ago, whether mankind would not be on as friendly relations with the animal world as little boys and girls are with bears and baboons in the fairy books. And the scientist goes a step further, and soberly asks whether these wild things of the woods are not kindred of man after all; for have not man and beast ascended the same scale of life? Across the centuries, modern evolution shakes hands with old-fashioned transmigration. To be sure, members of the deer family sometimes kill their mates in fits of blind rage, and the innocent bear cubs fall to mauling their keeper, and the old bears have been known to eat their young. These things are set down as freaks in the animal world, and in nowise allowed to upset the influences drawn from animals living in unnatural surroundings, behind iron bars, or in haunts where long-range rifles have put the fear of man in the animal heart. Now the trapper studies animal life where there is neither a pen to keep the animal from doing what it wants to do, nor any rifle but his own to teach wild creatures fear. Knowing nothing of science and sentiment, he never clips facts to suit his theory. On the truthfulness of his eyes depends his own life, so that he never blinks his eyes to disagreeable facts. Looking out on the life of the wilds clear-visioned as his mountain air, the trapper sees a world beautiful as a dream but cruel as death. He sees a world where to be weak, to be stupid, to be dull, to be slow, to be simple, to be rash are the unpardonable crimes; where the weak must grow strong, keen of eye and ear and instinct, sharp, wary, swift, wise, and cautious; where in a word the weak must grow fit to survive or--perish! The slow worm fills the hungry maw of the gaping bird. Into the soft fur of the rabbit that has strayed too far from cover clutch the swooping talons of an eagle. The beaver that exposes himself overland risks bringing lynx or wolverine or wolf on his home colony. Bird preys on worm, mink on bird, lynx on mink, wolf on lynx, and bear on all creatures that live from men and moose down to the ant and the embryo life in the ant's egg. But the vision of ravening destruction does not lead the trapper to morbid conclusions on life as it leads so many housed thinkers in the walled cities; for the same world that reveals to him such ravening slaughter shows him that every creature, the weakest and the strongest, has some faculty, some instinct, some endowment of cunning, or dexterity or caution, some gift of concealment, of flight, of semblance, of death--that will defend it from all enemies. The ermine is one of the smallest of all hunters, but it can throw an enemy off the scent by diving under snow. The rabbit is one of the most helpless of all hunted things, but it can take cover from foes of the air under thorny brush, and run fast enough to outwind the breath of a pursuer, and double back quick enough to send a harrying eagle flopping head over heels on the ground, and simulate the stillness of inanimate objects surrounding it so truly that the passer-by can scarcely distinguish the balls of fawn fur from the russet bark of a log. And the rabbit's big eyes and ears are not given it for nothing. Poet and trapper alike see the same world, and for the same reason. Both seek only to know the truth, to see the world as it is; and the world that they see is red in tooth and claw. But neither grows morbid from his vision; for that same vision shows each that the ravening destruction is only a weeding out of the unfit. There is too much sunlight in the trapper's world, too much fresh air in his lungs, too much red blood in his veins for the morbid miasmas that bring bilious fumes across the mental vision of the housed city man. And what place in the scale of destruction does the trapper occupy? Modern sentiment has almost painted him as a red-dyed monster, excusable, perhaps, because necessity compels the hunter to slay, but after all only the most highly developed of the creatures that prey. Is this true? Arch-destroyer he may be; but it should be remembered that he is the destroyer of destroyers. Animals kill young and old, male and female. The true trapper does not kill the young; for that would destroy his next year's hunt. He does not kill the mother while she is with the young. He kills the grown males which--it can be safely said--have killed more of each other than man has killed in all the history of trapping. Wherever regions have been hunted by the pot-hunter, whether the sportsman for amusement or the settler supplying his larder, game has been exterminated. This is illustrated by all the stretch of country between the Platte and the Saskatchewan. Wherever regions have been hunted only by the trapper, game is as plentiful as it has ever been. This is illustrated by the forests of the Rockies, by the No-Man's Land south of Hudson Bay and by the Arctics. Wherever the trapper has come destroying grisly and coyote and wolverine, the prong horn and mountain-sheep and mountain-goat and wapiti and moose have increased. But the trapper stands for something more than a game warden, something more than the most merciful of destroyers. He destroys _animal_ life--a life which is red in tooth and claw with murder and rapine and cruelty--in order that _human_ life may be preserved, may be rendered independent of the elemental powers that wage war against it. It is a war as old as the human race, this struggle of man against the elements, a struggle alike reflected in Viking song of warriors conquering the sea, and in the Scandinavian myth of pursuing Fenris wolf, and in the Finnish epic of the man-hero wresting secrets of life-bread from the earth, and in Indian folk-lore of a Hiawatha hunting beast and treacherous wind. It is a war in which the trapper stands forth as a conqueror, a creature sprung of earth, trampling all the obstacles that earth can offer to human will under his feet, finding paths through the wilderness for the explorer who was to come after him, opening doors of escape from stifled life in crowded centres of population, preparing a highway for the civilization that was to follow his own wandering trail through the wilds. APPENDIX When in Labrador and Newfoundland a few years ago, the writer copied the entries of an old half-breed woman trapper's daily journal of her life. It is fragmentary and incoherent, but gives a glimpse of the Indian mind. It is written in English. She was seventy-five years old when the diary opened in December, 1893. Her name was Lydia Campbell and she lived at Hamilton Inlet. Having related how she shot a deer, skinning it herself, made her snow-shoes and set her rabbit snares, she closes her first entry with: "Well, as I sed, I can't write much at a time now, for i am getting blind and some mist rises up before me if i sew, read or write a little while." Lydia Campbell's mother was captured by Eskimo. She ran away when she had grown up, to quote her own terse diary, "crossed a river on drift sticks, wading in shallows, through woods, meeting bears, sleeping under trees--seventy miles flight--saw a French boat--took off skirt and waved it to them--came--took my mother on board--worked for them--with the sealers--camped on the ice. "As there was no other kind of women to marrie hear, the few English men each took a wife of that sort and they never was sorry that they took them, for they was great workers and so it came to pass that I was one of the youngest of them." [Meaning, of course, that she was the daughter of one of these marriages.] * * * * * "Our young man pretended to spark the two daughters of Tomas. He was a one-armed man, for he had shot away one arm firing at a large bird.... He double-loaded his gun in his fright, so the por man lost one of his armes,... he was so smart with his gun that he could bring down a bird flying past him, or a deer running past he would be the first to bring it down." * * * * * "They was holden me hand and telling me that I must be his mother now as his own mother is dead and she was a great friend of mine although we could not understand each other's language sometimes, still we could make it out with sins and wonders." * * * * * "April 7, 1894.--Since I last wrote on this book, I have been what people call cruising about here. I have been visiting some of my friends, though scattered far apart, with my snow-shoes and axe on my shoulders. The nearest house to this place is about five miles up a beautiful river, and then through woods, what the french calls a portage--it is what I call pretty. Many is the time that I have been going with dogs and komatick 40 or 50 years ago with my husband and family to N. W. River, to the Hon. Donald A. Smith and family to keep N. Year or Easter." * * * * * "My dear old sister Hannah Mishlin who is now going on for 80 years old and she is smart yet, she hunts fresh meat and chops holes in the 3 foot ice this very winter and catches trout with her hook, enough for her household, her husband not able to work, he has a bad complaint." * * * * * "You must please excuse my writing and spelling for I have never been to school, neither had I a spelling book in my young day--me a native of this country, Labrador, Hamilton's Inlet, Esquimaux Bay--if you wish to know who I am, I am old Lydia Campbell, formerly Lydia Brooks, then Blake, after Blake, now Campbell. So you see ups and downs has been my life all through, and now I am what I am--prais the Lord." "I have been hunting most every day since Easter, and to some of my rabbit snares and still traps, cat traps and mink traps. I caught 7 rabbits and 1 marten and I got a fix and 4 partridges, about 500 trout besides household duties--never leave out morning and Evening prayers and cooking and baking and washing for 5 people--3 motherless little children--with so much to make for sale out of seal skin and deer skin shoes, bags and pouches and what not.... You can say well done old half-breed woman in Hamilton's Inlet. Good night, God bless us all and send us prosperity. "Yours ever true, "LYDIA CAMPBELL." * * * * * "We are going to have an evening worship, my poor old man is tired, he has been a long way to-day and he shot 2 beautyful white partridges. Our boy heer shot once spruce partridge." * * * * * "Caplin so plentiful boats were stopped, whales, walrusses and white bears." * * * * * "Muligan River, May 24, 1894.--They say that once upon a time the world was drowned and that all the Esquimaux were drownded but one family and he took his family and dogs and chattels and his seal-skin boat and Kiak and Komaticks and went on the highest hill that they could see, and stayed there till the rain was over and when the water dried up they descended down the river and got down to the plains and when they could not see any more people, they took off the bottoms of their boots and took some little white [seal] pups and sent the poor little things off to sea and they drifted to some islands far away and became white people. Then they done the same as the others did and the people spread all over the world. Such was my poor father's thought.... There is up the main river a large fall, the same that the American and English gentlemen have been up to see. [Referring to Mr. Bryant, of Philadelphia, who visited Grand Falls.] Well there is a large whirlpool or hole at the bottom of the fall. The Indians that frequent the place say that there is three women--Indians--that lives under that place or near to it I am told, and at times they can hear them speaking to each other louder than the roar of the falls." [The Indians always think the mist of a waterfall signifies the presence of ghosts.] "I have been the cook of that great Sir D. D. Smith that is in Canada at this time. [In the days when Lord Strathcona was chief trader at Hamilton Inlet.] He was then at Rigolet Post, a chief trader only, now what is he so great! He was seen last winter by one of the women that belong to this bay. She went up to Canada ... and he is gray headed and bended, that is Sir D. D. Smith." * * * * * "August 1, 1894.--My dear friends, you will please excuse my writing and spelling--the paper sweems by me, my eyesight is dim now----" THE END 
34063	----	FIFTY YEARS A HUNTER AND TRAPPER [Frontispiece: E. N. WOODCOCK AND BEAR TRAPS--HIS OWN MAKE.] FIFTY YEARS A HUNTER AND TRAPPER Experiences and Observations of E. N. Woodcock the noted Hunter and Trapper, as written by Himself and Published in H-T-T from 1903 to 1913 EDITED BY A. R. HARDING Published by A. R. HARDING, Publisher St. Louis, Mo. Copyright 1913, By A. R. HARDING. CONTENTS. I--Autobiography of E. N. Woodcock II--Early Experiences III--My First Real Trapping Experience IV--Some Early Experiences V--Some Early Experiences (Concluded) VI--A Hunt on the Kinzua VII--My Last Hunt on the Kinzua VIII--Fred and the Old Trapper IX--Bears in 1870, Today--Other Notes X--Incidents Connected with Bear Trapping XI--Pacific Coast Trip XII--Some Michigan Trips XIII--Hunting and Trapping in Cameron Co., Pa., in 1869 XIV--Hunting and Trapping in Cameron Co. XV--Trapping and Bee Hunting XVI--Hits and Misses on the Trail XVII--Lost in the Woods XVIII--Traps and Other Hints for Trappers XIX--Camps and Camping XX--Deer Hunt Turned Into a Bear Hunt XXI--Dog on the Trap Line XXII--Two Cases of Buck Fever XXIII--Partner a Necessity XXIV--A Few Words on Deadfalls XXV--Advice from a Veteran XXVI--The Screech of the Panther XXVII--Handling Raw Furs and Other Notes XXVIII--The Passing of the Fur bearer XXIX--Destruction of Game and Game Birds XXX--Southern Experiences on the Trap Line XXXI--On the Trap and Trot Line in the South XXXII--Trapping in Alabama XXXIII--Some Early Experiences XXXIV--The White Deer XXXV--A Day of Luck XXXVI--A Mixed Bag ILLUSTRATIONS. E. N. Woodcock and Bear Traps--His own make E. N. Woodcock's Residence Setting a Large Steel Trap for Bear Woodcock and Some of His Catch Woodcock on the Trap Line Log Set for Fox Woodcock and His Catch, Fall, 1904 Building a Bear "Lowdown" Results of a Few Weeks' Trapping Woodcock Fishing on the Sinnamahoning Woodcock and Some of His Catch Woodcock and His Steel Traps Woodcock Fishing on Pine Creek Woodcock and His Old Trapping Dog, Prince Good Small Animal Deadfall Spring Set for Fox Woodcock on the Trap Line, 1912 Visitors at Woodcock's Camp in Georgia E. N. Woodcock and His Catch of Alabama Furs E. N. Woodcock and Some of His Alabama Furs Foot of Tree Set Woodcock and His Old Trapping Dog PREFACE. Sometime early in the spring of 1903, a letter was received from a man in Pennsylvania and published in H-T-T, which a few weeks later brought to light one of the truest and best sportsmen that ever shouldered a gun, strung a snare or set a trap--E. N. Woodcock. Some of the happenings are repeated and all dates may not be correct, for be it remembered that Mr. Woodcock has written all from memory. It is doubtful if he kept all copies of H-T-T, therefore was not sure if such and such incidents had been written before. In most cases these are somewhat different and as they all "fit in" we have used them as written and published from time to time. Much information is also contained in the writings of Mr. Woodcock and whether you use gun, steel traps, deadfalls or snares, you will find something of value. The articles are also written in a style that impresses all of their truthfulness, but, so written that they are very interesting. Those of our readers who have read his articles will be glad of this opportunity to get his writings in book form, while those that have only read a few of his more recent articles will be pleased to secure all. Perhaps the following editorial which appeared in H-T-T will be in place here: "Although crippled with rheumatism, there is an old hunter and trapper living in Potter County, Pa., whose enthusiasm is high and his greatest desire is still to get out over the trap lines a few seasons before the end of the "trail" of life's journey is reached. May that desire be fulfilled is the earnest wish of the H-T-T as well as thousands of our readers, who have read the writings of this kind-hearted and wide experienced hunter and trapper, as they have been penned from his home near the Allegheny Mountains. It is with pleasure that we publish in this issue the "Autobiography of E. N. Woodcock as a Trapper." During his half century with trap and gun, he has had some narrow escapes and experiences, but not the many "hair-breadth escapes" that some claim, but which only occur on paper. Mr. Woodcock is a truthful man, and you can read his autobiography knowing that it is the truth even to the minutest detail." The autobiography was written by Mr. Woodcock at the request of the Editor of Hunter-Trader-Trapper in the spring of 1908 and published July of the same year. We are glad to add that since that time, Mr. Woodcock has enjoyed several hunting and trapping expeditions. Some were in his home state--Pennsylvania--on same grounds, or at least near those he camped on many, many years ago. He also took a couple of trips into the south--fall of 1911 and 1912. He was in Tennessee, Alabama, Georgia and the Carolinas. An account of these hunts is given in Chapters XXX, XXXI and XXXII. In May, 1912, the Editor of Hunter-Trader-Trapper visited Mr. Woodcock and family at their home some four miles from Coudersport, Pennsylvania. Mr. Woodcock, though physically not large, is a wonderful man in the "ways of the woods." He is not given to exaggeration or boasting like many a man who has followed the Trail and Trap Line. Every word that he says or writes can be put down as truthful beyond a doubt. At this time, (May, 1912) he was afraid he would never be able to get out on the trap line again, as he was suffering from rheumatism and heart trouble. Towards fall he became better, and enjoyed the sport, which for more than fifty years has been his--may he be spared to enjoy many more. By noting the dates as given in connection with various articles published, it will be seen that Mr. Woodcock shortly after 1900 began to point out the need of protection to game and fur animals. After a life on the trap and trail of more than fifty years, such advice should be far reaching. Mr. Woodcock is a man of unusual foresight and knowing that he is nearing the end of the trail, wishes to forcibly impress the needs of protection. By referring to a good map, you will be able to see the location of many of Mr. Woodcock's hunting, camping and trapping trips, as he generally mentions State, County and Streams. Very few men have had wider experience than Mr. Woodcock. He knows from more than a half century much of the habits and characteristics of animals. He gives his reasons why marten are plentiful in one section and are gone in a few days. His reason too, looks plausible. He describes trapping wolves in Upper Michigan about 1880, also beaver. Tells how he caught the "shadow of the forests" as wolves are often called by trappers--they are so hard to trap. By reading of his many experiences you will not only enjoy what he says, but will get facts about bear, deer, fox, wolves, mink, marten and other fur bearers that you had never thought of. This man, while on the "trail" upwards of fifty years, so far as known never killed out of season or trapped unprime furs. A WORD FROM MR. WOODCOCK. The editor of HUNTER-TRADER-TRAPPER has requested a foreword of introductory to FIFTY YEARS A HUNTER AND TRAPPER OR EXPERIENCE OF E. N. WOODCOCK, saying that so many have enjoyed my articles, which have appeared from time to time in HUNTER-TRADER-TRAPPER, extending over a period of some ten years, 1903 to 1913, that same are to be published in book form. I was born at Lymansville, Potter County, Pennsylvania, August 30, 1844. From early childhood, my nature led me to the Forests and Streams. I have hunted in many of the states of the Far West including the three Pacific States--California, Oregon and Washington. I killed my first panther or cougar in the mountains of Idaho on the headwaters of the Clearwater river. My first real experience in wolfing was in Southeastern Oregon. I met my greatest number of deer in Northwestern California. I have trapped of late years, in nearly all of the states east of the Mississippi river and also on the White River of Arkansas; also trapped bear and other fur bearing animals and hunted deer in Northern Michigan, also forty years ago. Another sport which I enjoyed was the "pigeon days." I have netted wild pigeons from the Adirondack Mountains in New York state to Indian Territory--now Oklahoma--trapping them in the states of Michigan, Indiana, Missouri, Pennsylvania and New York. My nature led me to the Trail and Trap line from early childhood and I have trapped bear and hunted deer in the mountains of Pennsylvania for more than 50 years--half a century--and my picture with my two foxes on my shoulder shows me on the trap line for the season of 1912-13. March 1, 1913. E. N. WOODCOCK. CHAPTER I. Autobiography of E. N. Woodcock. I was born on the 30th day of August, A. D. 1844, in a little village by the name of Lymansville, Potter County, Pennsylvania. Lymansville was named after my grandparent, Isaac Lyman, or better known as Major Lyman, having held office of that rank in the Revolutionary War. It is from this limb of the family that I inherited that uncontrollable desire for the trap, gun and the wild. At a very early age it was my greatest delight to have all the mice, squirrels and groundhogs and in later years young raccoons, young fox and every other varmint or wild animal that I could catch or could get from other sources, and at times I had quite a menagerie. I began trapping at a very early age, the same as many boys do who live out in the country where they have an opportunity. My father owned a grist mill and a sawmill. These mills were about one-half mile apart and it was about these mills and along the mill races and ponds of these mills that I set my first traps for muskrats, mink and coon. Before I was stout enough to set a trap which was strong enough to hold the varmint, it was necessary for me to get some older person to set the trap. I would take the trap to the intended place and set for the particular animals I was in quest of, whether mink, coon or rat. In those days clearings were small, woods large and full of game. Deer could be seen in bunches every morning in the fields and it was not uncommon to see a bear's track near the house that had been made during the night. Wolves were not plenty though it was a common thing to see their tracks and sometimes hear them howl on the hills. Like other boys who lead an outdoor life, I grew stronger each year and as I grew older and stronger my trap lines grew longer and my hunts took me farther into the woods. Finally as game became scarcer my hunts grew from a few hours in length to weeks and months camping in a cabin built in the woods in a section where game was plenty. At the age of thirteen while out with a party of men on a hunting and fishing trip, I killed my first bear. While I had now been out each fall with my traps and gun, it was not until I was about eighteen years old that I took my first lesson from an old and experienced trapper, a man nearly eighty years old and a trapper and hunter from boyhood. The man's name was Aleck Harris. We made our camp in the extreme southeastern part of this (Potter) County in a section known as "The Black Forest" and it was here that I learned many things from an experienced trapper and hunter that served me well on the trap line and the trail, in the years that followed. It was here that I made my first bed in a foot or more of snow with a fire against a fallen tree and a few boughs thrown on the ground for a bed. At other times perhaps a bear skin just removed from the bear for covering, or I might have no covering other than to remove my coat and spread it over me. This I have often done when belated on the trail so that I was unable to reach the cabin and was happy and contented. It was here I first learned to do up the saddles or the carcass of a deer in the more convenient way to carry. It was here that I took my first practical lessons in skinning, stretching, curing and handling of skins and furs. I also learned many things of traps and trapping and to do away with sheath knives and other unnecessary burdens on the trap line. In my younger days I preferred to "go it alone" when in a country that I was familiar with and many a week I have spent in my cabin alone save for my faithful dog, but as I grew older and became afflicted with rheumatism I have found a partner more acceptable. I have met with many queer circumstances while on the trap line and trail, yet I have never met with any of those bloodcurdling and hair-breadth escapes from wild animals which are mostly "pipe dreams". Perhaps the nearest I ever came to being seriously hurt by a wild animal was from a large buck deer. It was in November and on a stormy day. I had killed a doe and was in the act of dressing the doe and was leaning over the deer at work. I was within a few feet of a fallen tree. Hearing a slight noise, I raised up to see what caused it, when with the speed of a cannon ball a buck flew past me, barely missing and landed six or eight feet beyond me. The deer had come up to this fallen tree on the track of the doe and seeing me at work over the doe, became angered and sprung at me and only my straightening up at the very instant that I did saved me from being seriously hurt or perhaps killed. I sprang over the log. The deer stood and gazed at me for a moment. His eyes were of a green hue and the hair on his back all stuck up towards his head. After gazing at me for a moment the deer walked slowly away. The suddenness of the occurrence so unnerved me that I was unable to shoot for some minutes though my gun was standing against the tree within reach. At another time I was somewhat frightened by what I supposed was a dead bear suddenly coming to life. I had caught the bear in a trap and it had got fastened in some saplings growing on the steep bank of a small brook. I shot the bear in the head, as I thought, and it fell over the bank in such a manner that his whole weight was held by the leg that was fast in the trap. I was unable to release it from the trap where it was hanging as I had no clamp to put the trap springs down with, to release the bear's foot. I had set my gun, a single barrel rifle, against a tree without reloading it. I cut the bear's paw off close to the trap which allowed the animal to roll down the bank to level ground. I had begun to rip down the leg that had been caught in the trap. A lad of about ten years was with me having accompanied me to attend the traps that day. The lad stood looking on when all of a sudden he said, "See him wink." I stopped my work and glanced at the bear's eyes and sure enough he was winking and winking fast, too, and almost before I knew it the bear was trying to get onto his feet. My gun was unloaded and the lad was screaming at the top of his voice, "Kill him! Kill him!" But what was I to kill him with? Nothing came to my mind at first except to use my gun as a club but I did not like to break it. In a moment I thought of my hatchet which I had taken from the holster and laid on the bank where I had cut the bear's foot off to release him from the trap. I grabbed the hatchet and one good blow on the head put a stop to the rumpus and nobody harmed, although the boy was badly frightened. At another time I might have got into trouble with a bear also caught in a trap. I was quite young at this time. I had gone some ten or twelve miles from home and set a trap for a bear. The trap was rather a poor one with a very light chain for a bear trap. I had only set the trap a few days before yet I thought I must go and look after it, but it was more the desire to be in the woods than it was of expecting to have a bear in the trap at that time. I did not take a gun with me, only a revolver loaded as I had no more balls and this was before the days of fixed ammunition. When I came to the trap there was an ugly bear in it and he had the clog fast in some roots and among some fallen trees. After firing one shot at the Bear's head, which I missed, I then shot the two remaining balls into the bear's body with the only effect of making him more determined to get at me. I now cut a good club determined to put a quietus on Bruin in that manner but after landing several blows my knees began to feel weak. I gave up the job and returned home leaving Bruin in the trap feeling as well as he did when I first found him, so far as I was able to see. But when I returned the next morning with help and now with a regular gun we found Bruin nearly dead and helpless from the shots that I had given him the day before from the revolver. I have met with other circumstances not quite so fascinating as those just related. At one time a young companion and I were camping and trapping several miles from home and several miles from a road. One day while we were some ways out from camp setting traps my friend became suddenly very ill. It required no skilled doctor to see that it was a case that must have help at once. I started with my friend to get to camp. While my companion was not as old as I, he was larger and heavier. I worked along with him, half carrying him, while he would support himself as best he could. I got him within about a mile of the cabin when he completely gave out and could go no farther and with all my pleadings I could not get him to try to go any farther, but he promised that if I went after help that after resting he would work his way to camp. Seeing that there was no other way to do, I left him and started for help. It was now dark. My way was over a road of about twelve miles and nearly all the way through a thick woods and part of the way without a road other than a path. When I reached the cabin I stopped long enough to build a fire so that the cabin would be warm when my companion got there if he did get there at all, which I doubted. I took a lunch in my hand and started for help. I would take a trot whenever the woods were sufficiently open to let in light enough so that I could see my way. I got to my companion's home about midnight and we were soon on the way back with a team and wagon while my companion's father went after a doctor to have him there when we got back with the patient. We drove with the wagon as far as the road would allow, then we left the wagon and rode the horses to the camp. When we reached the cabin, contrary to expectations, we found my companion there but very sick. We lost no time in getting him onto a horse and starting for the wagon where we had a bed for the patient to lie down on. We got home about eight o'clock in the morning. The doctor was waiting for us and he said as soon as he looked at the man that it was a bad case of typhoid fever. He was right, for it took many weeks before my friend was able to be out again. When game began to get scarce, that is when game was no longer found plenty right at the door, I began to look for parts where game was plentiful and accordingly, with three companions, I arranged to hunt and trap on Thunder Bay River in Michigan, where deer and all kinds of game, we had been told, were plenty and also lots of fur bearers. This we found to be quite true but the state had passed a law forbidding the shipment of deer. We did not know this when we left home and two of the boys soon got discouraged and returned. It was while hunting here that I had another trip of twenty miles through the woods over rough corduroy tote road in the night after a team to take my companion (Vanater by name) out to Alpena to have a broken leg set. He was carrying a deer on his shoulder and when near camp it was necessary to cross a small stream to get to the cabin. We had felled a small tree across the creek for the purpose of crossing. There was three or four inches of snow on the log and after my companion was across the creek and just as he was about to step from the log he slipped and fell, striking his leg across the log in some manner so that it broke between the knee and ankle. After getting my companion to camp and making him as comfortable as possible, I took a lunch in my knapsack and with an old tin lantern with a tallow candle in it, which gave about as much light as a lightning bug, I started over the longest and roughest twenty miles of road that I ever traveled in the night. Sometimes I would trip on some stick or log and fall and put out my light but I would get up, light the candle in the lantern again and hurry on all the faster to make up for lost time. I made the journey all right and was back to camp the next day before noon where we found my companion doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. We got my companion out to Alpena where the doctor set the leg and in the course of two or three weeks he was so far recovered that he was able to return to camp and keep me company until he was able to again take up the trap line and trail. Some years later I again went back to Michigan and hunted deer and trapped on the Manistee, Boardman and Rapid Rivers, but I found game and furs had become somewhat scarce in that part so I next went with a partner to upper Michigan. At that time there was no railroad in Upper Michigan and but few settlers, after leaving the Straits, until near Lake Superior and near the copper and iron mines. I have tried my luck in three of the states west of the Rocky Mountains. In the Clear Water regions of Idaho there was a fair showing of big game, with a good sprinkling of the fur bearers, including a bunch of beaver here and there. (Beaver protected.) I heard men tell of there being plenty of grizzly and silver tip bear but I saw no signs of them. In California a trapper told, me of a large grizzly coming to his shack in the night. He said that he was cooking venison and that he had the fresh meat of a deer in the shack and he thought that the bear smelled the meat was what brought him there. The man said the bear smelled around the shack awhile and then began to dig at one corner of the shack and soon pulled out the bottom log. The man kept quiet until the bear pulled out the next log and put his head in through the hole when he put a ball between the bear's eyes that fixed Bruin too quick. (A bad case of nightmare.) I think it doubtful if there is a grizzly bear or at least very few now to be found south of the British Columbia line. My best catch of bear in one season with a partner was eleven. Years ago I caught from three to six bear each season but late years I have not caught more than one to three. I think that of late the heavy lumbering going on through Northern Pennsylvania had something to do with the catch of bear. The timber in Pennsylvania is largely cut away now leaving bark slashings which make fine shelter for bear and wildcats and both animals were apparently quite plenty I would judge from the number caught in this section, fall of 1907. Deer are very scarce in this state, perhaps the most to be found are in Pike County. I can lay claim to one thing that but few hunters and trappers can do, that is for forty years I lost only two seasons from the trap line and the trail and each time I was detained by rheumatism. Once being taken down with sciatica while in the camp trapping and hunting, and it held me to my bed for several months hard and tight. I still have the greater part of my trapping and hunting outfit, and am still in hopes to be able to get out on the line and pinch a few more toes. CHAPTER II. Early Experiences. As I promised to write something of my early experience at trapping and hunting, I will begin by saying that I am now living within one mile of where I was born sixty years ago (this was written in 1904), and that I began my trapping career by first trapping rats in my father's grist mill with the old figure four squat trap. I well remember the many war dances that I had when I could not make the trap stay set; but I did not trap long inside the mill for father also ran a blacksmith shop and always kept a good man to do the work in the shop. I was soon coaxing the smith to make me a steel trap, which he did. I now began catching muskrats along the tail race and about the mill dam, but the spring on my trap was so stiff that when I found the trap sprung or found game in it, I was obliged to bring the trap to the house and have some one older than I to set it. Then I would carry it back to the creek and set it. Well this was slow work and I was continually begging the blacksmith to make me more traps with weaker springs so I could set them myself. After much coaxing he made me three more which I was able to set and then the muskrats began to suffer. Let me say at that time a muskrat skin was worth more than a mink skin. Boys, I was like a man in public office, the more of it they have, the more they want. So it was with me in regard to the traps, but I could not coax the blacksmith to make any more. An older brother came to my aid in this way: he told me to go to town and see the blacksmith there and see if I could not sell some charcoal to him for traps, and he, (my brother) would help me burn the coal. Now this burning the coal was done by gathering hemlock knots from old rotten logs and piling them up and covering them like potato holes, leaving a hole open at the bottom to start the fire. After the fire was well started the hole was closed and the knots smoldered for several days. Well, the plan worked and by the operation I became the possessor of five more traps. By this time the vicinity of the mill dam and race was no longer large enough to furnish trapping grounds, and I ventured farther up and down the stream and took in the coon and mink along with the muskrat. [Illustration: WOODCOCK, WIFE, SISTER-IN-LAW, RESIDENCE AND HIS DOG MACK.] We had a neighbor, Washburn by name, who was considered a great trapper, for he could now and then catch a fox. As time passed by, I began to have a great desire to get on an equal with Mr. Washburn and catch a fox. I began to urge him to allow me to go with him to see how he set his trap, and after a long time coaxing, he granted my request. I found what everyone of today knows of the chaff bed set. You may now know that it was not long before I had a bed made near a barn that stood well back in the field, and after much worry and many wakeful nights I caught a fox and I thought myself Lord Jonathan. As time went by, and by chance I learned that by mixing a goodly part of hen manure with plenty of feathers in it, and mixing it with the chaff, it was a great improvement on chaff alone. Next I learned of the well known water set. However, I perhaps set different from the most of trappers in making this set. Well as all trappers learn from long years of experience, so have I, and those old-fashioned sets are like the squat traps, not up-to-date. I will now drop the trapping question for a time and tell you how I killed my first deer. Just outside of the clearing on father's farm and not more than fifty rods from the house was a wet place, such as are known to these parts as a "bear wallow." This wet place had been salted and was what is called a "salt lick." In those days it was not an uncommon thing to see six or eight deer in the field any morning during the summer season--the same as you will see them in parts of California today. It was not an uncommon thing for my older brother to kill a deer at this lick any morning or evening, but that was not making a nimrod of me. I would beg father to let me take the gun (which was an old double barreled flintlock shot gun) and watch the lick. As I was only nine years old, they would not allow me to have the gun, so I was obliged to steal it out when no one was in sight, carry it to the barn and then watch my opportunity and "skipper" from the barn to the lick. All worked smoothly and I got to the lick all right. It was toward sundown and I had scarcely poked the gun through the hole in the blind and looked out when I saw two or three deer coming toward the lick. I cocked the old gun and made ready but about this time I was taken with the worst chill that any boy ever had and I shook so that I could scarcely hold the gun to the peep hole. It was only a moment when two of the deer stepped into the lick, and I took the best aim I could under the condition, and pulled the trigger. Well of all the bawling a deer ever made, I think this one did the worst, but I did not stop to see what I had done but took across the field to the house at a lively gait, leaving the gun in the blind. The folks heard the shot and saw me running for the house at break-neck speed (this of course was the first that they knew I was out with the gun). My older brother came to meet me and see what the trouble was. When I told him what I had done, he went with me to the lick and there we found a fair-sized buck wallowing in the lick with his back broken, one buck shot (or rather one slug, for the gun was loaded with pieces cut from a bar of lead); one slug had struck and broken the spine and this was the cause of the deer bawling so loud as this was the only one that hit. The old shotgun was now taken from its usual corner in the kitchen and hung up over the mantle piece above the big fire place and well out of my reach. This did not stop my hunting. We had a neighbor who had two or three guns and he would lend me one of them. I would hide away hen eggs and take them to the grocery and trade them for powder and shot. Of course the man who owned the gun got the game, when I chanced to kill any, for I did not dare to carry it home. It was not long until father found that I was borrowing Mr. Abbott's gun, and he thought that if hunt I would, it would be better that I use our own and then he would know when I was out with it. He took the old flintlock to the gunsmith and had it fixed over into a cap lock, and now I was rigged out with both gun and traps. I will now tell you about the first bear that I killed. I was about thirteen years old, and it was not so common a thing for one to kill a bear in those days as it is now (1904), for strange as it may seem, bears are far more plentiful here today than they were at that time. Two of my brothers and three or four of the neighbors went into the woods about twelve miles and bought fifty acres of land. There was no one living within six or seven miles of the place. They cleared off four or five acres and built a good log fence around it. They also built a small barn and cabin. Each spring they would drive their young cattle out to this place, stay a few days and plant a few potatoes, and some corn. About once a month it was customary to go over to this clearing and hunt up the cattle and bring them to the clearing and salt them, then have a day or two of trout fishing, watch licks and kill a deer or two, jerk the meat and have a general good time. I was allowed to go on one of these expeditions, and the first night the men watched one or two licks and one of the men killed a deer, but I had to stay in camp that night with a promise that I should watch the second night. During the first night we heard wolves howl away upon the hills. The next morning the men talked very mysteriously about the wolves and said that it would not be safe to watch the licks that night, that no deer would come to the licks as long as the wolves were around. I took it all in and said nothing, but was determined to watch a lick that night. Finally one of the men, John Duell by name, said that I could watch the lick that he had and he would stay in camp. The one that I was to watch was only a short distance from the clearing. When the sun was about one-half hour high, I took the old shot gun, this time loaded with genuine buck shot and climbed the Indian ladder to the scaffold which was built about twenty feet from the ground in a hemlock tree. I sat quiet until sundown and no deer came. I thought I would tie the gun in the notches in the limbs, which brought the gun in proper range to kill the deer in the lick, should it come after dark. I got one string tied around the barrel and the limb when a slight noise to my left caused me to look in that direction and I saw a dark object standing in the edge of the little thicket, which I took to be a black creature I had seen down near the clearing when I came to the lick. My thoughts were that I would tie the breech of the gun fast to the limb, and then I would climb down and stone the animal away, so I went on tying the gun fast. On looking up I saw that the supposedly black heifer had turned out to be a black bear, and that it was going to go above the lick and not into it. My knife was out in an instant and the next moment I had the strings that held the gun cut. I raised it carefully to my face and about this time the bear stopped, turned his head around and looked back in the direction he had come. This was my chance, and I fired both barrels at his head and shoulders, and immediately there was a snorting, snarling, rolling and tumbling of the bear, but the maneuvers of the bear was no comparison to the screams and shouts that came from me. I was still making more noise than a band of Indians when Mr. Duell arrived on the scene and took in the situation. The other men who were watching other licks thought I had surely been attacked by the wolves by the unearthly yell I was making and the whole party were soon on the ground. The bear was soon dressed and the men gave me the cognomen of the "The Great Hunter of Kentucky" and so ended the killing of my first bear. I am still in hopes to take the pelts from one or two this fall and winter and later, I will tell of some of the incidents I have seen and experienced while trapping and hunting among them. Perhaps, how a brother of mine got a tenderfoot to ride the carcass of a deer down a steep and hard frozen mountain when there was about two inches of snow on would be interesting. CHAPTER III. My First Real Trapping Experience. When I was about eighteen, I received a letter from a man by the name of Harris, who lived in Steuben County, New York, wherein he stated that a Mr. Lathrop had suggested me as a suitable party to go with him to the region known as Black Forest. This section extends through four counties, the southern part of Potter and Tioga counties, and northern part of Clinton and Lycoming counties, Pa. Every reader knows or has heard of the Black Forest region. This section was and is still (1910) known as a good bear country. I thought it strange that Mr. Lathrop, a man of much note as a hunter, would recommend me, merely a boy, to go with Mr. Harris and into a region like the Black Forest. As Mr. Lathrop lived about four miles from our place I lost no time in going there to learn who this Mr. Harris was. I was informed that he was an old hunter and trapper about eighty years old and that he wanted a partner more for a companion than a hunter or trapper. Mr. Lathrop had met Mr. Harris while on a fishing tour on the Sinnamahoning waters during the summer and said that he knew nothing of Mr. Harris otherwise than what he saw of him at this meeting and to all appearances he was a fine old gentleman. I showed the letter to father and asked what I should do about it and he replied that he thought I could spend my time to a better advantage in school, but he did not say that I could not go with Mr. Harris. I therefore wrote him that I would be ready at the time mentioned which was the twentieth of October. Mr. Goodsil, the gunsmith in town, had been at work for some time on a new gun for me. Now that I was going into the woods to hunt in earnest, I was at the gun shop nearly every day, urging Mr. Goodsil to finish my gun which he did and in plenty of time. After I got my gun the days seemed like weeks and the weeks like months. I was constantly in fear that Mr. Harris would not come. But promptly at the time set, in the evening just before sundown, a man with a one horse wagon loaded with bear traps and other traps of smaller size and with one of the worst old rack-of-bones of a horse that I had ever seen, drove up to father's place, stopped and inquired if Mr. Woodcock lived there. I immediately asked if he was Mr. Harris, as I had already guessed who the man was. He replied that he was and said that he took it that I was the lad who was going with him. Mr. Harris said that "often an old horse and a colt" worked well together and that we would make a good team. While we were putting his horses away I asked him what he intended to do with the old horse and he replied that he brought him along so that if we got stuck he could hitch him on and help out. The other horse was a fine horse and I was at a loss to know what Mr. Harris meant. During the evening I thought father and Mr. Harris talked on every other subject rather than hunting but I managed to put in a few questions now and again as to what we were to do when we arrived at the great Black Forest. Mr. Harris was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a long beard nearly as white as snow. We were up early the next morning and on our way before daylight. Our route was over the road known as the Jersey Shore turnpike but after the first four miles we went through an unbroken wilderness for twenty miles, save only one house, then known as the Edcomb Place, now called Cherry Springs. The next place, ten miles farther on, was a group of four or five shacks called Carter Camp, but known now as Newbergen. This was in the year 1863 and the conditions over this road are the same today only the large timber has been mostly cut away and there is no one living at Cherry Springs. Five miles farther on we came to Oleana, where there was a hotel and store, owned by Henry Anderson, a Norwegian, who came to this country as the private secretary of Ole Bull, the great violinist, and it was here where the much talked of Ole Bull Castle was built. Beg pardon, I guess I am getting off the trap line. We stopped at the hotel for the night and the next morning purchased supplies sufficient to last during the entire campaign, consisting of lard, pork, flour, corn meal, tea, coffee, rice, beans, sugar and the necessary salt, pepper, etc. I remember well when Mr. Harris ordered fifty pounds of beans and asked me if I thought that would do? I replied that I thought it would. In my mind I wondered what we would do with all those beans. But now I wish to say to the man going into camp on a long hunting and trapping campaign, don't forget the beans as they are bread and meat. We are now within about ten or twelve miles of where we intended to camp, which was at the junction of the Bailey and Nebo Branches of Young Woman's Creek. It was about the middle of the afternoon of the second day we were out and Mr. Harris said that here would be a good place to build the camp. We got the horses out as soon as we could and Mr. Harris picked out a large rock; one side had a straight, smooth side and was high and broad enough for one end of the shanty and there was a fine spring close by. Mr. Harris pointed to the rock and said that there we had one end of our camp already as well as a good start towards the fire place. He told me to begin the cutting of logs for the other two sides and the other end. We cut the logs a suitable size to handle well and about twelve and fourteen feet long. Mr. Harris did the planning while I did the heavy part of the work. That night we slept under a hemlock tree and were up the next morning and had breakfast before daylight and ready for the day's work. We could see scuds of clouds away off in the southwest which Mr. Harris said did not show well for us. He had brought a good crosscut saw and it was not long until we had logs enough cut to put up the sides, about four feet high and logs for one end. We hauled the logs all up with the horse so they would be handy. Then we began the work of notching and putting up the logs. About noon a drizzling rain started and kept it up all the afternoon. We covered our provisions and blankets the best we could to keep them dry and continued to work on the camp. We got the body up, the rafters and a part of the roof on. We put up a ridge roof as Mr. Harris said it would not be necessary to have the sides quite so high with a steep ridge roof. We got our supplies under shelter and had a dry place to sleep that night. It was still raining in the morning but we continued to work on the camp like beavers all day and we got shakes split from a pine stub to finish the roof and chinking blocks to chink between the logs. The next morning Mr. Harris said that he would go and take the horse out to a farm house that was about six miles out the turnpike, known as the Widow Herod Place, or better known as Aunt Bettie. Mr. Harris said he would go while there was food enough to last the old horse a day or two until we were ready to use him. Then I knew that the old horse was doomed to be used for bear bait. When Mr. Harris started away with the horse he cautioned me not to go off hunting, but to stick to work on the shanty which I did like a "nailer." When Mr. Harris returned I had the roof on, the chinking all in and the gable end boarded up with shakes and all ready to begin calking and mudding. It was some time in the afternoon when he got back and after looking over the shack to see what I had done he said that he thought I had done so well that I was entitled to a play spell and suggested that we take our guns and go down along the side of the hill and see if we could kill a deer, remarking that we could use a little venison if we had it. He told me to go up onto the bench near the top of the hill while he would take the lower bench and he would hunt the side hill along down the stream until dark. Mr. Harris had a single barrel gun with a barrel three or four feet long which he called Sudden Death, and it weighed twelve or fourteen pounds. As for me I had my new double barrel gun which I have mentioned before. We had not gone far until I heard the report of a gun below me and soon I heard Mr. Harris "ho-ho-hoa," and I hurried to where the howling came from and found him already taking the entrails out of a small doe. I suggested to Mr. Harris that we take the deer down to the creek before we dressed it and that by so doing we probably could catch a mink or coon with the entrails. He consented to do so and after we had taken out the entrails Mr. Harris noticed a fine place to catch a fox or some other animal and pointed to a large tree that had fallen across the stream. The tree had broken in two at the bank, on the side of the stream where we were. The water had swung the trunk of the tree down the stream until there was a space of three or four feet between the end of the tree and the bank. Mr. Harris took a part of the offal from the deer and carried it across to the opposite bank and placed the remainder on the side where we were. He then placed an old limb for a drag to the trap at the place where he wanted to set the trap. As we had no traps with us we went to camp and early the next morning we took two traps and went to this place and set them. We put in that day finishing the camp, putting in the door and fixing the chimney to the fireplace and calking all the cracks between the logs and mudded tight between the logs and all the joints. Now the camp being completed we began setting the bear traps. The old horse was taken onto a chestnut ridge and shot, cut up into small pieces suitable for bear bait, and hung up in small saplings such as we could bend down. After the bait was fastened to the tree we let it spring up so as to keep it out of the reach of any animal until we had a trap set. The way Mr. Harris set a bear trap was to build a V shaped pen about three feet long and about the same in height, place the bait in the back end of the pen and set the trap in the entrance. We had eleven bear traps and after they were all set on different ridges where bears were most likely to travel, we began the work of setting the small traps which was not a long job, as we had only about forty. The next morning Mr. Harris said that I had better go down and see if the traps we had set had been disturbed and he said that he would rest while I was gone. When I came in sight of the traps I could see a fox bounding around in one of the traps. I could see on looking at the trap we had placed across the creek that the drag had been moved closer to the log but I could see nothing moving. I cut a stick and killed the fox when I crossed over to see what was in the other trap and to my disgust there was a skunk. I was not particularly in love with skunks in those days, for while they scented just as loud at that time as now they were vastly lacking in the money value. I took hold of the clog and carefully dragged the skunk to the creek and sank him in the water. I now went back to the other side of the creek and set the fox trap and when I had the trap set the skunk was good and dead. I reset the trap and took the fox and skunk to camp without skinning. When I got to camp I found Mr. Harris busy making stretching boards of different sizes for different animals from shakes that we had left when covering the roof. Mr. Harris laughed and said that he knew that we would need them when I got back. The fox and skunk were skinned, stretched and hung up on the outside of the gable of the shack, and that was the starting point of our catch of the season. We set the most of our small traps along the streams for foxes and mink, taking a few to the ridges to set in likely places to catch a fox, and at thick laurel patches where we were likely to catch a wild cat as there was a bounty of $2 on them. After the small steel traps were set we began building a line of deadfalls for marten and fisher. After the deadfalls were built we divided our time between hunting deer and tending the traps. We caught three bears, two fisher, which were very scarce, as I do not think that fishers were ever very plentiful in this state, a good bunch of marten, foxes, four or five wildcats and killed twenty-two deer. The last days of December Mr. Harris said that we would prepare to go home as the deer season closed the first of January. Although the law gave until the fifteenth to get your deer we had dragged the most of ours up to the Bailey Mill at various times. We got all those around the mill and sent them to Jersey Shore by freight teams to the railroad, then shipped them to New York. We got 15 cents for saddles and 10 cents for the whole deer. Mr. Harris had brought an auger with him so that he could make a sleigh to go home with and from birch saplings we made one and on the thirteenth of January I went and got the horse. He was as fat as a pig and felt like a colt. We hitched him up to the sleigh and got our stuff up to the Bailey Mill where we loaded the wagon onto the sleigh and piled on the furs and the rest of our outfit and early on the morning of the fourteenth we started for home. This ended my first real experience as a hunter and trapper. I received two or three letters from Mr. Harris, the last one in which he stated that he was not feeling very well and I never heard from him again. CHAPTER IV. Some Early Experiences. In 1871 or 1872 I had several bear traps made by our local blacksmith and I started in as a bear trapper and went it alone. After being out with Mr. Harris I had taken some valuable lessons on trapping bear and other animals. I built a good log camp on the West Branch of Pine Creek and went to trapping and hunting without either partner or companion, but after being in camp the first season I bought a shepherd dog that was a year old and broke him for still hunting and trapping. I found that a good intelligent dog was not only a companion but also a valuable one. I have noticed that some trappers do not want a dog on the trap line with them, claiming that the dog is a nuisance. This is because the dog was not properly trained. To get back to the bear trapping: In the locality where I was trapping, bear were not very plentiful except in season, when there was a crop of beechnuts, although there was but little other shack, such as chestnuts and acorns. However, some seasons there would be an abundance of black cherries which the bears are very fond of. I set three traps at the head of a broad basin where there were three or four springs and the next day I set the balance of my bear traps; then I built a few deadfalls for coons and set a few steel traps for fox. As I had seen several fresh bear tracks crossing the stream, where I had been setting the coon traps, on the morning of the third day after I had set the first three bear traps, I thought that I would go and look after them. They were about a mile and a half from camp and when I came in sight of the first trap I saw that I had a bear. You may be sure that I again felt like a mighty hunter. I was more pleased over this one bear than I was over the eight bear we had caught when I was with Mr. Harris, because now I was the trapper and not Mr. Harris. The bear was a good sized female. She had become fast only a short distance from where the trap was set. I shot and skinned the bear then cut the carcass into quarters, bent down a sapling and hung a quarter of the bear on this. With a forked pole I raised the sapling up until the meat was out of the way of small animals that might happen along. After hanging up three of the quarters in this manner, leaving one to take to camp, I took the lungs and liver and put them in the bait pen. The bait had all been eaten and I was quite sure it had been done after the bear was caught, as a bear immediately loses its appetite after placing its foot in a good, strong trap. I really expected to find another bear in one of the other traps as they were not far away, but the other traps were undisturbed. The next morning I thought I would take some bait from camp and bait the trap where I had put the offals from the bear, fearing that should a bear come along it might not eat the bait that was in the pen. You may imagine my surprise when I came in sight of the trap to see another bear fast in the trap. After killing the bear I removed the entrails and started to carry the bear to camp. It was a cub and I could carry it without cutting it in parts. I was just about to start for camp when I decided I would go to the other traps. If I was surprised at seeing the first cub, I was doubly so, for there was another cub tangled up in the trap. Do you think I felt gay? Well, that was no name for it. I shot this cub and without waiting to dress it I took a lively gait to the other trap to see if there were any more bears but there was nothing there. The last two bears, I think were the cubs of the old bear that I had caught the night before. I spent the entire day getting the bears to camp. I did not get any more bear for some time although I had an opportunity to learn a whole lot about them. Some days after I got the old bear and the cubs, I found the bait pen in one of the traps torn down by a bear, which had taken the bait and had not sprung the trap. Right here I will say that I learned a great deal more about the habits of Bruin. After finding the bait gone I thought that all I would have to do was to make the bait pen a little stronger so Bruin could not tear it down so readily to get at the bait. I did not think that a bear knew anything about "trapology," for the experience I had so far in bear trapping was that bears knew but little more about a trap than a hog, though later I found I was very much mistaken. [Illustration: SETTING A LARGE STEEL TRAP FOR BEAR.] The trap was set in a small brook where there were plenty of rocks of all sizes. I rolled several of these rocks, as large as I could handle, up about the bait pen to strengthen it to such an extent that Bruin would not think of tearing it down. I figured the bear by going over the trap would take the bait from the entrance of the pen as a good bear should; though in this I was greatly mistaken. The second day I went to the trap with full expectation of finding Bruin fast in the trap, but again I was disappointed--Bruin had again gone to the back of the pen and torn the top of the pen off, rolling away some of the stones, taking the bait. Now I saw that if I was to get my friend Bruin, I would have to work a little strategy. I removed the trap from the clog, leaving the clog undisturbed and making all appear just the same as it did when the trap was set. I was very careful to have the covering of the trap left just the same as when the trap was set. Then I got another clog and set the trap at the back of the pen at the place where the bear had torn off the top of the bait pen. Here I concealed the trap and clog as completely as I knew how and being very careful to make all appear just as before the trap was set, flattering myself that Bruin would surely put his foot in it this time. I went early the next morning, being sure that I would find Bruin, but no bear had been there. I went again early the next morning with high expectations of finding Bruin waiting for me, but again nothing had been disturbed. Thinking that Bruin had left that locality altogether, or that he would not be back again for several days, I thought I would go and have a team come and take out the furs and game I had, and give Bruin time to get back after more bait. As I had caught no bear at the other traps, I felt quite certain that Bruin was still somewhere in the neighborhood and would be around again after more bait. When I reached home an old gentleman by the name of Nelson who was a noted hunter and trapper and who lived near us, came to see me. Let me explain who this Mr. Nelson was, as I shall have more to say of him. Mr. Nelson was one of the early settlers in this county, moving here at an early date from Washington County, New York State. He was known here as Uncle Horatio and by many as Squire Nelson, as he was a Justice of the Peace here for thirty years. Mr. Nelson would always come to our house as soon as he found that I was at home, to see what luck I had in the way of trapping and hunting. On this occasion, Mr. Nelson, or Uncle Horatio, as we always called him, was soon over to learn what luck I had and when I told him what sort of a time I had trying to outwit the bear, he said I had better build a deadfall and let the bear kill himself. Uncle said that Bruin would give me much trouble and was likely to leave and I would not get him at all. This idea I did not like, for I had, before this, been put to my wit's end to outwit a cunning old fox, but finally succeeded in catching him and I thought I could outwit such a dumb thing as a bear. I thought if I could not get the bear in a steel trap, there would be but little use trying to get him in such a clumsy thing as a deadfall--however, Uncle had trapped bear long before I was born and knew what he was talking about. As soon as I got back to camp I went to the bear trap to relieve Bruin of his troubles, but it was not the bear that was in trouble, but myself, for Bruin had been there and torn out a stone at one side of the pen and had taken the bait. Well, the case was getting desperate, so I got another trap and set it at the side where the bear took the bait the last time, taking all the pains possible in setting the trap, but the result was no better than before. I had made it a habit to hang on a small bait near the bear traps, believing that the bear would be attracted by the scent of the bait hanging up from the ground more than it would from the bait in the pen. At this trap I had hung up the bait in a bush that extended out from the bank over the brook and each time the bear had taken this bait. I now took one of the traps at the pen, leaving the clog and all appearances as though the trap still remained there. Getting another clog I concealed it under the edge of the bank and set the trap under the bait that I had hung in the bush. I was certain this time that I would outwit Bruin, but instead, the bear went onto the bank, pulled the bush around, took the bait and went about his business. Now I was getting pretty excited and began to think of the advice of Uncle Horatio but I was not willing to give up yet. Up the brook, fifty or sixty feet from the bait pen, there had fallen a small, bushy hemlock tree which stood on the right hand bank of the spring, and the top of the tree reached nearly over to the opposite bank. I had noticed that when the bear had come to the trap he had come down the brook and went back the same way. The water was shallow in the brook, barely covering the stones and fallen leaves all over the bed of the brook. Going to the top of the hemlock tree, I saw that the bear had passed between the top of this tree and the bank of the brook. Here was a fine place to conceal the trap and I said, "Old fellow, here I will surely outwit you." I took the trap from the bait pen and set it in the open space between the top of the tree and concealing all the very best I could, I again put more bait in the bait pen and hung up more on the bush. I waited two days and then went to the traps again, wondering all the way what the result would be. Well, it was the same as before. The bear had gone to the bush on the bank, taken the bait, and had also taken the bait from the bait pen as usual. Now I thought it quite time to try Uncle's plan, though I had but little faith in it. It was several miles to Mr. Haskins', the nearest house, but I lost no time in getting there for I was now feeling desperate. Mr. Haskins readily consented to help me build a deadfall. We cut a beech tree that was about fourteen inches through, that stood back in thick undergrowth some rods from the bait pen. We cut a portion about four feet long from the large end of the tree for the bed-piece and placing it against the small tree for one of the stakes. With levers we placed the tree on top of the bed-piece and with three other good stakes driven at each side of the logs fastened the tops of the stakes together with withes to strengthen them, we soon had a good, strong deadfall made, as every boy who is a reader of the H-T-T, knows how to build. We baited the trap and set it, getting done in time for Mr. Haskins to get home before dark. I again put bait back in the bait pen and on the bush as before and patiently awaited results. The second day I looked after the traps but there were no signs of bear being about either the deadfall or the steel traps and I feared that I had frightened Bruin out of the country in building the deadfall. I put in three or four days looking after other traps, thinking but little about the bear that had, so far, been beyond my skill. After three or four days, I again went to the deadfall, wondering and imagining all kinds of things. When I came to the steel traps the bait was still undisturbed and I was now sure that that particular bear was not for me, but when I stepped into the thicket so that I could see the deadfall, there was Bruin, good and dead. When I looked at the bear I found that he had three toes gone from one foot and this I thought to be the cause of his being so over-shy of the steel traps. I learned a lesson that has since served me more than one good turn. * * * In later years it was customary for many of my friends to come to my camp and spend a few days with me. It was of one of these occasions that I will relate. Two young men, named Benson and Hill, had sent me word that they were coming out to my camp and hunt a few days; also to go with me to my bear traps but added that they did not suppose that I would get a bear while they were in camp, even if they would stay all winter. It had been drizzling sort of a rain for several days and every old bear hunter knows that dark, lowery weather is the sort bears like to do their traveling in. I had set the time to go out on a stream known as the Sunken Branch, to look after some fox traps and also two bear traps that I had in that section the day I got word from Benson and Hill that they would be over to camp the next day. I thought I would put off going to look after the traps in that locality until the boys came over and should I have the luck to find a bear in one of the traps it would come very acceptable to have the help to get the bear to camp for it was some four or five miles to the farthest trap. The boys came as they said but the next morning after they got there it was raining very hard and they did not want to go out and did not want me to go until it slacked up. Well, the next morning it was raining hard and the boys were in no better mood to go out than the day before. It had been several days since I had been to the traps, in that direction, and there were some chestnuts in that locality where the bear traps were set. The storm had knocked the chestnuts out and it was probable that bears would be in that locality. I told the boys I did not like to let the traps go any longer without looking after them and they could stay in camp and I would go to the traps. When I was about ready to start, Hill said that he would go with me, notwithstanding the rain, though Benson tried to persuade us not to go, stating that no bear was fool enough to travel in such a rain and that all we would get would be a good thorough soaking. I was determined to delay no longer looking at the traps and started off when Hill said, "Well, I'm with you." So we took the nearest cut possible to reach the traps. Hill was continually wishing we would find a bear in one of the traps and that he could shoot it so that he could joke with Benson. Our route took us along the top of a ridge for about three miles when we dropped off to the first trap. When we were still half way up the side of the ridge I saw that Hill had got his wish for I could see a bear rolling and tumbling about down in the hollow and knew that it was fast in the trap. I tried to point it out to Hill but he could not get his eye on it, so we went farther down the hill when Jim (that was Hill's given name) could see the bear. He said there was no need of going closer, that he could shoot it from where we were, but I said we must go closer as I did not like to make holes in the body of the skin unnecessarily. We had only taken a few steps farther when Jim said we were plenty close, that he could, shoot it from where we were and that if we should go closer the bear might break out of the trap and escape. With all my urging I could not get Hill closer so I told him to be sure that he shot the bear in the head and not in the body. I discovered that Hill was very nervous and told him to take all the time necessary to make a sure shot. When the gun cracked I saw a twig fall that the gun had cut off fully three feet above the bear's head. I urged Hill a few yards closer when he tried again with no better results than the first shot. After making the third shot Hill said he guessed that I had better shoot the bear as he thought something had gone wrong with the sights on his gun. It was raining hard so I killed the bear and took the entrails out, set the trap again and left the bear lying on the ground. As it was a small bear we concluded to take the bear to camp whole. We hurried on to the next trap which was about a mile farther down the stream. When we got to where the trap was set it was gone, but the way things were torn up we could see that we had a bear this time that was no small one. The bear had worked down the stream, first climbing the hill on one side of the stream until it became entangled in a jam of brush or old logs, then back down the hill and up on the other side until it became discouraged, when it would try the other side again. The bear was continuously getting the clog fast under the roots of trees or against old logs when it would gnaw the brush and tear them out by the roots. It was also noticed where he would rake the bark on the trees in trying to climb them, in hopes of escaping the drag that was following him. The bear would gnaw and tear old logs to pieces whenever the clog became fast against them. This was all very interesting and exciting to Hill and he said he would give Benson the laugh when we got to camp. Hill had made me promise not to tell Benson how he had shot three times at the bear's head and missed it. The bear had worked his way down the stream nearly a mile from where the trap was set, when we came upon him and shot him at once. Hill declaring that it was getting too near night and raining too hard for him to practice on shooting bear any more that day. We skinned the bear, hung up the meat, took the trap and skin and went back up the creek and set the trap in the same place again. Taking the bear skin we started back to where we left the other bear. After carrying the whole bear and bear skin until it was dark, we hung the bear skin up in the crotch of a tree, taking the bear and hurrying to camp at as lively a gait as we were able to make. Hill said that while we had had a pretty rough day of it he would make it all up in getting the joke on Benson if I would not give him away on shooting the bears, as Hill was to tell Benson all about how he did it. Before we came to camp I said to Hill that if he cared to we would play a joke on Benson. He wished to know what the plan was. I said that we would fix the bear up in the path that led from the shack to the spring and get Benson to go after a pail of water and run onto the bear. So we planned to have Benson think that we got no bear and after supper was over I was to take the pail and start to the spring after a pail of fresh water when Hill was to interfere and insist that Benson should go for the water as he had been in camp all day and needed exercise. It was about a hundred feet from the shack to the spring and down quite a steep bank and about half way from the shack to the spring was a beech log across the path. When we got near camp we made no noise and when we came to the spring we washed our hands carefully to remove any blood that might be on them. Then we took the bear to the log that was across the path and placed the forepaws and shoulders up over the log leaving the hind parts on the ground, then with a small crotched stick placed under the bear's throat to hold up its head we had it fixed up to look as natural as we were able to in the dark. We went into the shack looking as downcast as a motherless colt. It was unnecessary to deny getting any bear for Benson told us almost before we were inside that we should have known that we would get no bear in any such weather as we were having and none but simpletons would have gone out in such rain. We ate our supper which Benson had waiting for us. We had little to say farther than to talk of what a fearful rain we were having. After supper was over I took the water pail, though it was nearly full of water, and threw the water out the door before Benson had time to object, saying that I would get a pail of fresh water. Hill said that we should let Benson go after the water as he had not been out of the shanty all day and needed some fresh air. Benson consented to go after another pail of water although he said that he had brought the water that we had thrown out just before we came. I told Benson that I would hold the light at the door so he could see but Benson replied that I need not bother, all that was necessary was to leave the door of the shack open so that he could see his way back. About the time that Benson reached the log he gave a terrible howl and we heard the water pail go rattling through the brush and when we got to the door Benson was coming on all fours, scrambling as fast as he could and yelling "Bah--bah--bear--bear!" Hill nor I could not keep from roaring with laughter, and finally Hill managed to say, "Oh, you didn't see any bear." Benson made no reply but was as white as a sheet and shook as though he had the ague. We could not conceal our feelings and when Benson found his speech he said, "You think you are mighty cunning; if you got a bear why didn't you say so and not act like two dumb idiots." We had laughed so hard that Benson caught on and the game was up. Well, after Benson was onto our joke, nothing would do but we must get the bear in and skin out the fore parts so we could have some bear meat cooked before we went to bed. Every time Hill awoke during the night he would burst out laughing while Benson would hurl a few cuss words at him. The next day we brought in the skin and saddles of the other bear, leaving the fore quarters for fox and marten bait. The rain now being about over with and the ground and leaves thoroughly soaked, it was a good time for still hunting deer, so we were all out early the next morning. We started out together and soon became separated and it so happened that I was the only one to get a deer during the day. When I got to camp I found Benson was not in yet, so I did not tell that I had killed a deer, but thought I would wait until Benson came in and see what luck he had. If he had not killed anything I would give him the hint and let him have the credit of killing the deer that I got as a sort of off-set on Hill on the bear hunt. I stayed outside gathering dry limbs for wood until I saw Benson coming and I planned to meet him before Hill got to talk to him. I learned that Benson had not killed anything, so I told him where I had killed the deer and that if he cared to he could claim the deer as his game. Benson was much pleased with the idea and as I had told him just where I had killed the deer it was easy for Benson to explain to Hill where the deer was shot. Hill did not believe that Benson had killed a deer and said he would not believe he (Benson) had killed one if he did not know that he had been alone and anyway he must see the deer before he would believe it. I took the first opportunity when Hill was out to tell Benson which way to go so that he would be sure to find the deer and the next morning the boys went out and brought in the deer while I went to look after some traps. The boys stayed a day or two longer and then went home declaring that they had had the best hunt of their lives. I will now tell of some of my hunting and trapping with Mr. Nelson and my first experience with a big cat. About 1860, when I was a mere chunk of a boy, a man by the name of Perry Holman was camping on the extreme headwaters of Pine Creek, hunting and trapping. Early one morning Mr. Holman came out of the woods after groceries and other necessaries. On his way out he saw where a small bear had crossed the road just at the top of the hill on the old Jersey Shore turnpike and about five miles from Mr. Nelson's place. Mr. Nelson at that time always kept one or two good bear dogs. Mr. Holman told Mr. Nelson of the bear's track and said that the bear had gone into a laurel patch on the west side of the road and that the track was very fresh. He thought if Mr. Nelson would take his dogs and go out that he could get the bear without much trouble as he believed the bear would still be in the laurels close to the road. Mr. Nelson told Mr. Holman to get his groceries while he would come to see if I would go along to look after the team while Mr. Nelson and Mr. Holman went into the laurels after the bear. Of course, I was ready for anything that had hunt in it. The sleighing was good and Mr. Nelson was soon ready, taking his dogs into the sleigh so that they would not break off on the track of a deer or some other animal. When we came to where Mr. Holman saw the bear or cub, Mr. Nelson, or Uncle as we always called him, said to Mr. Holman before he got out of the sleigh: "Perry, that is no cub's track; that is a big cat and I think we will find him in the laurel patch." Uncle told me to stay with the team and that they would not be gone long; that if the track led off he would come back to the sleigh and I could go back with the team and he would go to Mr. Holman's camp and stay over night and come home the next day. The dogs were anxious to take the trail, but Uncle held them in to the laurels. They had not been gone more than ten minutes when the dogs began to give tongue like mischief. I could see that the dogs were coming towards the road and in about a minute saw the biggest cat that I had ever seen at that time, shinning up a large tree that was not further than fifty yards from the sleigh. The dogs were soon at the tree barking their best and in a few minutes I heard the crack of a gun and the big cat seemed to fly out into the air. I could hear the cat go threshing down through the limbs on the trees and the dogs doubled their howling and I could hear the men laugh. I called to the men to see if they got the cat. Uncle told me to watch the horses and they would soon be there, and they were soon in sight dragging a large panther instead of either a cub or cat. Uncle drove down to where Holman's path left the road to go down to his camp and we then drove back home. Uncle was greatly pleased over Perry's cat hunt as Mr. Nelson called it. * * * In or about the year '67 or '68, Uncle Horatio Nelson, whom I have spoken of before, had for years been accustomed to going to Edgecomb Place, later known as Cherry Springs, to hunt and trap. Wolves were then more plentiful than foxes are at the present time. I will explain that Cherry Springs was simply a farm house built of logs. This house was located about half way through, or in the center of a dense forest of about twenty miles square. The Jersey Shore turnpike ran through this vast forest and the stage or any traveler going through this region were obliged to stop at this house to feed at noon, or to stop over night, this being the only house on the road. From where this house was located there was easy access to the waters of Pine Creek, which flowed east, to the waters of the Cross Fork of Kettle Creek, which flowed south and to the waters of the East Fork of the Sinnamahoning which flowed west. There was no one living on any of these streams for many miles. This was the point where Mr. Nelson, or Uncle, as I shall call him, hunted for many years. At the time I am writing of, it had been a noted place for many hunters to stop from all parts of the country. There were almost too many hunters stopping at Cherry Spring to suit Uncle as he was getting pretty well along in years and did not like so much company. I had been camping a greater part of the time for several seasons about five miles north of Cherry Springs and one day Uncle said, if I cared to, he would go on to Crossfork and build a cabin and we would hunt and trap, more particularly trap. This was satisfactory to me although I had a good camp where I was trapping and in a fairly good locality for game, but the Crossfork country was a little farther in the tall timber so I thought that the change might be a good thing. About the first of October we took a team, went into the woods and cut out a sort of a turkey trail from the wagon road down to Boon Road Hollow to the Hog's Back branch of the Crossfork, where we selected a sight for the camp. We felled a large hemlock tree and cut off four logs of suitable length to make the body of the camp about ten by twelve feet inside. We worked them around in shape fitting the two shorter logs in between the ends of the two longer logs; then placing rafters at about half pitch, put on the covering, chinked and calked all the cracks and built a chimney of stones, sticks and clay and put in a door. We were now ready for the trap line. We set the bear traps on different ridges where we thought would be the most likely places for bears to travel. Then we put out two lines of deadfalls for marten. We then took the different branches and spring runs, building more deadfalls for mink and coons, setting the greater part of our steel traps for foxes. After all the steel traps but three or four were set, Uncle said that if I would go down the creek and set the balance of the steel traps, he would go and look after the first of the bear traps that we had set. I set the steel traps for foxes and built one or two more deadfalls farther down the creek. I think that I found a mink and one coon in the deadfalls that we had set in that section. I got to camp about dark but Uncle had not come yet. I hustled supper to have it ready when he came, but when supper was ready I could neither see nor hear anything of him. After waiting some time I concluded to eat and then if he did not come I would go in the direction he had taken as I now suspected that he had gotten a bear and was bringing in what he could carry and that I would meet him and help him in with his load. Before I started out to see if I could find him I gave several long and loud "coohoopes," but got no answer. I concluded I would fire a couple of gunshots and see if I could get an answer, but got no reply save the hoot of an owl. I now began to feel alarmed, fearing that some misfortune had happened Uncle as he knew every rod of the ground in that section. I had no lantern so I made two good torches from fat pine, having a good supply in camp, and followed the stream until I came to a little draw where we had a bear trap set. This trap had not been disturbed, so I climbed the hill to the top of the ridge when I fired two more gunshots but still got no response. I was now thoroughly alarmed as I knew that a gunshot on the still night air could be heard a long ways from the high ridge I was on. With the aid of another torch I hurried on to the next bear trap and upon arriving at the second trap I saw that the clog was gone and that there was a trail leading off through the leaves and undergrowth. I now knew that it was something in connection with the bear that was detaining Uncle, but what it was I could not tell. I followed the trail with the aid of the torch for fifty yards when I came to a fallen tree that lay up about a foot from the ground. Here I found the clog that had been fastened to the trap. I could see that the trap ring had been moved from the clog by the aid of a hatchet. I searched about but could find no signs of the trap nor of the bear and I could no longer follow the trail by the aid of the torch, the last one being now pretty well burned out. There was nothing for me to do but go back to camp and wait until morning. When I was within a mile or less of camp, I heard the report of a gun in the direction of camp and knew that Uncle had arrived and was firing his gun to let me know that he was in camp. I answered the call by firing my gun and hurried on to camp to see what had detained him. The bear had gone over the fallen tree while the end of the clog had caught under the log and a weak link in the trap chain had given away, Bruin going off with the trap. Uncle had followed the bear several miles when dark came on. He followed down the stream to where it came in to the branch that the camp was on, and being over a ridge and so far from the camp was the cause of him not hearing the gunshots that I had fired. Uncle followed the bear until dark so as to know about where he was in case a snow should fall to fill up the trail. It was after midnight when we turned in but we were up in good season the next morning and taking a lunch in our knapsacks and each a blanket, we started for the wind jam to see if we could find the bear. Uncle took me to the bear's trail at the edge of the wind jam where I waited, giving him time to get around on the opposite side of the jam, at a point, where the bear was likely to come out, provided I should start him. I had not followed the trail far into the jam before I came to where the bear had made a bed by breaking down briers and gnawing down saplings, but he did not stay long at this place when he again went on. I soon came to another such bed and after finding several more, came to one that was fresher than the others. I could see that the bed had been made during the night. I now began to work my way along the trail very cautiously with my gun in hand ready for action and my heart in my mouth for I knew that Bruin would soon be on the move. I worked my way through the jam at a snail's pace and soon heard the rattle of the trap and could see the brush move not more than a hundred feet away. The undergrowth was so thick that I could get no distinct sight of the bear but fired a shot more to let Uncle know that Bruin was on the move than of any expectation of hitting him. When the gun cracked the bear gave a snort like that of a frightened hog and I could hear him tearing through the brush at a great rate. It was not long until I heard Uncle shoot and in the course of two or three minutes I heard him shoot again and knew that Bruin had given up the trap. After I had gone along the trail quite a ways, I saw a few drops of blood now and then and when I reached Uncle he was already skinning the bear. We found three holes in the bear. Uncle's second shot which was the finishing shot, hit the bear in the head. The shot that I fired caught Bruin just forward of the hips and undoubtedly would have killed him in time. We skinned the bear and took the hind quarters, the skin and trap and started for camp. I must say that I think this was the hardest stunt of packing that I remember and every old trapper knows what sort of a job of toting he often runs up against. We went down the run about two miles before coming to the stream that our camp was on, and then we had to go up this stream about four miles to camp. When we reached the stream it was dark; there was no path and there was a great deal of fallen timber and undergrowth along the creek, the creek winding around from one side of the valley to the other. It was a continual fording of the creek, climbing over fallen timber, through undergrowth and what not. You know no one but a trapper would be silly enough to do such a stunt in the dark. We arrived at camp about 9 o'clock, wet, tired and hungry. The next morning Uncle was still a little sore but I was as good as new and ready for another job of the same kind. Some days later we had a fall of snow of several inches and the second or third day after the snow came we heard a number of gunshots south of the camp on the ridge in the direction that we had a bear trap set. It was near sundown and as we were not aware that there was anyone camping or living in the direction of the gunshots, we concluded it was hunters shooting at deer. The shots were at such long intervals that Uncle said he did not think it was anyone shooting at deer and that the shots sounded like they were right where we had a bear trap set and that he thought hunters had run onto a bear in our trap and were shooting at it. It was then too late to go to the trap. Uncle said we would get up early in the morning for he was sure the gunshots were close in the neighborhood in which our trap was set, and he thought it likely that we had a bear in the trap. We were on the way before it was fairly daylight but when we came to the place where the trap had been set we found it gone. We followed the trail a short distance when the tracks of three men came onto the trail. The men had stamped and tracked about where they came onto the trail as though they were holding a council and then all started off on the trail of the bear. They did not go far before they came up with the bear where the trap clog had become fast between two saplings. The trap was nowhere to be seen. The men had made many tracks where they killed the bear. Uncle said it looked as though the men intended to steal the bear trap and all. We saw where the track of a man led off towards a large log and returned. Uncle told me to follow that man's tracks and see what he went out there for, as probably he hid the trap behind the log. I found the trap clog behind the log but there was no trap. It was snowing some at the time the men killed the bear. When we found that the men had taken the trap and hid the trap clog Uncle exclaimed, "The varmints intend to steal our bear." We followed the trail of the men as fast as we could for we were quite sure they must have stopped over night not far from there for it was nearly dark when they killed the bear. Their trail led down the hillside to the main stream, then down the creek and we hustled after them as fast as we could go. After going down the creek a mile or more we saw a smoke and Uncle said, "There the varmints are," and he was right. We were none too soon as the men were already hitching the horses to the sleigh ready to start off. We could see that the bear was already on the sleigh, although it was covered over with a blanket. The men started at us but did not say a word. Uncle walked up to the end of the sleigh, caught a corner of the blanket, threw it back and uncovered the bear. Then taking the bear by the foreleg he gave it a flop onto the ground saying, "You have a bear, haven't you," and the bear rolled to the ground and uncovered the trap; Uncle said, "You have a trap, too, haven't you." Not a word did any of the men say and when Uncle asked them who they were and where they lived, one of them said that they did not intend to steal the bear but were going to take it to the first house and leave it for us. Uncle told them that we did not care to have the bear go in that direction and told the men they must take the bear to our camp and their intentions were to steal the bear and trap and that they had better settle the matter at once. The men were ready to settle and asked what it would cost and Uncle told them if they would take the bear to our camp and then leave the woods and not be caught in that section again, that he would let them go. This they readily consented to do and insisted that we take a part of a cheese they had brought in with them. Uncle told them that we did not care for their cheese or anything else they had--all that we wanted was that they take the bear to our camp and get out of the woods. This they did and one of them also took the cheese along and left it at the camp. Then they left, begging that we would not say anything farther about the matter. We learned that the men did not live down the creek but instead lived in New York State. They had come for a few days' deer hunting and had only made a shelter of hemlock boughs. The first day out they ran across the bear and as it was snowing they thought it would snow enough to cover up their tracks and they would take the bear and get back to New York State. Well, they did get back but it happened they left the bear behind. I would like to ask the old liners who have grown too old on the trail and trap line to follow it longer with profit and pleasure, if they keep bees? I find it a great pleasure to watch these little, industrious and intelligent fellows work. CHAPTER V. Some Early Experiences (Concluded.) I will state that I began my career as a trapper and hunter at a very early age. The woods extended to the very door of my father's house and deer were more numerous than sheep in the fields at the present day. Bear were also quite plentiful and wolves were to be found in considerable numbers in certain localities. Panthers were much talked of and occasionally one would be killed by some hunter or trapper of which I will speak later. It was not long before I found my way further up the stream into the woods where mink and coon tracks were in real paths, and here was where father taught me how to make the deadfall, which was the trap principally used in those days. The guns that father had were one double barrel shotgun and a single barrel rifle, both flintlocks, and with much anxiety I watched those guns and begged of the older members of the family to let me shoot the gun but mother was ever on the watch to see that I was not allowed to handle the guns. About this time a man moved into the place by the name of Abbott from Schuylkill County, Pa., who brought two guns with him, a double barrel shotgun and a double barrel rifle. After doing some hard begging Mr. Abbott said that I could take the shotgun but that he could not furnish the ammunition. I later thought that Mr. Abbott thought that the problem of getting ammunition would put me up the tree. But again the will was good and I soon found a way. I began to watch the hen's nests pretty close and hide away the eggs and mother began to complain that the hens were not laying as many eggs as usual. Well, three dozen of eggs would get a pound of shot, a fourth of a pound of powder and a box of G. D. gun caps. I had some fine times out with the gun and I always gave Mr. Abbott whatever game I killed. I did not dare to take it home fearing that I would be compelled to explain how I came by the game. One day I had been out after wild pigeons and had got quite a number or more than I liked to give away and go without ourselves. I thought I would resort to one of those white lies that we have all heard tell of. I told my parents that Mr. Abbott gave me the pigeons but the plan did not work, although it was the making of me so far as a gun is concerned. When father inquired of Mr. Abbott as to how I got the pigeons it brought out the whole thing as to the gun business and also why the egg basket had not filled up as usual. The result was that father and mother held a council of war and decided that if I was to have a gun the better way was to let me have one of my own. Father told me that I must not borrow a gun any more but take one of our own guns and that he (father) would take the gun to the gunsmith and have the locks changed from a flint lock to a cap lock. You may be sure that this was the best news that this kid ever heard. I picked up double the usual stone piles that day and went and got the cows without being told a half dozen times. Well, as every hunter and trapper who is born and not made is always looking for taller timber and trying to get farther and farther from the ting-tong of the cow bells, so it was in my case. I had seen some whelp wolves that friends of ours (Harris and Leroy Lyman, who were noted hunters) had got. They had gone onto the waters of the Sinnemahoning and taken five pup wolves not much larger than kittens, from their den. The puppies were brought out alive but they killed the old mother wolf. On their way home they stopped at our house so that we could see the young wolves. I heard these hunters tell how they discovered the wolf den; how they had howled in imitation of a wolf to call the old wolves up; how they had shot the old female and had then taken the young wolves from the den; heard them tell of the money that the bounty on wolves would bring them (there was $25 bounty on all wolves then, the same as now). All of this made me long for the day when I would be old enough to do as these noted hunters had done. I had already found a den of young foxes and had kept five of them alive, which father finally killed all but one because he said they were a nuisance. I had seen some Indians bring a live elk in with ropes, dogs and horses, which they had roped in, after the dogs had brought it to bay, on a large rock on Tombs Run (Waters of Pine Creek). All this made me hungry for the day that I too could hit the trail and trap line that I might get some of those wolves and with the bounty money buy traps and guns to my satisfaction. A number of persons at our place (Lymansville) had gone several miles into the woods to the headwaters of the Sinnamahoning and taken up fifty acres of land. An acre or two was cleared off and the timber from this clearing was drawn and put in an immense pile to be used for the camp fire. The camp was simply a shed or leanto, open on one side, and in front of this shed the fire was built of beech and maple logs. Brook trout and game of all kinds were in abundance. Two or three times during the summer a party of six or eight persons would go out to this clearing and camp a week, killing as many deer as they could make use of, jerking a good portion to take home with them and having a general good time feasting on trout, venison and other game, and amusing themselves shooting at marks, pitching quoits, etc. I will add that the main reason they went to this camp was for a good time rather than the game, as game was plentiful right at their homes in those days. Well, it was at one of these outings that I killed my first bear. I was about thirteen years old, and, of course, in my own mind, it made a mighty hunter of me, not to be compared with Esau of old. It was in June and shortly after we got to camp there was a heavy thunder storm, but it all passed over before sundown, the sun coming out nice and bright. I was determined to go with some of the men to watch a lick (there were three or four licks not far away), but none of the men cared to have my company, and they said it was likely to rain again and made many excuses why I should not go to watch a lick with them. Just before they were ready to start out to the lick we heard a wolf howl away off on the hills and they (the men) put up the wolf scare on me and said that there would be no deer come to the lick so long as wolves were in the neighborhood. I took their stories all in but insisted that I would watch a lick all the same. There was a lick only a few hundred yards from camp, but for some cause deer rarely ever worked it. When they saw that I was going to watch a lick in spite of thunder storms, wolves or all the rest of the excuses that they could make, they finally said that I could watch the lick which I have mentioned and get eaten up by wolves. There was a blazed line from camp to the lick and when the men started for the licks that each one had decided on watching, I started to the lick that was given me to watch. There was one man left in camp to watch the horses and to keep camp. This man said that when he heard me shoot he would come up and help me bring in the deer. The blind at the lick was a scaffold built up in a tree twenty or thirty feet from the ground. I climbed to the scaffold and placed the old gun in the loops that were fastened to limbs on the tree to give the gun the proper range to kill the deer, should one come to the lick after it was too dark to see to shoot. Nothing came round the lick before dark, but as soon as it got dark I could hear animals walking and jumping on all sides of me and one old inquisitive porcupine came up the tree to see what I was doing. He perched himself on a limb not more than two feet from my face and sat there and chattered his teeth until I could stand it no longer. I took the large powder horn that I had strung over my shoulder with a cord and gave the porcupine a rap on the nose that sent him tumbling down the tree. I remember well how other animals scampered from under the tree when the porcupine tumbled down. At that time I wondered what it all was, but later I learned that all these animals were only flying squirrels, rabbits and porcupines, but I imagined that the noises were made by anything but squirrels and rabbits. Well, about eleven o'clock I heard something coming towards the lick with a steady tread like that of a man and again I was taken with a chill that caused the scaffold to shake, but the chill only lasted for a moment. Soon I heard the animal step in the soft mud and directly it began to suck the salt from the dirt and I was sure that it was a deer and that it was the right time to pull the trigger, which I did. When the report of the gun died away all that I could hear were the same noises that were made when I knocked the old porcupine from the tree. I now feared that I had pulled the gun on some other animal rather than a deer. I thought the report of the gun would frighten all the deer in the woods, so that no deer would go to the licks the men were watching. I was afraid I would get a terrible scolding by the men who were watching the other licks when they came to camp in the morning. After waiting some time and hearing no noise of any kind, I concluded to get down and go to camp. Upon getting down from the tree I decided that I would go and look in the lick and see if I could tell what it was that I had heard there and had shot at. As it was so dark that I could not see from the blind, you can imagine my surprise when I got to the lick to see a large buck deer lying broadside as dead as could be. I immediately lost all fear of being scolded by the other men, so I claimed first blood. I began calling for the man who remained in camp but could get no answer from him so I went down to camp and found him fast asleep. I awakened him and we immediately made a torch and went to the lick and dragged the deer to camp. Then we took out the entrails and bunked down for the rest of the night. The next thing that I knew, one of the men who had watched a lick not far away was kicking me and saying, "Get out of this, you old deer slayer, you, and get some venison frying for breakfast." We were soon up for the sun was shining brightly and more than an hour high. Soon the other watchers came in and reported that not a sound of a deer had they heard about their licks. Two or three of us (I say "us" because I was now counted as one of them) went to catch trout for breakfast, while the others were at work taking care of the venison and preparing breakfast, boiling coffee, frying venison and trout. And so the day was spent, sleeping, cocking and eating until it was again time to go to the licks, as the men wished to get another deer so as to have plenty of venison to take home with them. When the men were about ready to start to their watching places, one of them inquired of me what I would do as there was no further use of watching the lick where I had killed the deer, as it was blooded from the deer I had killed. The man who had watched the lick nearest the camp, and quite an old man, said that I could watch the lick that he had watched and he would stay in camp. (The men now acknowledged me as a thoroughbred hunter, you see.) Well, I was getting there pretty lively, I thought, when an old hunter would give up his lick to me, when only the evening before none of the men thought that I was up to watching a lick at any price. I was pleased to again have a place to watch. Taking some punk wood to make a little smoke to keep off the gnats and mosquitoes, I started for the lick and climbed the Indian ladder to the scaffold, built in a hemlock tree. I had barely got fixed in shape to begin to watch when I chanced to look towards a small ravine that came down from the hill a few yards to my left and saw what I took to be a black yearling steer. I will add that the woods in that locality were covered with a rank growth of nettles, cow cabbage and other wood's feed, and people would drive their young cattle off into that locality to run during the summer. I thought I would get down from the scaffold and throw stones at it and drive it off lest it might come into the lick after dark and I might take it for a deer and shoot it. As I started to climb down I again looked in the direction of the steer, and this time I saw what I thought was the largest bear that ever traveled the woods. He had left the ravine and was walking with his head down, going up the hill and past the lick. I cocked both barrels of the gun and raised it carefully to my shoulder, and, breaking a little dry twig I had in my hand caused the bear to stop and turn his head around so as to look down the hill. This was my time so I leveled on his head and shoulders and let go both barrels of the gun at once. The bear went into the air and then began tumbling and rolling down the hill towards the tree that I was in, bawling and snorting like mad. But if the bear made a howl from pain he was in, it was no comparison to the howl that I made for help and it did not cease until the men in camp came on the run thinking that I had accidentally shot myself. Well, this was my first bear and it was the greatest day of my life. We took the bear to camp, skinned and dressed it and then went to bunk for the night, but it was very little I slept for I could only think what a mighty hunter I was (in my mind). The men came in in the morning with no better luck than they had the night before, and they all declared that if I had not been with them they would have had to go without venison. The men said that we had meat in plenty now and that we would not watch the licks any more that time, so they put in their time jerking the venison and also some of the bear meat. They built a large fire of hemlock bark, and when it was burned down to a bed of coals so that there was no longer any smoke, they made a rack or grate of small poles, laid in crotches driven in the ground, so as to have the grate over the coals, and then laid the slices of venison on this grate and stood green bark about the grate to form a sort of an oven. The strips of meat were first sprinkled with salt and wrapped up in the skin from the deer and allowed to remain wrapped in the skin for a few hours until the salt would strike through the meat so as to make it about right as to salt. The men remained in camp about a week. They would shoot at a mark, pitch quoits and have jumping contests and other amusements, including fishing, eating trout, venison and bear meat along with toasted bread and coffee and potatoes roasted in the ashes. * * * The time had arrived when I thought that I must take to the taller timber to trap and hunt. I searched among the boys of my age, in the neighborhood, for a partner who would go with me to the Big Woods, as the section where I wished to go, was called. I finally found a pard who said he would go with me and stay as long as I cared to. The middle of October came. We packed our knapsacks with a grub stake, a blanket or two, and taking our guns started for the Big Woods, with a feeling that is not known to those who are not lovers of the wild. As we only had a limited number of steel traps it was our intention to spend the first week in camp, building deadfalls for coon and mink and use the steel traps for fox. Our intention was to build as many deadfalls as we would be able to attend to before we baited and set any of them. We had built our traps on many of the small brooks and streams to the south and east of the camp, and had built traps on the stream on which the camp was located nearly a mile below camp. About a mile and a half below camp there was another branch coming in from the north. Pard and I started early one morning to finish the line of traps on the camp stream and then go up the stream that came from the north and build as many traps as we could during the balance of the day. We had finished the line of traps on the camp stream, and had built a trap or two on the other branch, when pard complained of having a bad headache, but refused to go to camp. We built another trap or two, when pard consented to go to camp, if I would build another trap on a little spring run where coon signs were plentiful, which I readily consented to do. When I got the trap done it was nearly sundown. It was about three miles to camp so I hurried to see how pard was feeling. I had not gone more than a half mile on my way from where pard turned back to go to camp, when I found him lying on the ground. He said that he was feeling so sick that he was unable to go any further and complained that every bone in his body ached. After explaining to pard the conditions under which we were placed, it was with difficulty that I managed to get him up, and by supporting and half carrying him I managed to get him along a few rods at a time. I could see that he was continually growing worse. After I had helped until we were within about three-quarters of a mile of camp, he begged me to let him lie down and rest. I tried to urge him along by explaining that I must go for a team to get him out of the woods, and that I could not leave him lying there on the damp ground. It was of no use; I could not get him to go any further. While I was somewhat older than pard, he was much the heavier, and I was unable to carry him. Taking in the situation, there was only one thing for me to do and that was to leave him and go for help. After making him promise that as soon as he rested he would work his way to camp I took off my coat, and put it under him, again making him promise to get to camp, I started for help. The night was dark and it was miles through the woods to the first house. When I came to camp I stopped long enough to get a bite to eat which I took in my hand. After lighting a fire so if pard did manage to get to camp he would have a good fire, I started for help. Wherever the light would get through the trees enough so that I could see the path, I would take a trot. After the first mile and a half I came to the turnpike road where I could make better time although it was dense woods. After about six or seven miles I reached the first clearing and from there the rest of the way was more or less clearings and I could see the road better and was able to make better time. I reached pard's home about a mile before I came to my home, rattled at the door and called for pard's father. I told him the condition of his son. He requested me to go to my home and get some of my family to take a team and start back at once after his son; he would go after a doctor and have the doctor there when we got back with the boy. I lost no time in getting started back. We could not get nearer than a mile and a half to the camp, as we were obliged to leave the wagon road at that point, and go down a very steep hill and only a trail cut through the woods. When we reached the camp, contrary to expectations, we found Orlando (that was pard's name) lying in the bunk in camp but he said that he was feeling no better. It was after midnight and we lost no time in getting him on one of the horses and started back to the wagon which we reached with some difficulty. On reaching the wagon we laid him on a straw bed which we had brought for the purpose and got back to his home sometime after daybreak. The doctor was there and after examining pard said he feared it was a bad case of fever. I waited a few days to see if he would be able to go back to camp and then the doctor told me that he would not be out of bed in two months and advised me to keep out of the woods or I would be brought out on a stretcher. I had my mind on all those deadfalls that we had built and all the coon, mink and fox that we could catch, and was determined to go back to camp notwithstanding our friend's advice to the contrary. After looking around for another partner which I was unable to find as no one wished to go and stay longer than a day or two (what we call summer trappers), I again packed my knapsack and went back to camp. The next morning, after catching a good lot of trout for coon and mink bait, I began the work of setting the hundred or more deadfalls that pard and I had built. As soon as I had all the deadfalls set I hunted up good places to set the traps that we had. I was so busy all the time that there was no chance to get lonesome. Every day there were coon and mink to skin and stretch. Now and then a big, old coon was so strong that he would tear the deadfall to pieces and I would be compelled to build it all over and make it stronger. What a difference there is now with the many styles of traps and the H-T-T to guide the young hunter and trapper. If I could have had a couple dozen of the No. 1 1/2 Victor traps made as at the present time, I would have been as proud as a small boy with a new pair of boots, although I think what was lacking in modern traps was fully made up by the number of furbearing animals. I had been so busy during the two weeks I was in camp that I had forgotten the day of the week; neither did I take time to kill a deer or to go up to the road to see if anyone had written, to see if I was dead or alive. There was a stage passed over the road twice a week. I had nailed a box with a good tight lid on a tree by the road so that I could send a line out home for anything I wanted or my family could write to me. I had two or three traps set for foxes up towards the road along the edge of a laurel patch where there were plenty of rabbits and the foxes worked around to catch rabbits. I thought I would go to the road and be there about the time the stage passed along and see if I could hear anything from pard and the folks at home and then I could tend the traps on my way back to camp. [Illustration: WOODCOCK AND SOME OF HIS CATCH.] I was at the road shortly before the stage came along and was surprised as well as delighted to see a neighbor boy by the name of Frank Curtis aboard the stage as he had said he would come over and stay a day or two with me in camp. Frank had not been allowed to spend much time with a gun or traps, but like most boys, he liked a gun. My mother died before I was eleven years old and father allowed me to trap and hunt about as I liked. When we got down near the traps we set our packs down--I say we, for my folks had sent me a new supply of provisions--and went to look after the traps. The first one had a rabbit leg in it and it was plain to be seen that some animal had eaten the rabbit. We reset the trap and went on to the next trap which was set in a little gorge or hollow. A few yards below the trap two large trees had blown down across the little hollow. The tree on the side farthest down the hill from the trap had broken in two where it fell over the hollow and dropped down so that it laid close to the ground while the tree on the upper side, the side nearest the trap, lay a foot from the ground in the hollow. The trees were two or three feet apart right at the hollow but were close together on one side. When we came to where the trap had been set we found trap and drag gone and nothing in sight. We soon discovered the animal which we supposed was a coon, had gone down the ravine toward the two large trees that had fallen across the hollow. We went to the logs and looked between them. There we could see the clog but the animal was crowded back under the logs so we could see but little of it. Frank said that he would get between the logs and poke the coon out. I told him that he had better let me go, as I was afraid that he would take a hold of the clog and pull the trap loose from the coon's foot, but Frank grabbed a stick and jumped between the logs. He had hardly struck the ground when he gave a fearful yell and there was a spitting, snarling animal close at his heels. He scrambled out from between the logs, as white as a sheet. I then saw that it was a wildcat and a mad one. I cut a good stout stick and while Frank stood on the bank with his gun, I poked the cat from under the log by punching it, until Frank could see it enough to shoot it. We pulled the cat out from between the logs, took the trap from its foot, reset it and took the cat with our traps and went to camp, declaring in our minds that there was no other such mighty trappers as we. Frank declared that he was nearly famished with hunger so we had supper and then skinned the cat. We did not sleep much that night as Frank had to tell me all about things at home. He also told me that pard was no better. Every time an owl would hoot, or a rabbit or porcupine or a mouse would make a noise in the leaves, Frank would give me a punch and ask what it was. Frank remained three days in camp and then he took the stage back home, that being as long as his parents would allow him to stay. I went to the road to see him off. When leaving he made many declarations that he would come back to camp, although he never did. The snow now began to lie on the ground as it fell and it began to get cold at night. Coon did but little traveling and some way, after Frank had been over to camp and stayed those three days, I seemed to get homesick. I had not become expert enough to make a business of deer hunting and marten and bear trapping, so I sprung the deadfalls and took up the few steel traps that I had and began to take my furs and other plunder to the road to take the stage home. After going home I went to school for a few weeks. I no longer remember how many coon, mink and other furs I caught, but it was quite a bunch for furs were very plentiful in those days. CHAPTER VI. A Hunt on the Kinzua. Comrades, as I have not been able to trap any for the past two years--1905 and 1906--and as I have previously served for more than 50 years almost without cessation, along the trap line, I beg to be admitted to your ranks as one of the "Hasbeens." I will therefore tell of one of my trips on a hunting and trapping expedition in the fall and winter of 1865-6, a party of two besides myself. My two companions' names were Charles Manly and William Howard. We started about the 15th of October for Coudersport with a team of horses and wagon loaded with the greater part of our outfit and went to Emporium, Cameron County, where we hit the Philadelphia and Erie Railroad. The only railroad that touched Northwestern Pennsylvania at that time. Here we took the railroad to Kane, a town in Southwestern McKean County, where we stopped one day and made purchases for three months' camping. We hired a good team here to take our outfit about seven or eight miles on to Kinzua Creek. Almost the entire distance was through the woods and over the rock. There was no sign of a road only as we went ahead of the team and cut a tree or log here and there. The outfit was lashed onto a bobsled, and as we had bargained with the man to make the trip for a stated price, he did not seem to care whether there was any road or not, so that he got through as quickly as possible. We reached the stream about noon. The man fed his team some oats, swallowed a few mouthsful himself and was soon on his way back to town, while we began laying plans for our camp. We selected a spot on a little rise of ground near a good spring of water, and where there was plenty of small yellow birch trees handy to cut logs out of for camp. We placed a good sized log down first at the end of the shanty that we intended to build the fire place in. Another was placed at the end that was to be the highest, so to give the right slope to the roof, which was a shed roof. We always kept the large ends of the logs one way, so that when we had the logs rolled up it made the lower or eaves end of the camp about five feet high. There was a slope of about two feet for the roof. We felled bass wood trees which we split in half, and then dug or scooped them out so as to make a trough. We notched the two end logs down and then placed the scoops or troughs in these notches so that they would lay firm with the hollow side up. After placing these scoops across the entire width of the shack we then placed another layer of the scoops (reverse) on the first set. That is to say, the rounding side up. This made a very good roof but required a good deal of chinking at the ends to keep the cold out, but as moss was plenty, it was not a long job. The second day after we got into the woods we had the camp in pretty good shape, well chinked and calked. The third day we worked on the fire place, laying it up to the jam of stone, then we finished the chimney with logs and mud. We had a fairly comfortable camp with but two exceptions. These were, no windows, and for a door we had what I called a "hoghole," that was a door so small that one had to get down on all fours to get in or out. On the fourth day we intended to cut wood all day, and were at it before it was fairly light, but before 10 o'clock it began to snow. In a couple of hours there was a good tracking snow and the boys were bound to go out and see if they could not kill a deer. I tried hard to get them to stick to the wood job, but it was no use, they must go hunting. There was no partnership business in this hunt. It was every man for himself, and the dogs, take the hindermost. I told the boys I would stay in camp and do something at the wood job. I had been along the creek a little the day before, poking my nose under the banks and old drifts to see what manner of signs I could see, and I had noticed several mink tracks. The boys had no more than gone when I had a fishing tackle rigged out. It consisted of a line braided from horsehair, out of a horse's tail, and a hook baited with some bits of fat pork. It did the business, for the stream fairly swarmed with trout. Taking three or four trout for bait, I was soon at work building deadfalls. It was not long before I had three or four built close up under the banks and behind logs where I thought the boys would not see them. I then scampered back to camp and went to cutting wood like a good boy. I had only just got to camp when I heard a gun shot away up the creek, and in about an hour Charley came dragging a yearling deer. Will did not show up for some time after dark, but had nothing, though he said that he had a fair standing shot at a large buck, but his gun snapped on him and he lost. The next morning we were out at the peep of day, each one going his own way. I went down the creek so that I could take a peep at my traps. None had been disturbed until I came to the last one. There, to my satisfaction, I found a mink. As I had passed a small run that emptied into the main creek I noticed that some animal had gone over a pole that lay across a little run and partly in the water. The animal had brushed the snow off the pole in going over it. I gave it no particular attention, thinking that it was a coon, but when I got the mink I thought I would go back to camp, make a stretching board and stretch the mink skin and get a trap and set at the run for the coon, as I supposed. I will mention that furs were bringing about the same prices then as at the present time, 1907, a good No. 1 mink being worth about $10. Near the camp was a large elm tree that was hollow, and the fire had burned a hole out on one side up the tree, nearly as high as a man's head. After I had stretched the mink skin I hung it up in this hollow tree, and it was a very good place to dry the pelts that I caught. The boys never mistrusted that I was doing any trapping for small game. To get back to my job, I took one out of three steel traps No. 3, and all the traps that we had brought with us. In fact, the other boys did not care to trap. When I got back at the run I gave more attention to the trail of the supposed coon, and discovered that it was an otter. With greater caution I waded up the run until I found a suitable place to set the trap, knowing that he would be back that way again sooner or later. After setting the trap I climbed the ridge to look for deer and got two shots during the afternoon but missed both. All came to camp that night without killing any deer. I had seen a number of marten tracks during the afternoon. The next morning it was thawing and the boys feared they would lose the tracking snow, so Charley and Will hurried to localities where they expected to find deer. I sliced some strips of venison from the fore-quarters, or rather what was left of the fore-quarters, of the deer Charley had killed the first day out. I made tracks to the ridge where I had seen the marten tracks, and I lost no time in putting up deadfalls at the best pace I was capable of getting into. In the afternoon on my way to camp I came to the creek some ways below where I had set the mink traps, so I put up two or three more deadfalls for mink. I also found a big flood drift which otter were using for their feeding grounds. I selected places to set the other two steel traps which were in camp, and then went to camp, looking at the mink traps on the way, but found that none had been disturbed. When I got to camp I found both Charley and Will there, and each had killed a deer. Will had killed a good sized buck close to camp, so he dragged it down to the shanty to dress and hang up. The boys gave me the laugh because I had not killed any deer. I told them to hold their breath and I would get into the harness after a bit. In the morning the snow was all gone and the boys were afraid that it was going to get so warm that their venison would spoil. Cuts were drawn to see which one of them should go to Kane to get a team to take out their venison. It fell on Charley. They tried to have me join in the draw, but I told them that I did not see where I came in as I had no venison to spoil. The weather kept warm for several days, so I kept building deadfalls on the different ridges for marten and along the creek for mink and coon. Charley and Will continued to still hunt, killing several deer. When the snow came again I had all the traps up I intended to build, but it turned out that later I built two deadfalls for bear. I now put in my time still hunting, shaping my course as much as possible so as to tend to my traps. I killed a deer occasionally as did the other boys. I set the two steel traps on the drift where I had seen the otter signs, and the second time I looked at them I found an otter tangled up in one of the traps. I was also getting mink, marten and coon now and then, and occasionally I would get two mink or marten in one day. I would cut a long slender withe to stretch the skins over, bending them in the form of a stretching board the best I could and hang the pelts in the old elm tree and kept mum. I remembered the old adage, "he that laughs last, laughs best," and was bound to have the last laugh. One night Will came in and said that a bear had eaten up the offal where he had dressed a deer. I asked him if he was going to set a trap for him, and he said that he had no trap to set. I told him to build a deadfall. Will said that I could have that job if I wanted it. I told him all right if he would tell me where to find the place. He said that he would go with me in the morning and show me. In the morning I took the best axe, some bait and went with Will to the place where the bear had eaten the offal. We saw that the bear had been back there during the night and cleaned up the remains left the previous night. I selected a good sized beech tree, where I could fell it so that I could cut a piece from the butt for the bottom piece and have the remainder of the tree come so that I could use a small tree for one of the stakes or posts. When I pulled off my coat and began chopping on the tree Will gave me the laugh again, and said that I had more days' work in me than brains, or something to that effect. It was my intention to get the trap all ready and then get one of the boys to help me set it. I got the trap done and saw that by using a long lever or pry I could set the trap without the aid of another. With the pry I raised the dead piece up as high as I wanted it. Then tied the lever to a sapling to hold the dead log in place, using the figure four trigger. I placed a bit of log in the bait pen to rest the bait spindle on. I then placed the trigger in place and pressed them between the logs to steady them until I could release the lever and let the weight onto the trigger. I then put some poles onto the dead log to make doubly sure that I had weight enough to kill any bear that traveled those woods. I now went to camp giving myself credit of doing a good job. When the boys came in the night of the day I built the first deadfall for bear, they both reported seeing bear tracks and they said the tracks all seemed to be going south. I told the boys that the bear were looking up winter quarters, and that if we would all go at it and put up several deadfalls we would stand a fair chance to get a bear or two, but it was no go. They said they would give me a clean title to all the bear I could catch, but they did not care to invest. So I took the axe and some bait and went to the head of a small draft where the boys had seen the bear tracks. I found at the head of this hollow what seemed to be a bear runway or crossing, for three or four bears had passed around the head of this basin in the past few days. With some hard work and heavy lifting I got another good deadfall built that day. The next day I went the rounds of the marten and mink traps, and I think I killed a deer and got two marten. I remember that at this time we had a good snow to hunt on, and that it was not an uncommon thing for us to cut wood for the camp long after dark, and sometimes it was pretty scant at that. I think it was the third day after I had set the first bear trap when Will came in, shortly after Charley and I had got to camp, and as he stuck his head through the hoghole (as I called the substitute for a door) he says, a fool for luck. I suspicioned what was coming and said, "Well, what kind of luck have you had?" Will said, "It is not me that has had the luck, but you have got one of the Jed-blasted bears up there in that rigging you built, you ever see." I remember that I had some kind of a hipo that night, so that I would laugh every now and then "kindy" all by myself. I do not think that I slept much that night, though it was not the first bear I had ever caught. I thought it was beginning to look as though the laugh was coming my way all right. In the morning the boys went to the trap with me and helped get the bear out of the trap and helped set the trap again, and then went on with their deer hunting. I went to skinning the bear, and it was all I did that day to skin that bear and stretch the skin on the shanty. I told the boys when they came in that night that I thought we were going to have a hard winter, and so I concluded to weatherboard the camp with bear skins. The carcass of the bear was, of course, a complete loss, and that is a serious objection to the deadfall as a bear trap. I think that it was about this time that Will met with an accident in his foot gear, so he went out to Kane after a pair of gum shoes. At this time we had several deer so thought it best to have the team come in and take them out and ship them. When Will came back that evening he said that some kind of an animal had crossed the path about one-half mile from camp, dragging something. He said that he could not make up his mind what it was, but thought it was some kind of an animal in a trap, but we knew of no one trapping in that locality. I did not know but it might be possible that some animal had gotten in one of my otter traps and had broken the chain and gone off with the trap. Early in the morning I went down the creek to look at the traps and see if they were all right. When I came to the Spring Run I saw that my otter (or at least I called it my otter), had again gone up the run, on his usual round of travel. When I came to where the trap was it wasn't there at all. I had fastened the trap to a root that was two or three inches under water and a root that I supposed sound. I was mistaken, for the root was pretty doty and the otter had broken the root and gone with my trap. I lost no time in taking up the chase. The trail led up this run to its source, then over a spur of ridge and down the hill again into a branch of the main stream, then up this branch for a distance of a mile or more, where I came up with him. He had gone under the roots of a large hemlock tree, and it took me two or three hours to get him out with nothing to work with only my belt axe and a sharpened stake. It was nearly night when I got to camp. I made a stretching board from a spault I split out of a basswood log and stretched the otter skin, and put in the balance of the day in chopping wood. One of the boys killed three deer that day. I do not remember which one it was. The next day I made the rounds of nearly all the traps and got what I have many a time before--nothing. I put in three or four days still hunting and had the luck to kill a deer or two, but Charley and Will killed more than I did. I remember, during this time, they were all the time joking me because they were getting more deer than I did. I claimed that they had the best grounds to hunt on, they hunting east of the camp and up nearer the head of the stream, while I hunted west of the camp. We would see bear tracks nearly every day, and Will and Charley would try to get around in their hunting course so as to look at the two bear traps, the traps being in the direction in which they hunted. They found the traps undisturbed. I had about made up my mind that I would get no more bear that trip. I was getting a marten, mink or coon now and then, so that I kept a stiff upper lip if the boys did kill a few deer more than I did. Finally one night when I came to camp I found the carcass of a bear, skin and all lying at the shanty door. I thought it was one that either Charley or Will had killed. I found that the boys by chance had met near one of the bear traps, and going to the trap found the bear. As it was a small one they took it out, set the trap and brought the bear to camp. It was now getting along in December and the snow was getting rather deep and the weather was pretty cold and the game did not move about very much. We all seemed to get a little lazy, and did not get out till after noon. In fact, some days, if the weather was pretty sharp, we did not go out at all but would stay in camp and talk of the hunt and tell where we thought we could find a bunch of deer over in this basin or on that ridge. The most of the deadfalls set I had not covered so to keep the snow off. A good many of them had snowed under, so I did not care how soon we broke camp and went home. Deer were quite plentiful, and we could find them nearly every day, when we would get a move on, so we continued to stay day after day, and putting in about one-half the time hunting and the other half telling what we would have done if there had not been so many "ifs" in the way. I would usually shape my course in hunting so as to come around where some of the deadfalls were and spring them. One day I came to one that was pretty well snowed under. I saw that a fox had done a good deal of traveling around the trap and had dug in the snow some about where I thought a marten would be, providing one was there. I kicked the snow away, and to my delight and surprise I found as good a marten as I had caught. I thanked the fox for the favor. I examined all the traps then to make sure that there was nothing in them, but I found no more marten. We now began to get our venison into camp, taking turns to help each other. I do not just remember how many deer we killed, but I think that Charley and Will killed 15 or 16 apiece, and I killed either 11 or 12. The boys said I had done pretty well considering the two bear and otter, but when I went to the old elm and brought out the marten, mink and another otter and five or six coon, the boys looked greatly amazed and Will said, "I knew the fool was doing something besides hunting," Charley said he thought he could smell something that smelled like mink around the camp three or four times. I think I got 13 marten, 8 mink, 5 coon, 2 otter and 2 bears. As near as I can remember, I got a little over a hundred dollars for the fur. I do not remember what we got for the venison, but it was war prices. We shipped our venison to George Herbermann, New York. I tried to have the boys help cut a lot of wood for the next season's hunt, but they said they were not counting chickens as far ahead as that. They hit it right, for neither of them hunted in there. I think Charley hunted on Hunt's Run in Cameron County, and I do not know whether Will hunted at all the next season, but I took a partner and went back on the Kinzua. This time we were in "swacks," and I will try to tell what luck we had some time, but one thing we did was to put a window in the camp and make the door large enough so that one did not have to get down on all fours to get in or out. Will and I stayed in camp while Charley went out to Kane and sent in the team to take out the venison and the furs and the camp outfit. We got home for Christmas and found all well. CHAPTER VII. My Last Hunt on the Kinzua. As this hunt was about 1868, before there were railroads in this section, we went to Emporium, Cameron County, Pennsylvania, and there took the train to Kane, in McKean County, then by team and bobsled route to camp. This making the journey much farther, we concluded to go by wagon the entire distance, which would shorten the distance nearly one-half. This time conditions were different than on previous occasion. While there were three in the party before and every one hunted on his own hook, this time I had a partner and we were to share alike in profit and loss. My partner's name was William Earl, and he had recently moved from Vermont, or, as he would jokingly say, from "Varmount." He was somewhat older than myself, and a man who was ever ready to carry his end of the load at all times. We hired a team and took a full line of grub and the camp outfit, with about sixty small traps and eight bear traps. We went by way of Port Allegheny, Devils Blow and Smithport, taking three days to get to camp, as we had to cut out the road a good part of the distance of the last day's travel. They had just begun to operate in the oil industry in the neighborhood of what is now the city of Bradford, and as they used wood altogether for fuel to drill with, there was a great deal of wood being cut for the purpose. Bill, as my partner was familiarly called, used to say that if we could not get fat on venison and bear meat we would take a wood job, but we found plenty to do without the wood job. On reaching the camp the first thing noticeable was that the old hollow elm that I had used for a dryhouse to hang up skins in, had met with foul play, for it lay on the ground, having blown down. This made it necessary to build a sort of leanto against one side of the shanty to hang up our furs, as we did not like to have them hung up in the shanty where they would get more or less smoked. But the first thing we did was to enlarge the door, for it will be remembered that we were obliged to get down on all fours in order to get in or out of the shanty. As we had a good crosscut saw, it did not take long to enlarge the doorway so that one could go in standing up, man fashion. We next cut a window-hole large enough to take a single sash window. Then we replaced the chinkings that the porcupines had gnawed out, calked and mudded all cracks. When this was done, Bill looked it over and said, "By gum, don't it look like living?" As it was only about the middle of October we went to work at once on a good supply of wood for the camp. We did not quit until we were sure that we had plenty to last the winter, for we intended to stay as long as it was either profitable or a pleasure. After the wood was cut and piled up near the shanty door, we next set the bear traps, as we had brought bait for the purpose. After the bear traps were set we next looked over the deadfalls that I had built for marten the fall before, putting in a new stake where necessary. We also set crotches and laid poles on them, then covering with hemlock boughs to keep the snow from falling directly on the trap. We fixed up the two deadfalls I had made for bear, as we wished to get all the bear traps out that we could, as we had already seen several signs. We also built a number more deadfalls for marten on different ridges farther up the stream where I had not set any the fall before. We built a number of deadfalls along the streams for mink and coon. It was now getting well along towards the last days of October, so we put in a couple of days hunting deer, as we had to have bait to set our marten and other traps with. The first day's hunting we did not get a deer, though we each got a running shot but missed. The second day I did not see any deer but Bill killed a good sized buck before noon. We now began setting the traps that we had built. Bill baiting and setting the deadfalls, while I commenced on the steel traps. We had not baited and set any of the deadfalls that we had built up to this time. The steel traps we set for fox and wildcats, as there was a bounty of two dollars on wildcats at that time. In setting out the fox traps the knowledge that I had got of the locality was of much benefit to me. I had kept a watch out for warm springs and other good likely places to catch a fox or other animals. After we had all the deadfalls and steel traps out but three or four otter traps, we set one or two at the drift where I caught one the fall before. The others we set where we found otter signs. While setting the traps we got a marten or two, as well as one or two mink and coon. We had had one or two little flurries of snow, but we did not leave the traps to hunt deer. Now that the traps were all set, we divided up the trap lines as best we could for each one to attend to while hunting deer. In dividing up the lines in this way we saved much time, as we would not both be working the same territory. Now business began to get quite lively, and we were seldom in camp until after dark, and we were up early and had breakfast over and our lunch packed in our knapsacks. The lunch usually consisted of a good big hunk of boiled venison and a couple of doughnuts and a few crackers, occasionally the breast of a partridge, fried in coon or bear oil. Sometimes the lunch would freeze in the knapsacks and it would be necessary to gather a little paper bark from a yellow birch and a little rosin from a hemlock, black birch or hard maple tree and build a little fire to thaw the lunch. This, however, was quickly done, and was a pleasure rather than a hardship. I have delighted in eating the lunch in this manner for many a winter on the trap line or trail, as have many other hunters and trappers. Bill and I always had our lunch packed and ready to take up the trail at the first peep of day. Sometimes when we would get in late, tired and wet and our clothes frozen, I would suggest to Bill that we shut up camp and take a wood job, just to see what Bill would have to say. He would say that there would be time to take a wood job in the spring or after he had killed a certain large buck which is usually called "Old Golden." There were but a few days but what we either caught some fur or killed a deer, though sometimes we would have a bad streak of luck by wounding a deer, or having some animal take a foot off and escape, but this would make us all the more eager to follow the trail or trap line. [Illustration: WOODCOCK ON THE TRAP LINE.] As we had gotten by this time several deer and had caught three bear (one in one of the deadfalls that I had built the fall before, that Will Howard called that "dashed dinged riggin'," when he found the bear in it) we wanted to get them out to Kane, that being the nearest point to a railroad. We started early one morning, Bill taking an axe and I carrying the saw, so that if we found any large trees across the trail that we had cut out the year before we would have the saw to do it with. After carrying the saw some distance and not finding any trees of much size across the road, we left it and only took the axe. We found but very little in the trail to cut out. We got to Kane in time to engage a man with team to come to camp the next day and take out the venison and bear and bring in some necessary commissaries that we were getting short of. It was only a few days after this that I found that a bear got in one of the traps. The trap chain having a swivel that was pretty well worn, broke, and the bear went off with the trap. I followed the trail until the middle of the afternoon, when I became satisfied that Bruin was disgusted with that locality, as he had continued his course nearly due east without a stop. I could see no signs that led me to think that Bruin intended to stop for the next fifty miles. So I gave up the chase and went to camp, getting there long after all good boys should have been in bed. Bill was up and out at the door listening if he could hear a gun shot or anything to indicate what had become of me. We held a council of war before going to bed, and decided to give Bruin another day's rest or travel, as he saw fit to do, before we started on the trail. We would go to all the traps that had not been tended to in the past three or four days and then take up the trail of Bruin and follow him to the end of his trail, no matter how long the trail might be. There was but little danger of the trail becoming snowed under or lost, as there was nearly a foot of snow on the ground, and the trap would make a broad trail in the snow, which was quite easily followed. The next day, as intended, we put in a full day attending the traps and got some fur, but I do not remember just what. We started out on the trail of Bruin with a three days' ration of the usual lunch, boiled venison, ham, doughnuts and biscuits. After following the trail about two hours from the place where I had left it, we came onto a man's track that had taken the trail of our bear. This roiled the temper of the Vermonter somewhat, and if I did not say anything, I had a mighty think on. But we had no cause for alarm at this time. The man after following the trail for a mile or two gave up the chase as a bad job, I guess. He stood and stamped about for some time (we judged by the tracks he had made) and then started back nearly in the same course that he had come. We followed on until dark when we came to a wagon road. Apparently several persons had seen the bear trail, for there was a beaten path for a few yards on either side of the road. We knew nothing about the road or where it went, but finally concluded to take the road leading south for a little ways. If we saw no signs of habitation then we would camp, as that was what we expected to be compelled to do when starting from camp and each had taken a blanket for the purpose. We had not gone far when a man with a sleigh overtook us, and we learned that we were about one and a half miles from what was called Bunker Hill. The man gave us a ride. We went to a boarding house and stayed over night, rather than camping on Bruin's trail, though we got plenty of camping on the trail of Bruin before this hunt was at an end. The next morning we were out early and had breakfast at 6 o'clock and started for the trail which we reached before daylight. We had gone a little way when we heard voices coming along the road. We listened a moment and saw that it was a party of three men who had come to take the bear's trail. We waited until they came up to us and one man said, "What in blazes are you fellows doing on this bear's track?" Bill replied rather sharp, "That's our business, but what are you here for?" Then they said that one of the men had seen the track the evening before and as there was no one after it, they had come out to follow up the track and kill the bear. They insisted on going after the bear but after some talk we convinced them that we did not need any help and they turned back. We took up the trail and followed it pretty lively for a time, as we did not know but those men would cut around and take the trail ahead of us, though they did not do so. We were now on the waters of Potato Creek and there was a good deal of laurel and here we found the first place that Bruin had stopped and made a bed. It is usually the case that a bear that has a trap on his foot will not travel any great distance before they stop and make a bed and then move a short distance and make another bed. Bruin now began to act more natural, to his family. We began to think that we would soon come to fresh signs at least, but were disappointed for we did not follow the trail far, after we came onto his bed before two men's tracks fell in and took up the trail. After following for some time on the trail of the men and bear, we came to where the bear had made another stop and we could see that the bear's track was much fresher showing that it had stopped some time. We expected that the men would divide here, one taking the trail while the other worked on the side, but both men continued on the same trail. After following the trail for three or four hundred yards farther, we came onto another bed and this time the bear went out on the jump and Bill said some cuss words about the men. It is possible that I did too. The trail here turned north. This took us into a section more thickly settled and hunters more numerous. The greater part of the time there was from one to two men on the trail ahead of us and all that was left for us to do was to follow on as fast as we could. The second night we were on the head of Salt Run and we followed the trail till dark. We now had the bear trail to follow instead of the men as all the men had left to go to their camps or homes. Bill said that we would sleep "dash-dang" close to the trail after this, so we soon found a large log to build a fire against. First we would build the fire out a few feet from the log after scraping the snow away. Then we would throw a few hemlock boughs over a pole laid in crotches and then move the fire down against the log, throw a few boughs on the ground where the fire had been moved from and the camp was complete in a very few minutes. We now began to fear that some one would get in ahead of us and kill the bear and we would lose bear, trap and all. Bill said that we would follow so "dash-darn" close that we would be up in time to attend the funeral. We were so close up that we were no longer bothered only a little while at a time as we would soon overtook any one who hit the trail ahead of us and followed it. The bear again turned east which took us across the road which runs from Coudersport to Emporium in Cameron County. We were now back in Potter County and only 15 miles from home. Bruin here turned south and true to his nature, led us through all the windfalls and laurel patches to be found and occasionally would break down a few laurel and act as though he intended to camp for a time but apparently would change his mind and go on again. We were now on the waters of the Conley and night was fast coming on. The trail led across a little bog and we were looking for water and a suitable place to camp, when Bill called my attention to a man standing on the trail watching us. When we came to him it proved to be a neighbor of ours. Mr. Ephraim Reed, who was hunting in there and said that his camp was only a little way down the hollow and asked us to go down and stay over night. We were glad to do so. Mr. Reed said that there were a good many hunters in that locality so we were up and on the trail before it was fairly light. We were in a section where there was a great deal of laurel and Bruin continued to make camps but as often would change his mind and move on and Bill thought he had concluded to go to the can brake in Virginia. Often when he would go into a wind jam or laurel thicket, we would separate, one taking a circuit on one side of the thicket, the other on the other side, meeting on the opposite side from where the trail had entered but we would always find that Bruin was still on the go. We were in a locality where there were apparently a good many deer and we saw signs of marten quite often. We were now on the head waters of Hunts Run in Cameron county and we decided to make that section our next hunting ground. While the trail would wind about some, yet bruin's general course was south. Often when bruin would vary considerably from his general course and go into a thicket or wind jam, we would feel sure that this time we would find him napping, but we were disappointed each time. Once when we were circling one of these thickets, I drove a deer out and it ran to Bill who gave him his finish. We were near a lumber camp and sold it for ten dollars and our night's lodging and some grub. We were now getting pretty well down to the railroad near Sterling Run. We were sure that bruin was going to cross the railroad so we left the trail and went down to the railroad and followed along the road until we came to the trail. The bear had crossed the road during the night and no one had noticed the trail. Here I suggested to Bill that we take a train to Kane and go to camp and go out and take a wood job, but Bill thought that we had about all the job on our hands that we were able to attend to. He was right, for as near as I can remember, the trail led us nearly a half day's tramp before bruin made a stop. The foot that the trap was on began to bleed considerably. We began to fear that the foot would come off and bruin relieved of the trap would escape after all. We now had some more help, two men took the trail ahead of us following it until nearly dark when they apparently held a council of war, judging from the way they tracked about where they left the trail. We were now in a pine slashing and concluded to camp on the trail, though we knew that we were not far from a lumber camp as we could hear men chopping and driving oxen. We were lucky in finding a good place to camp and water close at hand. As we had a small tin pail with us and coffee, we made a pail of coffee and ate our lunch and fixed our bunk, then we sat down before the fire for a time and talked over what we thought we might do the next day. Then we rolled up in our blankets and it was time to get the coffee boiling again before we were hardly aware that we had been asleep. Bruin now began to act more like a sensible bear and would zigzag about from one thicket to another. We now got close enough to him so that we heard him in the brush several times. Bill said that he thought that bruin was about to make up his mind to let us take off that handcuff. He proved to be right, for it was not long before bruin's trail led down onto the side of a steep ravine. The sides were not more than one hundred yards apart and were quite clear (only for the piles of pine tree tops) from fallen trees, that had been taken out for logs. We were standing a little way down the side of the ravine, laying plans as to our next move, as we had come to the conclusion that bruin had either turned down along the side of the ravine or had gone into camp. We had planned that one would go up around the head of the ravine while the other waited on the trail until the one that went around should get on the opposite side. While still laying plans, we saw bruin come out on the opposite side and began to climb the hill. We had followed the bear for six days and this was the first time that we had seen his lordship. He would go a few steps and stop and look back. We watched our opportunity and when he made a stop, we both fired. Bruin made a jump or two up the hill then tumbled back down again and the fun had ended. We took the entrails out and left him lying across a log and went down the ravine to where there was a lumber camp and there we found that we were on Dent's Run, a branch of Bennet's Branch and in Elk county. This was the fourth county we had been in since we had taken the bear's trail. They told us at the lumber camp that there would be three or four teams go down to the railroad station at Driftwood the next morning with spars which they were hauling to the river to raft. We got a man with a yoke of oxen and a bobsled to go with us and get the bear and the next morning about 5 o'clock we got the bear strapped onto one of the spars and started down the stream to the railroad and we shipped it, without removing the skin, to New York, where we got either $26 or $28 for it. We took the train to Kane where we stayed over night. The next morning we went to camp and found all well with one exception, that being, that the shanty was swarming with "deer mice" and a porcupine had tried hard to gnaw his way through the door. The following day we stayed in camp and rested before starting out to see what would turn up the next day. We first looked at the bear traps, tending what small traps came in on the way. On going the rounds of the bear traps, we found them all undisturbed except one, which might better have been as it only had a porcupine in it and we did not see any signs of bear. We began to think of taking up the bear traps as we thought that bruin had gone into winter quarters. We did not get around to take them up for several days, being busy tending the smaller traps. It was now getting along into December and the snow was quite deep. We concluded to put in the time hunting deer as we wished to get all we could, to send out with the team, when we had it come in, as it did not cost any more to take out a full load than half a load. The law closed on deer the first of January, although allowing the hunters 15 days to dispose of his venison after it was unlawful to kill deer. We hustled from early morning until long after dark, when we would get to camp and there was hardly a day that we did not kill at least one deer and some days two or three between us. I will tell of a little scrape I had one day with a yearling buck that I thought to be dead. I was following the trail of three or four deer along the side of a ridge, expecting every moment to catch them feeding, when I heard a noise behind me and looking back, I saw this little buck coming full tilt right towards me. The deer saw me about as soon as I did him and wheeled to run back when I fired and he went down. I set my gun against a tree and started to cut the deer's throat. I took the deer by the ear and straightened his back. About this time that dead deer began to get pretty lively and was trying to get on his feet and as I could not reach my gun, threw myself onto him, thinking to hold him down. Well I held him about as long as lightning would stay on a limb. When I got through gazing at the hole in the brush where I last saw him, I found that I was sadly in need of a new pair of trousers and vest, as well as a jack knife. I searched a long time in hopes of finding the knife, but did not. I had another knife at camp and after about a two hour's job with needle and thread, I managed to get the trousers so that they were passable in a pinch and all the time that I was repairing the trousers, Bill sat there laughing at me. Now this was the first time that I had supposed dead deer come to life and give me the go-by, though it was not the last time. I had given him what is called a fine shot, that is I had shot him just across the back and the ball had struck one of the joints or knuckles of the backbone as it proved. I had the satisfaction of killing the same deer two or three days later or at least we thought it was the same one. We had three or four days of mild weather and as we had not been the rounds of the traps for several days, only tending those that came handy while hunting deer, we thought we would reverse the plan and go over all the traps and pay but little attention to deer hunting unless we struck a hot trail. We thought we would take in those traps first in the direction where the bear traps were and go to the traps farthest from camp and bring in some of the traps. We did not expect to get any more bear as it was too late in the season for bear to travel until they had their winter's sleep. We were in luck this time for as we had usually tended the bear traps, the one that we went to first would have been the last trap to come to. When we came in sight of where the trap was set we saw that there had been a bear dance going on. As the snow was several inches deep, we saw at a glance which way the bear had gone and we only had to step to the brow of the ridge and look down the hillside a little way to see bruin fast among some small saplings. He was rolling and tumbling about trying to release himself. He looked like a great black ball as he rolled about. We lost no time in putting him out of his trouble. We skinned the fore parts and hung them up in a sapling to use for bait for fox and marten and took the saddles to camp, skinned them out and stretched the skin on the shanty. Later we shipped the saddles to market. The next day we looked at the balance of the bear traps but found them undisturbed but we concluded to leave them set a few days longer. On going the rounds of the smaller traps, we got a fox or two also a marten or two, but as I remember it, we got no mink or otter at this time. We now had the traps all looked after, so we put in the time hunting deer as the time for deer hunting was soon to close. The weather had turned and frozen so that it had formed a sharp crust and we were compelled to use the driving method of hunting. One of us would stand on the runways, in the beds of basins and in low places on the ridges while the other would follow the trail and drive the deer through to the hunter. I wish to say right here, that I do not like this way of hunting deer but little better than I do of hounding and running deer with dogs. The dog is all right but I want no dogging of deer for me. We would get a deer nearly every day. It was now the first of January and time to get our venison to camp or out to the road where we could pick them up on the way out to Kane. After we had gathered up the venison and had gone the rounds of the traps that had not been tended while hunting, we went to Kane. Here we engaged a team to come in after the venison and bear and bring in a grub stake to last us until the middle of March when we would break camp and go home. We both went back to Kane with the team to assist in getting over some of the rough places and see that our venison and bear meat was tagged and shipped all right. Then we came back to camp to put our entire time in tending to the traps which we did to good advantage. We had found other good warm springs while hunting, and some that we thought were lasting springs, had gone dry or had frozen up, so we shifted a good many of the traps to the other springs. Then we took it a little easier only going the rounds of the traps as we considered it necessary and on such days as the weather was favorable. We waited for February when we knew that the old dog coon would begin his rounds of calling on his friends. We managed to pass the time away fairly well as we would get a fox, mink, marten or something nearly every day so that we busied ourselves. About the middle of February we had several warm days and the time had now come for us to get busy and we were out as soon as it was light. We would follow up all the spring runs until we found the trail of a coon, then follow it up until it went into a tree. Sometimes it bothered us which tree to cut down for the coon would go from one tree to another so that it was hard to tell which was the tree that was the home of the coon (some call it a den). One day we chopped down a great large oak, three or four feet in diameter and nearly sound all the way through and nary a coon to be found. I asked Bill why he did not say cuss words and he said he thought we had spent enough wind in chopping the tree down, without wasting any unnecessarily. Well, as I said, the coon had been up and down so many trees that we did not know which one was the most likely one. We went to a large basswood tree that had only one track going to it and one away from it but when we pounded on it with the axe, we saw that it was very hollow. I suggested to Bill that we chop it down. Bill thought there were no coon in it and I had but little faith myself but I told him that as he had been wanting a wood job, here was his opportunity and Bill agreed with me, so we laid off our coats and went to chopping. The tree was only a shell. We soon had it down and to our surprise, coon began to run in all directions. Not having had much hopes of finding any coon in the tree we had not prepared ourselves with clubs to kill the coon. We used the axe handle as best we could but one coon got away and went into a hollow stump which we had to cut down. We got five coon. We then took up the trail of the coon that left the tree and after following it about a mile it went into a large hemlock tree that had a hole in it close to the roots. Pounding on it we discovered that it was hollow. There had been several coon tracks both out and into the tree. We circled around some distance from the tree and found no tracks leading away from the tree farther than a small spring a few rods away. As it was getting well on towards night we did not fell the tree but went back to the old basswood where we had left the coons and took them and went to camp. Bill said that he had a dash-dang sight rather chop wood than to tote those three coons. I carried two and told Bill not to complain and I would let him skin all of them when we got to camp. He said, "Oh, you are a clever jade, aint you?" We skinned the coon that evening but did not stretch the skin until the next afternoon after we had gone out and cut the hemlock and got three more. We kept up this coon hunt as long as we could find any tracks. It was now getting along into March and we had written home for a team to come in and take our camp outfit and furs out. As we had not been out over the road through the woods, the way we came in, we made a trip out to the main wagon road so that the man who came after us would have no trouble in following the trail to the camp. We now began to spring all the deadfalls that we had set for marten, mink and coon and take up all of the steel traps as we had written to the man to be there about the fifteenth of the month. I think it was a day or two later when the team came and our hunt on the Kinzua was ended. We got some thirty odd deer and either five or six bear and I think four otter. I do not remember the number of fox, mink, marten and coon, but we did well for there had been but very little trapping done in that locality at that time and furbearing animals were quite plentiful. I have never been back to that camp since. I gave the camp to a man by the name of Ball. CHAPTER VIII. Fred and the Old Trapper. Yes, Fred, you can go with me to attend my traps, come down early as I wish to start at 5 o'clock." Fred was on hand next morning at the appointed hour. We leave the road here and go up this stream; this will take us to several traps and also to camp. "Are these woods very large?" "Yes, Fred. It is about fourteen miles either way through them." "Does any one live in them?" "No one only the lumberman. Well, Fred, here is the first trap." "I don't see any trap." "No, but it is there, just in front of that little stone pen; the bait is in the pen." "Why don't you take that bush away?" "Oh! that is part of the knack in trapping; see that is just far enough from the pen to let the animal pass through." "Oh! I see, and it will step in the trap in going through!" "That is it, exactly." "Won't the water take the brush away?" "Yes, if it gets too high, but you will see that I have put some heavy stones on the limbs that are down in the water; you also see that I turn the water above the trap by throwing up a few stones; this is done to keep the water so that it just covers the traps. You see that bunch of leaves that are a little higher than the rest of the leaves--the pan of the trap is just under those leaves." "Did that moss grow on the stone pen?" "No, I put it there to make the pen look old; you see a fox can easily step on that bunch of dry leaves that are on the pan of the trap from the bank. A fox does not like new things. You see this trap is set for mink, coon or fox, whichever may happen along." "What is the trap fastened to?" "See that limb that has moss all grown over it. The trap is stapled to it." "Can't a fox or coon drag it away?" "Yes, but not far. See the chain is stapled about the middle of the limb, and the animal would not go far before it got fast. "Fred, you get that rabbit out of the knapsack that we took out of the snare, and we will put some fresh bait in the pen for this is getting too stale; mink and coon do not like rotten meat. Cut it into several pieces so that the animal can not get it all at once. There, that is all right, and let us hurry on to the next trap. Here it is and a mink in it and drowned." "Where is the pen? I do not see it." "We do not always have a pen. You see that notch in that log where the water runs over? That is where the trap was set. See this hay wire that is fastened to the trap chain and which is fastened to that stone out in the deep water? The mink could not go toward the bank so it went into the deep water and was drowned." "Why did you set a double spring trap here?" "Well, Fred, an otter might happen along and that is just the place to catch it. You see above the log I have fixed to gage the water as at the other trap. I do this so the water will not wash the covering from the trap, or get so deep over the trap that the animal will not spring it when going over it." "I see that you have got those brush on either side of the trap with just enough space for the animal to pass through over the trap." "That is correct, you are catching on, Fred, all right." "Don't you use bait where you set a trap in this way?" "Not often; sometimes I fasten a fish with a horse-hair with a hook fast to it so that you can hook it to the lower jaw and fasten it in the water just above the trap; water keeps it moving and attracts the animal. We have got this trap set all right and will now move on to the next. We will take the mink to the next trap before skinning it." "What is that over yonder on the other side of the creek?" "That is a coon and it is in a trap. Fred, you take my cane and kill it while I fix up the bait pen, for it has torn things up as bad as a bear would." "Why did you not use stones to build this pen?" "Old chunks are just as good and much handier to get, and there was plenty of moss on the old logs near to cover it with." "Why do you not use old bushy limbs here?" "You see this trap sets in the mouth of a small spring run; we will cut some little twigs and stick them up in the ground, in place of the brush, to make the runway, as we call it. We will now skin the mink. Rip straight down the hind leg from the heel to the vent. Now lay the knife down and start the skin loose on the legs with the thumb and finger; work the skin down the leg to the root of the tail then take knife and cut the skin loose around the vent working the skin free around the roots of tail until you can get your fingers of the left hand around the tail bone. Now with the right hand near the body of the mink pulling with the right and you will strip the tail clean from the bone. With the knife make a slit on either fore leg about one inch from the heel and around the leg. You are now ready to strip the skin down the body to the fore legs and with the thumb and finger work the leg out. Strip the skin down to the ears and with the knife cut the ears close to the head, continue to strip the skin down to the eyes, cut around the eyes close to the bone and use the knife on down to the end of nose. That was a short job. Now we will put this mink carcass in the back end of the pen and cut the balance of the rabbit up and put it in the pen back about six inches from the trap." "Don't you use any scent; I have heard people say that you use some kind of scent?" "I use none, only of the animal itself. It did not take long to take the pelt off that coon; we will strip some of that fat from the carcass and do it up in the skin and put it in the knapsack; hang the carcass up on that sapling. We must be moving now. Our next trap is a bear trap; it sets up in that little sag you see and in a spring that comes out of the side of the hill. I like to set traps in those springs for they never freeze up and the bait keeps much longer. No, there is nothing in it, I can see the clog there all right. Yes, there is something in it; it is a coon and it is dead. Look, there is a fox in a trap." "Where was the trap set, I do not see any bait pen?" "Fred, you take this stick and walk up slowly to him; go up close and give him a sharp blow across the back of the neck--that will fix him. You see that big mossy log laying on the bank over there? That was where he was caught. We will now set the trap again. See this little sink in the log? That is where the trap was set; this limb is what the trap was fastened to, one end on the ground and the other comes just up to the log where the trap is set and we will staple the trap to it. We will now cover it with moss, just like on this log, but we will get it from another log. No one could tell that there was a trap there." "Will not the fox smell it?" "He might if it was not for this fox carcass. We will skin the fox, just as we did the mink. Look out there Fred, do not disturb the moss or anything on that log where the trap is. Keep away from that. We will put this carcass in the little hollow and will drive a crotched stake straddle of its neck; drive it well down; now take this stick and rake some leaves over it, cover the neck where the stake is quite well, the rest of the carcass only slightly. You have done it very well and the fox will not notice what scent there is on the trap as long as that carcass is there." "But you had no carcass there when you caught this one and I have heard that a fox was afraid of the scent of iron?" "That is all bosh. Keep your traps free from all foreign scent and you need not be afraid of the scent of the iron, but if you catch some animal in the trap, then you should have some of the scent of that animal around near the trap, this will overcome what scent there is on the trap. This, however, is only necessary with shy animals like the fox. Coon and skunk are not afraid of what they smell." "Do you ever wear gloves when setting your traps?" [Illustration: LOG SET FOR FOX.] "No, that is all nonsense. Get the clamps out of the knapsack and we will set the bear trap. We set the trap this way so that the bear goes in lengthways of the jaws, not crosswise of them. We will now place the trap in this hole that we have dug out, so that the water will be deep enough to cover the trap and be sure that the jaws rest firmly on the ground, so that if the bear should step on the jaws, the trap would not tip up. Some trappers do not do this and then they think that the shy animal turned the trap over. We will now cover the trap with those water soaked leaves after which we will take this piece of moss as large as your hand, and with this forked stick put the moss on it, and place it on the pan of the trap." "Would the bear smell it, if you put it on with your hands?" "No, but if the trap should accidentally spring it would be better to catch the stick than your hand. Now we will cut this coon carcass into two or three pieces and put it back in the bait pen about three feet from the trap. There we have it fixed all right. We will now go over the ridge to where there is another bear trap set and will eat our lunch as we go along." "How did you know that a fox would go on that log where that trap was set?" "By knowing the nature of the animal. When the fox smelled the bear bait in the pen there, I knew that he would get on the highest point near the pen to investigate and that point was that log." "Is this the only way you catch foxes?" "No, that is only one of the many ways. Here we are; the trap is right down in the head of this hollow; that is a dark place down there, yes, that is the kind of a place that bears like to travel through. I can see the pen, but I do not see the clog. Yes, the clog is gone, I guess that Bruin has put his foot in it this time. Now go still and look sharp and see if we can find him anywhere for a bear will try hard and get away when they first see you. He has gone this way, see how he has torn down the brush and has turned up those old logs. He will not do that long and after a little we may be obliged to circle in places to find the trail. Here he has gone up this steep side hill but he will not go far that way. See how he has torn this old tree top up and gnawed those logs and those trees, he has been past here. He has gone straight back down the hill. Now he will keep along this side hill, for he may cross this hollow back and forth three or four times before we find him fast. Here is the trail again, he has gone back up the hill. We will work up the hill so as to keep on the highest ground." "You have followed these bear trails a good many times, haven't you?" "Yes, in 1900 I followed one seven days that broke the chain and went up with the trap, and then another party ran across the bear and killed it. I did not even get my trap back. They said they hung the trap up in a tree and some one stole it." "Hold on Fred, what is that away down there in the hollow?" "That is the bear, he is trying to climb that tree, I do not think he will make it, for the clog is fast between those two small saplings that stand by the large tree. We will go a little closer, there now! when he turns his head sideways take good aim and put the ball square in the ear. A good job, Fred, he never knew what hurt him. Now make a slit in the skin, right at the point of the breast bone, and then stick him as you would a hog. Do not cut the skin too much. Now Fred get the clamps out of the knapsack and we will see if we can get him out of the trap. Now we will skin him as you would a beef with the exception, we will leave the claws on, for the skins are a much better price where the feet are left. We will be very careful not to cut the hide, for they skin about as mean as a hog does. Well now we will hang the foreparts up in this tree and take the skin and the saddles and pull for camp." "Are you not going to set the trap?" "No, it will be dark before we get to camp now and we have got a heavy load to carry, in fact, if it was anything but bear, we would think we could not carry it." "My, but this is getting heavy." "Yes, Fred, but this all goes in with trapping and besides it will improve the appetite." "I guess so, for I am as hungry as a wolf." "Well, here we are at camp. Fred, you will find the lamp on that shelf close up in the corner. You light it while I start the fire. Now Fred you will find the key to the camp chest behind that ridge post. Open the chest and take the blankets out so that they will be airing. Now in the other part of the chest you will find some tin cups, plates, knives and forks, also some crackers, cheese and ginger snaps. The cheese is done up in waxed paper. You can put those things on the table while I go to the spring and get a pail of water. Now, Fred, you raise that lid and you will find a box sunk down in the ground, where you will find potatoes and bacon. Get some out. You will find the coffee in a sack in the chest and the coffee pot is hanging on that nail. You put the coffee on while I get the potatoes." "Oh, we cannot wait for potatoes to cook." "Yes, we can, I will pare three or four and slice them up and put them in the spider with a little water and some bits of pork and by the time the coffee boils, the potatoes will be ready. Fred, just hand me that lid so I can cover these potatoes over. You will find a can of condensed milk and the sugar in the chest. Please set them on the table while I fix the fire." "You have plenty of good dry wood." "Yes, I always come over to the camp before the trapping season begins and cut up a good lot of wood. And those old elevated stove ovens make the best kind of a stove for a camp. Fred, you pour the coffee while I take the potatoes up and we will partake of this frugal meal. In the morning for breakfast we will have bear steak, boiled partridge and buck-wheat cakes." "Well Fred, I feel better, how is it with you?" "Oh, I feel like a fighting cock now, but I was too hungry for anything. Well Fred, the dish water is hot in that pan on the stove, if you will wash the dishes, I will stretch those skins and dress those partridges. Now if you will spread the blankets on the bunk, I will mix the cakes for breakfast, and then we will be ready for bed." "How large is this camp?" "The logs were cut fourteen and sixteen feet long, so that makes it about twelve by fourteen on the inside. The roof is good and steep. Yes, I like a ridge roof and half pitch them, you do not have to make the body so high. Yes, I always chunk well and calk good with moss before I mud it, then you have a good warm camp. Yes, I like to have a 12 x 20, two small sash in each gable." "Does that roof leak?" "No, a roof put on with good hemlock bark like that will not leak and will last a long time. Fred we must bunk down for we must be moving early in the morning." "Come, Fred, turn out, I have breakfast about ready." "Why it is not morning, is it?" "Yes, it is six o'clock and we must be moving as soon as we can see, for we have a big day's work before us. Yes, Fred, everything tastes good in the woods. I suppose a keen appetite has something to do with that. Well, it is light, so that we can see to travel, so we will be going. Yes, Fred, you can come over with me again and I will show you how to set traps, many different ways, to catch different animals, and we might have a bear in a pen." "Do you catch bear in a pen?" "Yes, and I like a pen for a bear better than a steel trap. No getting away if the pen is properly made." "Well, here is the bear trap and there has been a wild cat at work at those inwards, so you see I did not bring that trap along for nothing. Fred, you place a few of those bushy limbs around on the upper side of those inwards, while I set the trap. There, that is all right, we will staple to this limb. Yes, he will be quite likely to get into the trap if he comes again, for he can't get at the bait very well from any other way, only over the trap." "How far is it from where the bear trap was set?" "About one-half mile. Yes, I suppose he dragged that trap three or four miles to get that distance. Here we are, it will not be a long job to set that trap as he has not torn the bait trap down. Fred, you get the clamps from the knapsack, while I cut that bushy tree for a clog. Yes, we let those limbs stick out about ten inches so that they will catch in the brush and on logs, and that bothers, you see. Yes, those lungs and liver are all right for bait as long as it is fresh. A bear does not like tainted meat. Well, that is all right now, we will go to camp and get a bite to eat, and then pull for home and get the horse and wagon and come out and take the bear meat and the skin in. Yes, we always ship the saddles to New York, they bring a good price. "Yes, it is more of a knack to stretch a bear skin right than any other skin. Here we are at camp again, we will eat a bite and then pull for home. Good bye, Fred, yes, you shall go again." CHAPTER IX. Bears in 1870, To-Day--Other Notes. One not familiar with the conditions of a wild woods life would naturally think that bears would diminish in proportion to deer and wild animals. However, this does not seem to be the case. Forty years ago, trappers of bear were not as numerous as at the present time. People at that time, hunted more for profit than sport and their forte was the slaughter of deer. In those days it was nothing uncommon to see sleigh loads of deer pass every day on the way to market. After the first tracking snows of the season, the deer killed in this county (Potter) were hauled by team thirty and forty miles to the nearest railroad station and shipped to New York and Philadelphia but this is not what we wish to write of. We only speak of this to show that the man of forty years ago was of the trail, rather than the trap line. Forty years ago, the writer was acquainted with nearly every hunter and trapper who made a business of hunting or trapping in this and adjoining counties. Men who made a business of trapping bear as well as hunting deer could be counted on the fingers of your hands, and the grounds on which they operated were the counties of Clinton, McKean, Cameron and Potter. The names of these men who perhaps were the most interested in bear trapping in the section above mentioned were, Leroy Lyman, Horatio Nelson, Lanson Stephan, Isaac Pollard, Ezery Prichard and one or two others, including the writer. The traps mostly used were bear pens and deadfalls. It was considered a fairly good day's work for two men to build one good bear pen or two good deadfalls. Most bear trappers, however, had a few steel bear traps for it may be said that nearly every country blacksmith knew how to make a bear trap and how to temper a trap spring. This cannot be said of the average blacksmith of the present day. Bear forty years ago would migrate then as they do now. We used to think that bear would travel from the Virginias and from Northern New York if not from the New England States to Pennsylvania or from Pennsylvania north or south as the case may be. This was proven from the fact that if there was a good crop of mast in one locality, while a scarcity in another, the bear would all seem to be moved north or south as the case may be as though they had some way of informing one another where plenty of food was to be found. At such times when bear are on a migratory tramp it is not an uncommon thing to find a bear track near your house or barn on going out in the morning when there was snow on, so that the track is plain to be seen. This was no uncommon thing forty years ago, neither is it at the present time (1910) when there is a general scarcity of forage crops such as beech nuts, chestnuts and acorns. I have seen it stated by some writers that at certain times bear will move in a drove and at such times it was not safe for a man to meet a bear for they were very dangerous and would attack any one who chanced to be in their way. In my upwards of fifty years experience of woods life, I do not call to mind of ever seeing more than three bears on one trail at the same time and these were an old bear and cubs. It has been the writer's observation that when bears were on these migratory trips in search of food or from other cause, they travel singly and not in droves or even in pairs. During the summer when bears are existing on nettles, wild turnips, berries and other green food, it is not out of the ordinary to find a bear in pretty close proximity to the farm house and close around the fields where he can occasionally get a sheep or lamb. I have seen and heard much written and said of bear raising from their hind feet to attract people's attention who chanced to come in their way when in the woods. I have never seen a bear raise on his hind feet for battle, in any case, when a hunter or trapper approaches them. I have often seen them sit upon their haunches to listen when they heard a noise and were not sure of its origin. As to the number of bear at the present time and forty or fifty years ago, through Northern and Central Pennsylvania, there seems to be about as many now as there were then. This I attribute to the fact that much of the country in other localities has been cleared up and thus deprived bruin of his natural haunts. Forty years ago,--in the early 70's--it was customary then as now, to keep tab on trappers as to what they were doing along the trap line. Trappers of years ago would average from three to twelve bears, according to how plenty they were and to what the condition of the weather was. It often happens that when bear are plenty on the trapper's trapping grounds, he does not have the best of luck in taking the game. If shack is very plentiful it is sometimes difficult to get the bear to take ordinary bait. The bear will also den up or go into hibernation much quicker if they get fat, than they will if shack is a little scarce so that they do not get quite so fleshy. If the bears get real fleshy early in the season they will den up at the approach of the first cold and freezing weather and sleep until spring. On the other hand, if the bear continues to be a little lean, as he generally is during the summer, he will continue to search for food during quite severe weather. They will leave winter quarters and come out in search of food when there are a few warm days, or a slight thaw, which they will rarely do if they go into the den in good flesh. The bear is not like the raccoon. Their rutting season in this latitude is in August and not in February and March as with the raccoon and groundhog. Now all of these conditions has much to do with the number of bears that a trapper may get during a season. The number of bear taken in Pennsylvania by the average trapper at the present time and forty years ago may be slightly less now than then but the difference is not great. There are more bear trappers today than forty years ago. During the months of October and November, 1909, there were nearly one hundred bears caught in traps and killed with dogs in the above counties mentioned. Bears were more plentiful through this section than usual this season, although they did not work north into the beech timber until about the first of November, owing to a heavy crop of chestnuts and acorns farther south. Comrades of the trap line, if I was in a section of country where large game was as plentiful as it was here fifty years ago, I would not be able to get very far into tall timber, but as it gets monotonous to write of skunk, muskrat and rabbit hunting of to-day, I will tell of some of my experiences of fifty years ago, when it was my custom to hunt deer and bear for profit and pleasure. In those days I made it a point to be in the woods with my bear traps and rifle by the middle of October each year, if health permitted. In those days all that a trapper and hunter had to do was to get a few miles out into tall timber, build a good log cabin and hit a permanent job for the season. Deer, bear and fur-bearing animals were so plentiful that it only required a small territory to find game sufficiently plenty to keep the trapper on a lively gait all the time. In those days we made it more a specialty of hunting deer for the profit there was in it. We had built our cabin on the divide between the headwaters of the Cross fork of Kettel Creek and the headwaters of the East Fork of the Sinnamahoning. I had built a few deadfalls and bear pens for bear and also had three or four steel bear traps set, but beech-nuts, chestnuts and other nuts were so plentiful that the bear would not take meat bait and I had no other bait at hand. The bear would pass within a few feet of a trap and pay no attention to the bait. Now at this time, furs were so low that there was but little to be made from the sale of the pelts of the fox, mink, skunk, etc. But it was my custom to carry one or two steel traps in my pack sack and when I killed a deer, I would make a set or two for the fox, marten or fisher, whichever happened along first. As I have stated I spent the greater part of my time in deer hunting. On this particular day I was following a drove of four or five deer, but the wind was so unsteady and whirling about in puffs so that as near as I could get to a deer was to see his white flag, beckoning me to come on as they jumped a log or some other object. Striking the trail of a bear that had gone back and forth several times, nearly in the same place within the past three or four days, since a light snow had fallen, I was satisfied that it was a bear going back and forth from his lodging quarters to his feeding grounds. So I left the trail of the deer and took up the trail of the bear, taking the track that I thought had been made last. I did not follow the trail far, which led along the brow of the ridge, when I saw that the several different bear tracks were forming into one trail and making in the direction of several large hemlock trees that had been turned out by the roots and lay in a jumbled up mess. I followed the trail carefully until I was certain that the bear had entered the jungle of timber. Here I worked carefully around the jam of timber until sure that the bear was in the jungle and that it would be impossible for me to get near the bear. The density of brush and undergrowth was such that I would drive the bear out before I could get close enough to Bruin to get a shot at him. And this was a time, when I longed for a pard. Being convinced that I could do nothing alone, I got out on one side of the trail the bear had made in going back and forth and watched until dark, in hopes that Bruin would come out on his way to his feeding grounds. But in this I was mistaken so was obliged to give up the hunt for the time being and make tracks for the shanty. My camp was about five or six miles from Edgcomb Place, this being the nearest point to where anyone lived, where I might get help to rout Bruin. The Edgcomb Place was a sort of a half way house, it being about fourteen miles either way to a settlement. The stage made one trip a week over this road and stopped at Edgcomb Place for dinner and often some one would come out from town in the stage and stop there for a few days' hunt. It was one of these parties that I was in hopes of getting to help me out in this bear hunt. I started in the morning before daylight as the stage had gone the Kettel Creek way the day before, which was in my favor of catching help at the hotel. As good luck proved to be on my side, I found a man at the hotel by the name of John Howard, who was stopping there for a few days' hunt. He was more than anxious to join me in the bear hunt. We hastened back to camp so as to get onto the job as quickly as possible. We got to the shanty about noon and got a hasty lunch and started out to wake Bruin up if he was still sleeping where I had left him. When we got to the jam of timber, we found that he had been to his feeding grounds and had returned to his lodging apartments during the night, so we now thought that we would soon make sure of our game. We located the spot the best we could where we thought Bruin was sleeping and began to cautiously work our way in from opposite sides. It only took a short time to work our way into the jam sufficiently to locate a large root, where Bruin's tracks showed plainly that he was sleeping under this root. We continued to work our way up closer to the root with gun in hand for ready action. But still Bruin did not show up, neither could we hear the least bit of a noise from him. When we were within a few feet of the root, Mr. Howard on one side and the writer on the other side, suddenly, without any warning whatever, Bruin came out of his hole like a shot out of a gun and nearly landed on Mr. Howard, who sprang backwards to escape him. Mr. Howard's feet became tangled in the thick brush, he fell backwards and before he could regain his feet, Bruin had gone over the brow of the ridge, into the laurel out of sight. Mr. Howard was not able to get in a shot at Bruin, as I was on the other side of the root and on higher ground, I managed to empty both barrels of my rifle at him through the thick brush, but Bruin went on down the hill, through the laurel, apparently unhurt. After following the trail of Bruin for some distance, we began, now and then, to find a little blood, where the bear had crawled over a log or rubbed against the laurel. We followed him until we found one or two places where he had broken down a few laurel and scratched about in trying to make a bed, so we thought the better plan was to let Bruin go for the night and let him make his bed. But we did not go to camp empty handed for good luck favored Mr. Howard in killing a good, big deer on our way to the shanty. After leaving the trail of the bear, we followed up a spur of the main ridge that led to camp, Mr. Howard going up one side of the spur while I took the other spur. Just before reaching the top of the spur, I heard Mr. Howard shoot and in a few minutes I heard him shouting for help. When I got across the ridge to where he was, I found him dressing a good sized buck. As it was getting dark we lost no time in taking the entrails out of the deer, cutting a withe with a hook, which we hooked into the lower jaw of the deer. We hooked ourselves to the withe and made lively tracks to the shanty, where we could talk and laugh of the day's hunt. * * * We were up early the next morning and had our lunch packed in our knapsack, ready for an early start. It had turned warm during the night and the light snow that was on the ground, was fast disappearing. So we lost no time in getting back to where we had left Bruin's track the night before. We could still manage to follow the trail on the snow and we soon found where Bruin had broken down a few laurel and tried to make a bed. But he would not stop long, apparently, when he would move on for a short distance and again break down a few laurels as before to make a nest. We could see a little more blood at each place where he stopped than the one before. We were working the trail as cautious as we could, when we heard a noise in the thick laurel to our left and got a glimpse of Bruin going through the laurel. We emptied both barrels of our guns in the direction where we could see the brush wiggle, but all of our shots failed to take effect. Bruin now left this laurel patch, crossed a ravine and began to climb another spur of the main ridge. We did not follow the trail long, when we discovered that it was becoming hard work for Bruin to travel far at a time, as he would stop to rest. The snow was now gone so that it was a little more difficult to follow the trail of the bear. We thought that it would be better for one of us to go up the ravine to the top of the ridge and stand about where he thought that the bear would come out at the top of the ridge. Mr. Howard went to the ridge, while I was to follow the bear's trail. After waiting long enough to give Mr. Howard time to get to the top of the ridge, I took up the trail of the bear. I had not gone far when I came to a bed, where the bear had stopped for a time. I was now sure Mr. Howard would get to his watching place before the bear reached the top of the hill. I was not mistaken, for it was not long until I heard Mr. Howard fire both barrels of his gun in rapid succession. I thought when I heard the two shots that the bear hunt was surely over, but after listening a few moments and hearing nothing from Mr. Howard I was then unable to give a guess what he had done. I worked along on the trail until near the top of the hill when I saw Mr. Howard standing with head down and bearing the expression of a motherless colt. When I got up to him he said that the bear had stopped near the brow of the ridge and when he came in sight, the bear started across the ridge and he fired both barrels of his rifle at him but the bear was so far away that he could not reach him. The bear now crossed the ridge in the direction of Windfall Run, a branch of the Cross Fork and toward a large windfall. We followed the bear a short distance in to the windfall. Briers and brush were so thick that it was almost impossible to work our way along in the brush and one could scarcely see ten feet ahead. We had followed the trail but a short distance when we could hear Bruin whining like a little puppy and soon we could see him sitting up on his haunches and keeping up the whine. We soon put an end to his troubles. When we removed the bear's entrails, we found that one of the shots that we fired at him at the beginning of the hunt, had passed through the lungs but had not struck any large artery or any vital point. But the wound had weakened him so that he was no longer able to make his way through the thick briars and brush. We had two days of sport but now the real work began. We were about three miles from camp and any hunter who has toted a three hundred pound bear or a good big deer, lashed to a pole and where the route was up and down steep hills, knows what sort of a job he has on his hands. But comrades, we were not as old at that time as we now are and we could tote a bear or deer as easy then as we could a rabbit now. [Illustration: WOODCOCK AND HIS CATCH, FALL 1904.] Mr. Howard stayed with me for about two weeks and we had other bear hunts and killed two other bear and we did it almost without knowing that there was a bear within ten miles of us. We also got five or six deer during Mr. Howard's stay with me. Deer were as plentiful in those days as rabbits. Comrades, look over the accompanying picture and note the difference at the camp of a trapper from what you can imagine it was about one's hunting camp at the time we write of. CHAPTER X. Incidents Connected with Bear Trapping. Several years ago, I was trapping for bears on the East Fork of the Sinnemahoning River. I usually went on horse back as far as I could when tending the traps. But boys, don't be bad, as I was, for this was on Sunday that I went to look at the traps. I found the bait-pen of the first one torn down, bait gone and everything showed plainly that Bruin had been there. As I had no bait at hand, I went to the next trap. I found things quite different, for the old bear had surely "put his foot in it" this time, as the trap was gone. On taking the trail I did not follow it far, before I found bruin fast in an old tree-top. I soon dispatched him and taking off his coat, hung up his carcass. Now the bait was gone at this trap also. Let me tell you that this is something that rarely happens, for when the bear puts his foot in a Newhouse trap, he seldom tarries to monkey with bait. I suspected that another bear had been there after this one had got in the trap. As I had no bait I took the lungs and heart of the one I had caught and baited the traps the best I could, then I took the skin and started for home. Well, when I got near the horse you can bet there was some tall prancing and loud snorting. After a long time I managed to get on his back and home with the skin. The next morning I began to have some doubt whether bears were cannibals or not. I thought I would take some fresh bait and go back and bait the traps up good. When I got near the trap in which I had caught the bear the day before, I heard a great deal of wrestling going on and it did not take long to see that I had an old he-bear hung up this time. And now was the time that I began to realize what a boy's trick I had cut up, for I had not taken any gun with me; only a small revolver and three cartridges. I found that the bear was dead fast and a big one too. He seemed to be more inclined to quarrel than bears usually are. I took my trapping hatchet in one hand and revolver in the other, and worked my way up close as I dared and awaited the best chance I could get to shoot for he was rolling and tumbling like a ball. I fired at his head but missed it. I fired the two remaining cartridges just back of the fore-shoulders. He paid about as much attention to it as I imagine he would if it had been a flea that bit him. After waiting some time to see what effect the shots would have and noticing no change in Bruin's countenance, I concluded I would see what I could do with a club. I soon found that I and the club were not "in it," so I gave it up as a bad job and went home after the team and a gun. On my way home I had to pass the house of an old trapper by the name of Stevens. Of course, he was out to see what luck I had, and when I told him my story, he gave a great laugh and said he would go and let the bear out of the trap. When we got back to the trap the next day we found the fight all gone out of Bruin, for the two shots had penetrated the lungs and he was nearly dead. * * * Pard, whom I call Co, and I went camping many years ago on a branch of the Susquehanna River in Lycoming County, Pennsylvania. At that time all that part of the country was an unbroken wilderness and we were several miles from the nearest town. Now Co was a good hunter but despised trapping, saying it was no gentleman's sport, yet he was always ready to do his share in camp life. One evening in December Co did not turn up at dark, the usual hour for his return, still I did not worry much until eight o'clock, but from that time until about nine I kept going to the door and giving an occasional "Kho-Hoop," just to let him know the direction of the camp if he was within ear shot. As Co did not return, about nine o'clock I shouldered my rifle and started out in the direction that he had gone, shooting off my gun, and occasionally letting out a shout that echoed from hill to hill, but no answer came back in reply. The weather was growing extremely cold and I began to feel very much worried about Co for although I knew he was a good woodsman, I imagined all sorts of calamities had befallen him. At every high point I would fire my gun but never an answer could I hear. I kept this up till midnight, and then retraced my steps to camp intending to take an early start in the morning, when I could see to track my wandering partner. Judge of my delight, when about half a mile from camp the sharp report of a rifle rang out on the clear night air, and I knew Pard had returned alive. I hastened to the shanty where I found Co all right but as mad as a hornet. As he raved around he exclaimed: "No one but a--fool would catch anything in a--steel trap. If you must trap things, get them in something that will stay put." When Co cooled off a little, I said: "Come old man, tell us what has happened." "What has happened," said he, "enough has happened, I should think. I went where you set that tarnal old bear trap and some critter has got into it and broken the chain and carried it off, and he makes a track bigger than an elephant. He's making for the big windfall and I followed him more than forty miles, and he was farther ahead of me than when I started, and I hope he will get into the old windfall and stay there till doomsday." Well, Pard felt better when he had eaten the hot supper I had left for him and we turned in for a few hours' sleep. The next day we went to town and got a number of men and dogs and the following morning started out early on the track of old bruin. We soon struck the trail and located the beast in a big ravine. Stationing the men around where the bear was likely to break cover, I went in with the dogs to drive him out. Now there was one young chap among the crowd called Dan, who proved to be of rather a timid nature. The battle which soon followed proved very short owing to the number of guns opened on the bear the moment he broke cover and he was soon dispatched and nearly as soon skinned and cut up. But when I looked for Dan he was nowhere to be found. A searching party was organized and after beating the bush for some time, poor, frightened Dan was finally located in the top of a small beech tree and came tumbling down inquiring if the bear was "sure dead." * * * I have often thought I would like to relate some of my experiences in the woods while deer hunting. Many a time while following a herd of deer or a wounded one over ridge after ridge, has the sun set and the stars come out and I found myself many miles from my cabin or any habitation. Then I would find a large fallen tree, that laid close to the ground, gather a pile of dry limbs and bark, scrape away the snow from the log, often the snow being a foot deep, build a fire where I scraped the snow away. When the ground became thoroughly warm, I would rake the coals and brands down against the log, put on more wood, and then I would place hemlock boughs on the ground, where I had previously had the fire. Soon they would begin to steam and after frizzling some venison (if I chanced to have it) before the fire I would take off my coat, lie down on my stomach, pull the coat over my head and shoulders and sleep for hours before waking. Sometimes I would have the skin of a bear to put over me, and for doing these things my friends would scold me, but the reader will know, if he has the blood of a hunter in him, that I enjoyed it. But this is not what I started to write about, it was of a day's hunt after a bear on the 16th day of December, 1903. On the day previous, the afternoon sun sinking to rest in the west, casts its rays for a moment upon a solitary hunter's cabin in the hills of old Potter, then the bright glows faded away, the sun disappeared behind the mountains and it was a soft beautiful twilight, while I stood just outside the cabin door meditating. Mart (that is an old liner who had come to my cabin to have a few days' hunt) came out of the cabin and I said, "old man, what are you thinking about?" The reply was, "just watching the sun set." "Don't you think the coon will be out tonight if it holds warm?" "I don't know what the coon will do, but I know we went around a bear over in that jam in Dead Man's Hollow. (This hollow is so called because a fisherman a few years ago, found the body of a man who had gotten lost and died in the snow the winter before). Well what do you think you will do about it? I think we had better turn in early so as to get an early start in the morning and see if we can find where the bear is sleeping. "Agreed," said Mart, and we were soon in bed, but it was a long time before I closed my eyes in sleep for I was familiar with the woods in the neighborhood where the bear was supposed to be and I mapped out and laid every plan that was to be carried out the next day before I went to sleep. At four o'clock in the morning we were astir and soon breakfast was ready and eaten, lunch put up and at the break of day we were on our way to where bruin was supposed to be, a distance of about five miles, which is no small job for an old cripple like myself. After about three hours we were on the ground where we were in hopes of finding bruin. Mart was to circle several points outside of where we thought the bear was snoozing; this was done to make sure that the bear was in there. I took a position where the bear was most likely to come out if he was there and should be started by Mart. My position was in an open piece of timber on the point of a hill and near a very thick jam of trees that had been broken down two years before by a heavy ice storm and near the bear track where he had gone in several days before. Mart was to make another circle somewhat smaller than the one he had previously made for we now knew that the bear was in the jam of timber. After completing the second circle Mart was to drop below the jam where we were quite sure bruin was napping and work his way through the fallen timber. This worked all right, for soon I heard Mart cry out: "Look out, he is coming." Soon I heard the crashing of the brush and could tell that bruin was coming directly toward me, and in another minute he broke into the open timber. My rifle was already pointed in that direction and bruin had scarcely made two jumps in the open timber when I fired. The bear made a loud noise like that of a hog and I knew that he was hit hard and could already see a crimson streak in the snow. But bruin steadily held his course, in a few yards further he made an attempt to jump a large fallen tree and I fired again. This shot was more fatal than the first, and he fell to the ground and could not rise. I hurried up and fired a shot through his head which soon quieted him. Mart was soon on the scene and after a little rejoicing we soon had his hide off, and cutting the fore parts off and hanging them in a tree to be brought out the next day. Mart took the saddles and I the skin and started for camp, which we reached shortly before dark, and as we had prepared things for supper before leaving in the morning, supper was soon ready which consisted of buckwheat cakes, wild honey, baked potatoes, bacon, bear steak and tea. Dear readers, do not tell Mart, but I think that he took a hot toddy after talking the hunt over and over. Again, we laid down to rest our weary selves and dream of the hunt which may never come. CHAPTER XI Pacific Coast Trip. As I am always looking for taller timber to plant my traps in and as the drift of the trapper seems to be to the west, the Rockies and the Pacific Coast, and as I have had some experience in the Rockies, and along the Pacific Coast region, I will speak of some of the advantages and disadvantages that the trapper will meet with in that section. The trapper will find the fur bearers more plentiful and many more kinds of animals to take, than is found in the East, which is a great advantage to the trapper. The hunter will find deer quite plentiful in many places in the Rocky Mountains and on the Pacific Coast. In 1904 I was in Humboldt and Trinity Counties, California and I found deer so plentiful and tame that it was no sport to shoot them. While the law limited the hunter to two deer in a season, the people in the mountains made their own laws, as to the number of deer that they should kill. Black and brown bear are plentiful all through the Rocky Mountains and in the Coast ranges. You see much written of the grizzly bear in this region, but it is doubtful if a hunter or trapper would see one or even the track of one during a whole season's trapping. The trapper will find marten, fisher and lynx in many places in the Rockies and in the Coast Range but nothing to what there was a few years ago. Now one who is contemplating trapping in the Rockies or on the Pacific Coast, must bear in mind that the conditions that a trapper meets with in this region are far different from what they are in the East. The trapper who is planning a trip in that section before starting out should examine his feet close to see that there are no tender spots on them. The man who makes a success of trapping in this region must be a man who can stand grief and hardships a plenty, for he will run up against it often. He will find the mountain streams hard to get along; he will have but little use for a boat as the streams are rapid and full of boulders. In most cases the trapper will be compelled to take his outfit into the mountains by pack horses, and in many cases it will be necessary for the trapper to be the horse. The trapper to succeed in a financial way must take in a supply of provisions to last at least until the first of June, for it is during April, May and even June that he must do his bear trapping; for the bear holes up or goes into hibernation down in the lower land and does not show up much in the mountains until spring. The trapper must provide himself with a good number of traps of different sizes from the No. 1 for marten to the No. 5 for bear; and that means a whole lot of packing and hard work. He must have at least one pair of snow shoes, and should have an extra pair in case of a mishap, in the way of breakage. One good gun is all that is likely to be needed, and don't load yourself down with a lot of revolvers, hunting knives, etc. A good strong pocket knife is all that I have found necessary, though one should have more than one knife no matter what kind he may use. Here I will say a word as to a gun especially for the trap line. The manufacturers of guns have as yet failed to make it. The Marble Game-Getter comes the nearest to it of any now made, but that is not just to my liking. We would do away with one of the barrels, and have a single barrel, 44 caliber straight cut, with cartridges for both ball and shot with 15 inch barrel, skeleton stock, similar to the Stevens Pocket shot gun. Mind, I am speaking of an arm on purpose for the trap line, and this kind of a gun would do the work and be light to carry. Now the expense for an outfit to go into the mountains for a season's campaign is necessarily a considerable item. It is quite necessary that the trapper has a number of camps on his line at advantageous points, for the trapper cannot cover sufficient territory from one camp to make it pay; besides, a number of camps on the line will relieve the trapper of much hardship. I mention this matter thinking it might be of some interest to some one whose feet are itching to get into a big game country, and are thinking of only the game, and not of the hardships they are sure to meet with. Another thing that is well for the trapper who is looking for a happy hunting and trapping ground to remember is, that he will no longer find game as plentiful as it once was, in any place that is in any way easily accessible. If the trapper will take into consideration the expense and hardship that one must put up with in going on one of these outings, it might be that he can find quite as much pleasure and profit in looking up a trapping ground nearer home. I will mention one or two places where one can find some sport where it will not require the hardship nor expense, and at the same time will find deer and some other game quite plentiful, with a fair sprinkling of the fur bearers. In Humboldt County, in California, on Redwood River, deer and bear can be found quite plentiful, and there are some marten, fisher and a few lynx, coon, mink, skunk and fox. The fox are mostly grey and you may by chance meet occasionally with a mountain lion. To reach this section the best way is from San Francisco by boat to Eureka, then by rail and wagon. Another section where game and fur bearers are fairly plentiful and of easy access, is in the vicinity of Thompson's Falls, in Northern Montana. But if only a good outing is wanted, that can be had in Pecos Valley, New Mexico. You will not find much to trap other than muskrats and coon on the river and lakes, but they are quite plentiful, especially the latter. You will find coyotes and some grey wolves, and some antelope, which are protected. Duck shooting is good, the climate is mild, only freezing ice the thickness of window glass in the coldest weather, which is all thawed out and gone by ten o'clock. This section is easily reached by rail. * * * In July, 1902, I was spending a few days at Spokane, Wash. Nearly every day I would take an old cane fish pole and go to the river just above the falls and fish for bass. I would shift my post from one point along the bank of the river to another and sometimes I would go out on the boom timbers and fish among the logs. Some days I would get a bass or two, but oftener I got nothing further than the pleasure of drowning a few minnows. Nearly every morning I noticed a man would come down along the bank of the river and go in the direction of the mill. Sometimes he would stop and watch me for a few minutes, and then pass on without saying anything. But one morning he came along when I happened to be sitting close to his path. I looked up and gave the usual morning nod. The gentleman, for such he proved to be, inquired what luck I was having. I replied that I guessed it must be fisherman's luck, for I got but few fish. He replied that he thought that there were very few bass in the dam, as there was so much fishing done there. I was quite sure that he was right from the number of fish I caught, and I could see a number of others scattered about the pond, and some on the logs, some on the boom timbers and some in boats. The next morning I was back at my old post, and this man came along as usual. He stopped, laughed and said that I seemed to have plenty of faith. I replied that the occasion demanded great faith. He inquired if I lived in the city. I told him that I lived in Pennsylvania and was only out in that country to see the sights and get a few fish and a little venison and later might try to get a little fur. He informed me that his name was Nettel (Charles Nettel) that he was a lumber inspector and that he was going to have a vacation the next week. He intended going to the North Fork of the Clearwater on Elk Creek, where he had a camp, and that if I wished to fill up on trout and venison, I had better join him, as he had no one selected to accompany him yet. I said, "Thank you, I would be pleased to do so," as quick as I could, for fear he would change his mind. I now dropped my bass fishing and would drop into the mill where Mr. Nettel was at work and catch a few minutes chat with my new-found friend, as an opportunity would occur, until the time came to go to Mr. Nettel's camp. As I had a complete outfit, including blankets, tin plates, cups, knives, and forks, a takedown or folding stove with the necessary cooking utensils, which I had not yet unpacked, we concluded to take the whole kit along so that if anything had happened at Mr. Nettel's camp we would have a tent as well as the other camp outfit, but we found Mr. Nettel's shack all right. We took a train to near a place called Orofino on the Clearwater River in Idaho where we repacked our outfit, putting it into sacks. We engaged a man with two pack horses to take our plunder to camp which we found to be all right, and I wish to say that this was the farthest up the gulch in the Rockies that I had been at that time. I found my friend all right on the trout question, for trout were so plenty it was no sport to catch them. The next morning after we were in camp we climbed to what Mr. Nettel called the bench, but I thought it was the moon. We had hardly got to the level, or bench, when we say plenty of elk tracks so we followed in the direction in which the fresh trails seemed to lead. We had not gone far when I noticed something moving in the underbrush, which might have been taken for a rocking chair for all that I could tell. We stood still a few moments when three elk came out in sight. We watched them feed for a few minutes, then made a noise like a deer blowing, and the elk stopped feeding, stood and listened and looked about for danger; Mr. Nettel again snorted and the elk trotted off. We now separated a little and began walking across the bench. We had not gone far when I saw two buck deer feeding and shot one of them. Mr. Nettel soon came to me and we took the entrails out of the deer and drew the carcass down to camp where we sure had venison as well as trout. The man who packed our outfit up the gulch for us had a little whiffet dog with him, and in some manner he neglected to take the dog back with him. We were a little worried at first because the man had left the dog with us, but later I at least was pleased that the dog was with us. We had dressed the deer and hung the meat up on trees near the shack. The second night after we had the deer hanging up, along in the night the dog kept growling so that after a time, as the moon was shining, I thought I would get up and see what was worrying the pup. When I opened the shack door the pup lit out like shot from a shovel, and I could see the outline of some animal taking up a tree. I could hear the bark from the tree falling to the ground like hail. Mr. Nettel was still sound asleep, so I said nothing but took my gun and stepped outside the shack. I could see the outlines of something standing on a limb of the tree. I took the best aim I could owing to the dim light and fired. The tree stood on the side of the gulch, which was very steep, and when the gun cracked the object in the tree apparently flew right up the side of the gulch from the tree. The pup gave chase and within fifty yards I could again hear the bark from the tree and soon again I could see the outline of the animal on the tree. I was working along out towards the pup, when Mr. Nettel, close to my side said, "It is a lion; be careful and take good aim this time and kill him, if you can." I got up to the tree where I could see the cat fairly fell, and with all the care possible, I fired. The cat lit out from the tree, but this time he went down the hill instead of up, and when he struck the ground it was broadside instead of on all fours. As good luck would have it, I had hit him square through the shoulders. The cat was a little over seven feet long, and Mr. Nettel said that it was not a large lion, but as it was the first one that I had seen then I thought it was longer than a twelve-foot rail. We pulled the cat up to the shack and turned in again. It was only eleven o'clock and Mr. Nettel was soon sound asleep, but I had too much cat excitement for me to do any more sleeping that night. In the morning we skinned the cat, gathered dry leaves and stuffed the skin and had a stuffed cat in camp. Later, we sold the skin to a party for three dollars. We stayed in camp two weeks, feasting on venison, trout, grouse, and other game. Some of the time we spent prospecting for gold, but we failed to strike it rich. At the end of the two weeks allotted Mr. Nettel, he was obliged to return to his work, and I can say that I never spent two weeks' time with more pleasure than I did with the friend I found while fishing for bass. CHAPTER XII. Some Michigan Trips. Owing to the recent fires (1905) in the northern portion of Michigan, which have undoubtedly killed many of the smaller fur bearing animals in that section, has called to mind experiences I had trapping and hunting in both the Lower and Upper Peninsulas of that state. In the fall of 1868 on the first of October, a party of four of us took a boat at Buffalo, New York, and went to Alpena on Thunder Bay, Michigan, where we purchased provisions for a winter's campaign hunting and trapping. We engaged a team to take our outfit up the Thunder Bay River, a distance of about twenty miles, where the road ended. The road was an old lumber road and rather rough over those long stretches of corduroy. We camped at the end of the lumber road the first night and the team returned home the next morning. We took our knapsacks with some blankets and grub and went up the river to find a camping ground to suit our notion. Mr. Jones and myself took the one axe that we carried with us and began clearing a site to build the camp on. Mr. Goodsil and Mr. Vanater went back after more of the supplies, which included another good axe and a crosscut saw. They cut out a road as they returned so that we could drive to camp when it became necessary. At the end of a week we had up a good log cabin, and all was ready to begin to slay the deer and skin the fur bearers. Two of the boys now went down to Alpena to get the mail and send letters home. On the boys' return next day they brought word that we would not be allowed to ship any deer out of the state. This put a wry face on Goodsil and Jones, for deer hunting was their delight. It was not so bad with Vanater and myself, for we could find plenty of sport with the traps and tanning a few deer skins. Vanater was an expert at it, graining the skins in the water and using the brains of the deer and coon oil for tanning and then smoking the skins. We did not kill many deer though they were plentiful, but venison was so cheap in Detroit and other Michigan cities that it did not pay one for the trouble. By the last of October there was quite a fall of snow and Mr. Goodsil, who was a gunsmith, suddenly came to the conclusion that he was neglecting his business at home and we could not persuade him to stay any longer. It was only a few days later when Mr. Jones also concluded that he was neglecting his business and left us. Now I began to wonder if Mr. Vanater or myself would be the next to get the home fever, but knowing the metal Charley was made of, I expected that I would be attacked first. Charley and I being now left alone began building deadfalls for mink, marten, fisher and lowdowns for bear. I will explain that a lowdown is one of those affairs, half pen, half deadfall, which are built by first making a bed of small poles, then placing on this bed notched together the same as for a log house. The logs should be about twelve inches in diameter, and two tiers will make the pen high enough. The space inside the pen is usually made about seven feet long, two feet high and twenty inches wide. The roof is made of poles or small logs pinned to cross logs, the one at the back end of the pen forming a roller hinge. The cover is raised up and fastened with the usual lever and hook trigger, which the bait is fastened to. The bear in order to get the bait goes over the logs into the pen. I wish to say that while this sort of a trap is quickly made, I do not like them, as the bear will rub the fur madly in its struggles, and they are an inhuman sort of an affair at best. [Illustration: BUILDING A BEAR "LOWDOWN."] To get back to my story, Charley and I did fairly well in catching mink and marten, but the bear had either migrated or gone into winter quarters. The coon had also gone into winter quarters. The snow was getting quite deep as it was now past the middle of November, and it now proved to be my luck to be left alone in camp. One night when we were coming to camp, we had to cross a stream on a small tree which had fallen across the creek. There were several inches of snow on the log and Charley was carrying a small deer on his back. I was behind him carrying the guns. Charley worked his way carefully across the log but just as he was about to step off the log on the opposite bank he slipped and fell striking his left leg across the log, breaking the bone just above the ankle joint. Fortunately we were only a short distance from camp so that Charley hobbled to camp, using his gun for a crutch. When we got in camp it did not take long to see that the bone was broken. I fixed wood, water and food as convenient as possible for Charley and took a lantern, a lunch in my pocket and started for Alpena, reaching there shortly after daylight the next morning. Engaging a team without any delay we started back to camp. Reaching camp about three o'clock in the afternoon, we found Charley quite comfortable and feeling quite chipper under the circumstances. While the team was eating we fixed both blankets on the straw and a mattress which we had brought for the purpose from town, and fixed things as comfortable as we could. We were soon on our way back to town, which we reached about midnight. The next morning the doctor set the broken limb with but little difficulty. After staying two or three days and making arrangements with a young man to come to camp every Saturday and bring mail and word from Charley, I returned to camp, where I found things all right. While out to town I bought a pair of snow shoes. I had never used them, and for the first few days it was who and who to know which would be on top, myself or the snow shoes. I finally mastered them and found them a great help in getting about in the deep snow. It kept me pretty busy attending to the traps. One night after Charley had been gone about three weeks, on nearing camp, I saw a big smoke coming out of the chimney. I first thought the cabin was on fire, but I soon saw that that was not the case, and knew some one had started a fire. When I got there I saw some one had been there with a team. When I rapped on the door Charley called out, "Come in, I am running this camp now." Well, I tell you I was pleased to hear that voice call out, "Come in." It was some time before we thought it best for Charley to go out very much, but he could keep camp and I had company. We stayed in camp until the middle of May, thinking that we would have a big catch of bear in the spring, but were disappointed for we only caught three; but we caught quite a lot of coon. We did not trap any for muskrat. My next trip to Michigan was to Kalkaska County, and I had two partners, Moshier and Funk by name, and both were residents of the state. Our camp was on the Manistee River near the Crawford and Kalkaska County line. This trip was some ten or twelve years later than the one previously mentioned, probably 1878. We killed some thirty odd deer, and Mr. Moshier having some friends living down close to the Indiana line, he shipped our venison down to his friend and he sold it for us. I do not know where he sold it but the checks came from a man by the name of Suttell, N. Y. We caught 11 bear during the fall and spring. We caught a good number of mink, coon and fox, also a few marten. I should have said that on my trip on Thunder Bay River we caught several beaver, but on the Manistee we saw no fresh beaver signs but plenty of old beaver dams. We would make an occasional trip on to the Boardman and Rapid Rivers for mink. On Rapid River two or three miles above Rickers Mill was a colony or family of three or four beaver, but we did not try to catch them. My third trip to Michigan was to the Upper Peninsula, in Schoolcraft County. A pard of mine by the name of Ross and myself had a boat made at Manistique, and started the first of September. We poled and rowed the boat up the Manistique River for a distance of about a hundred miles, according to our estimate. The boat was heavily loaded with our outfit, and we were nearly a month making the trip up the river to where we built our camp on a small lake about one-half mile from the main river. We found mink, marten, beaver and coon quite plentiful, but from what I read bear and wolves are more plentiful there now than they were about 1879. At that time there was not a railroad in that section, nor scarcely a tree cut in the northern part of the Upper Peninsula, with the exception of up about the Iron Works where they were cutting timber and burning coke and charcoal. In fact, I found bear more plentiful in Lower Michigan. About the fifteenth of October we had the camp in shape and a big pile of wood cut and piled close to the door. We now began to explore the country for the best sites to set our traps, mostly Nos. 2, 3 and 4, besides seven bear traps, all Newhouse. We would build deadfalls along the line, for we would not set a steel trap only where we were quite sure that we would make a catch. We used the water set mostly for wolves and fox, and of course, for mink and coon. Good springs were not so common where water sets could be made as in Pennsylvania. We could find occasionally a good log crossing where we could get in a set for wolf, but suitable places of this kind were not plentiful. We worked for beaver all we could. We would break a notch in their dams and then set a trap just on the edge of break in water just deep enough so the beaver would spring the trap. It was while trapping here that I learned to make the bait set for beaver. This is to use the kind of wood beaver were feeding on for bait. We caught three or four wolves on the ice close to the bank. Sometimes the ice would settle along the banks and the water would run over the ice too close to the shore and then freeze. This made a good path, or rather place for the wolf to travel. Now, where a spruce or cedar tree would fall into the lake so as to leave a narrow space between the boughs on the tree and the bank, was a good place to set. We would watch the weather and when it began snowing we would go to one of these trees from the ice or water side, cut a notch in the ice, put in some ashes or dry pulverized rotten wood. The notch cut in the ice must be just deep enough to let the trap down level with the surface. The clog was concealed under a bough of the tree. Now, I wish to say that I was never able to catch a timber wolf unless I was able to outwit him, and in order to do this the conditions and surroundings must be perfect for making the set. Where we found good places to make a set of this kind we would place the carcass of a deer several yards from shore out on the ice. This would entice the wolves to come around, and of course increase our chances of making a catch. We were bothered some by having a wolverine follow a line of deadfalls, tear down the bait pen and take the bait, but we did not allow him to do his cussedness long before we would put a trap in the way. We would sometimes have the parts of a deer taken down by a lynx where we had hung up venison so that it would be convenient to use for bear bait. We never objected much about it for we were willing to trade venison for a cat almost any time, for deer were very plentiful. In April, when we were taking up our traps and getting ready to start down the river as soon as the water dropped so that we dare start, we were going onto a stream one day to take up three or four traps that we had set for beaver, our route led us across the point of the ridge. The point faced to the southeast, and the snow was off in spots on this point. When we went over this point in the morning we saw many deer run from these bare spots, so when we came back along in the afternoon we were as careful as possible and kept the highest ground so as to get a good view on this bare point to see how many deer we could count. There were upwards of forty in sight at one time. How I wish I could have had that picture. We did not dare to start down the river until the first of June, on account of the high water. We had been told that there was a camp on the head of the river where they were cutting wood to be burned into charcoal. While we were waiting for the water to drop we took a knapsack of grub and some fishing tackle and started to find the wood choppers' camp, which we did on the second day after leaving camp. We stayed ten or twelve days at this camp, and while there a Frenchman invited me out to a lake two or three miles from their camp and fish for bass. He said he would take along a couple of traps and we would have some rats for breakfast, as we were going to camp at the lake over night. I did not say much about rats for breakfast, as I thought the man was joking. But sure enough, we had rats for breakfast, also plenty of fish. Well, after the man had argued and plead the case of the rats from all points of view, and I had done a good deal of snuffing and smelling, I tasted, yes, I ate a piece of muskrat and I must confess it was of a fine flavor and would be splendid eating if it was not a rat. However, I have not tried any more from that day to this. I prefer partridge, and I have never been in a place where there were as many partridges as there were in Upper Michigan. It is remarkable how long and well one can live on one hundred pounds of flour, twenty-five pounds lard, ten pounds salt and some bacon, (tea and coffee if one thinks he can't get along without it), in a good game and fish country with a good gun and fishing tackle. We started on our return trip down the river on the second day of June. There had not been a man to our camp during this time. We were well satisfied with our catch with one exception, that being bear, as we only got four and they were all rather small. We had a splendid journey on our return trip down the river. We would see deer at almost every turn and once we saw a bear swimming the river. We caught lots of fish, all we could use, with hardly an effort. CHAPTER XIII. Hunting and Trapping in Cameron County, Pa., in 1869. In my last letter on hunting and trapping in Cameron County, I promised to give Bill Earl's and my own experience in hunting in that county the next season. Well the story is not long, as we had our camp already built, we concluded not to go out into the woods until it was time to begin hunting and to put out bear traps. Accordingly on the last day of October we took a man with a team to take our traps, camp outfit and the grub stake to camp. Going by the way of Emporium in that county, we were compelled to stay there over night, the distance being too far to reach camp the first day. At Emporium we purchased what more necessaries we needed, that we had not brought from home. We reached camp the second day about 10 o'clock. When we came in sight of the camp, Bill was walking ahead of the team with an axe cutting out brush here and there as needed. All of a sudden Bill stopped, set down the axe and looked in the direction of the shanty. When I was close enough so Bill could speak to me, he said, "I be-dog-on if the wicky is not occupied." I asked, "What with, porcupines?" Bill's reply was that he had known porkies to do some dog-on mean work, but he had never known them to build fires. I could now see the shack, and sure enough there was a little smoke curling up from the chimney. Bill said that he hoped that there was no one there that wanted to tarry long, for he was dog-on sorry if that wicky was large enough for two families. We found the shanty occupied alright. There was a sack of crackers set on the table and a pot of tea set in the chimney and a couple of blankets lay on the bunk. After Bill had sized up the contents of the camp, he concluded that the occupants did not intend to stay long, judging from their outfit, but Bill was mistaken. Bill said that he would proceed to clean house at any rate. We had taken in new straw for the bunk, so we threw the old boughs and the other litter outside and burned it and went in for a general house cleaning. Just before dark, two men came in great haste. One rushed into the shack and demanded to know what in h--- does this mean. Bill said, "nothing, just moving in is all." Then the spokesman said, "Do you fellows pretend to own this camp?" Bill replied that we did, as we did some dog-on hard work building it at least. The one man continued to go on with a great deal of telling what he would do and what he would not, until we had supper ready, when we asked the men to eat with us. The man that had done very little talking readily consented but the other man was still inclined to bully matters, but he finally took a stool and sat up and ate his supper. After supper we learned that they were from near Wellsville, N. Y. We made arrangements for the men to sleep on the floor, or rather on the ground at the side of the bunk. The next morning after breakfast was over, the man who proposed to run things to his own liking said that he did not see any other way but what we would all have to get along together the best way we could in the shanty. This was more than Bill could stand so he opened on the man and said, "See here, stranger, I am dog-on if a aint willing to do almost anything to be neighborly, but I am dog-on if it don't take a large house for two families to live in, and this shack is altogether too small." It now began to look as though we were not going to be good neighbors very long, when the man that had but very little to say, up to this time, said, "See here, Hank, you know that this is not our shanty. I told you that some one would be here and want it," and he took his blankets, gun and sack of crackers and started off down the run. After the other man had done some more loud talking, he gathered up the rest of their plunder and started on after his partner with the remark that he would see us again. Bill replied that he would be dog-on pleased to have him come when we were at home. We were a little afraid that they might return and do us some dirt, but they did not. They went farther down the run and built a sort of a shelter out of boughs and pieces of bark where they stayed about two weeks, when they went home, leaving the field to Bill and myself. We put in two days cutting wood and calking and mudding the shanty wherever the chinking and mud had been worked out by squirrels and other small animals. As soon as we had this work done we put in our time setting our bear traps. We also built two bear pens. After we had the bear traps all set, we then began putting out small traps, setting the most of the small steel traps for fox and building more deadfalls and repairing those that we had made the year before for marten on the ridges, and along the creek for mink and coon. After this work was done we gave more time to bear hunting. We had a good deal of freezing weather without much snow for tracking. Being very noisy under foot, we were compelled to hunt for several days by driving the deer, that is, one of us would stand on the runways in the heads of basins or hollows and in the low places on the ridges where it was natural for deer to pass through when jumped up. In going from one ridge to another, we would get a deer in this way nearly every day, and one day we had the good luck to get three bears while driving, an old bear and two cubs. We were also having fairly good luck with the traps. The first snow that fell to make good tracking was a damp one, and hung on the underbrush so much that it was impossible to see but a few yards unless in very open timber. Here I wish to relate an incident that nearly caused my hair to turn white in a very short time. I am not given very much to superstitions or alarmed at unnatural causes, but in this case I will confess that I felt like showing the white feather. I was working my way very cautiously along the side of a ridge and down near the base of the hill in low timber, as that is the most natural place to find deer in a storm of this kind. I had just stepped out of the thicket into the edge of a strip of open timber where I could see for several rods along the side of the hill. I had barely stepped into the open when I caught sight of some object jumping from a knoll to a log where it was partly concealed behind some trees, so that I was unable to make out what it was. I was sure that I had never seen anything like it before, either in the woods or out in civilization. I could get a glimpse of the thing as it would pass between the trees, then it would disappear behind brush or a large tree for a moment, then I would get a glimpse of it as it would move. Sometimes it would appear white and then a fire red. I could see that it was coming in my direction. As I always wore steel gray, or what was commonly known as sheep gray clothing, which is nearly the same color of most large timber, I stepped to a large hemlock tree, leaned close against the tree, set my gun down close to my side and stood waiting to see whether the thing was natural or otherwise. It was not long before I could see that I had been frightened without any real cause, for it was a hunter who had dressed in fantastic array to put a spell on or charm the deer. He had on a long snow white overshirt and had tied a fire red cloth over his hat and a black sash was tied about his waist. I stood perfectly quiet against the tree until the man was within a few feet of me, I could no longer keep from laughing, and I burst out with laughter. The man jerked his gun from his shoulder as he turned in the direction in which I was standing and gazed at me for a moment and then said, "You frightened me." I replied that I guessed that he was no more frightened than I was when I first caught sight of him. Well the man explained that he always dressed in that manner when the underbrush was loaded with snow, as the deer would stand and watch him with curiosity until he was within gun shot. When in New Mexico many years after I had tied a red handkerchief to a bush to attract the curiosity of the antelope, and it reminded me of the hunter that I had seen working the curiosity dodge on the deer. That night when I got into camp, Bill had not got in but came soon after, and he had hardly got the shack door open when he began roaring with laughter. I inquired what it was that pleased him so. "Pleased me so?" "I guess I was pleased, and had you seen the dog-on nondescript that I did, you would have laughed your boots up." I asked if he had seen the man dressed in red, white and black. Bill asked, "Did you see it too?" I told him of the hunter that I had met and talked with. Bill said that he had not been close enough to speak to it, and he was dog-on if he knew whether it was safe to get too close to the dog-on thing or not. We had good tracking snow from this time on during the remainder of the hunting season. We now each hunted by himself, working as usual over the ground that would bring us in the locality of our traps, which we would look after and relieve any fur bearers that we chanced to get. We met with one mishap during the season. Well along toward December I went to one of the bear traps that we had not been to in a number of days. The trap was a blacksmith made one with high jaws. I found the trap a short distance from where it had been set, tangled in an old tree top with a bear's foot in it. The bear had been caught just above the foot. As the trap jaws closed tight together the trap clog had got fast solid in the brush soon after the bear had been caught. The animal twisted and pulled until he had unjointed the foot, worn and twisted off the skin and cords of the leg and was gone. He had escaped some time during the night before I came to the trap. I reset the trap and then took the trail of the bear, which had taken a northeasterly course. I followed the trail until nearly night, when I became satisfied that he was making for a large windfall on a stream known as the South Fork, some fifteen miles away. I gave up the trail and returned to camp, which I reached about 10 o'clock at night. Bill was still keeping supper warm for me well knowing that something was out of the ordinary and wondering what it was. The next morning we held a council and concluded to look after a few traps near camp and put in a day of partial rest and prepare to take the bear's trail early the next morning. As planned the next morning, we had our blankets and a grub stake strapped to our backs and were off for the trail some time before daylight. Striking the bear's trail where I had left it about 9 o'clock in the forenoon, we followed the trail good and hard all day through wind jams and laurel patches, coming to the big windfall just before dark, very tired. We put up a rude shelter and camped for the night at the edge of the windfall. In the morning as soon as it was light enough to travel without danger of passing over the trail we were on the move. There were several hundred acres in the windfall so we concluded to go around and make sure that the bear was still there. Bill skirted the jam to the left while I went to the right. Not long after daylight it began to snow. We met on the east side of the jam about 11 o'clock without seeing anything of the crippled bear track, though I had crossed the trail of two bears that had gone into the jam two or three days before. We now concluded to go back to where the two bears had gone into the jam and one of us stand near the trail while the other one would drop below the trail and work around on the opposite side and drive them out if he could. The wind was blowing strong from the northeast, which would make it next to impossible for the bears to wind the watches. Bill said that he would watch as he could stand the cold weather better than I could. It was now snowing very hard, and we knew that the bears were aware of the approaching storm and had gone to the windfall to go into winter quarters. Chances were that they would not come out unless driven by getting close on to them. We were in hopes that the three bears might be all in one nest, and that the one that did the driving would stand a fair chance to get a shot at them as they left. I made my calculations from what I knew of the jam about where the bear would lay. Good luck was on my side this time and I hit it just right, coming on to them from the opposite side from where they had gone in, but I did not see or hear them when they went out. The first thing I knew of their whereabouts was when I came on to where the bears had been breaking laurel brush for their bunk. Will I did some fine looking and listening, but all to no purpose, as they had got the wind of me and had gone out. Undoubtedly they would not have done this had they been in their nest a few days longer and had got well to sleep. They had gone in under two large trees that had been blown out by the roots. They had taken dry rotten wood torn from the two old trees that formed the root to their winter quarters, and with laurel brush and other matter they had made very good quarters for the winter. I soon discovered that the lame bear was not with the two other bears. I did not follow the trail very far when I came onto the trail of the lame bear going on still further into the jam, but I did not follow it but continued on after the two bears to learn what luck Bill had had. I heard no gun shot and was afraid that the bear had not come within gun shot of Bill, although the bears were following nearly back on their trail that they went in on. When I came to the edge of the wind jam, I saw that the bear had of a sudden made some big jumps down the side of the hill. One of them had turned back into the jam while the other had followed down the hill, and Bill's track was following the trail. I did not go far when I saw Bill tugging away at the bear trying to draw it down to the hollow and near where we had camped the night before. It was still snowing very hard, and after getting the bear down to the hollow and near to what was called in those days a wagon road--a near trail cut out through the woods--we went to the camp where we had stayed over night and rebuilt the fire and ate a lunch. We had not eaten anything since morning, not wishing to spare the time. It was snowing so hard, and as we knew that we would not be able to reach camp until well along in the night, we concluded to again use the camp of the night before. We gathered a few more hemlock boughs and made the shelter a little more comfortable and went to roasting bear meat on a stick to help out the grub we had brought with us, so that we could look further for the lame bear the next morning. When morning came, it had snowed more than twelve inches, and as we were satisfied that the lame bear would not leave the jam, we concluded to go down the run about five miles to where a man lived by the name of Reese. Arrangements were made with him to get the bear down to his place where we could get it later. From Mr. Reese's we went to camp and waited a few days for the snow to settle a little. On the way back to camp we looked at two or three bear traps and found a small bear in one of the traps, and the last bear that we got during the season. We now began to take in the bear traps as we came near one on the way to camp. The snow was so deep we were obliged to reset the most of the small traps, although we had when setting out the traps taken every precaution to set in such places as would afford them all the shelter possible. After tending all the traps again, we went once more to see if we could route the lame bear. We spent two days searching the windfall in every quarter, but were unable to find a trace of the track. We were quite positive that she was still somewhere in the jam, but the snow had fallen so deep that it had completely obliterated all signs. Two years later I was one of a party that killed a bear and captured her two cubs. The old bear had one foot gone. I am quite sure that it was the one that had escaped from our traps. We now put in the time hunting deer and looking after the small traps until about the first of January, when we pulled all of our traps and went home. This ended my hunting with William Earl, one of the best pards that I ever hit the trail with, or followed a trap line. Bill left these parts and went back east to his native state, and after a time I lost all trace of him. CHAPTER XIV. Hunting and Trapping in Cameron County. It will be remembered that when Mr. Earl (or Bill, as I preferred to call him,) and the writer followed the bear from the Kinzua in McKene County, through Cameron County, that we saw signs of bear, deer, marten and other game quite plentiful in the region of Baley Run, Salt Run and Hunt's Run, and that we concluded to pitch our camp in that quarter. As there were no huckleberries in the vicinity of our homes, we decided to kill two birds with one stone, that was to pick some huckleberries and build our camp for the next season's hunt. Accordingly about the last days of July, we took a team and our outfit for camp building and started for Hunt's Run by way of the Sinnamahoning and Baley Run. At this time the country in that section was an unbroken forest of pine, oak and hemlock with a goon sprinkling of chestnut. As the saying was in those days, "God owned the land in that section," so all we had to do was to go into the woods, select our camp site and proceed to build. (Boys, let me stop long enough to say it is different nowadays; you must go through a whole lot of red tape and get a permit to camp and the permit only lasts two weeks, when you must get a renewal.) The site we selected for our camp was on the left-hand branch of Hunt's Run. We rolled up the usual box log body, about 10 x 14 feet. We put up a bridge roof, putting up about four pairs of rafters and then using three or four small cross poles for roof boards. We then peeled hemlock bark, making the pieces about four feet long, which we used for shingles to cover the roof with. After the roof was completed, we felled a chestnut tree which we split into spaults about four feet long. With these we chinked all the cracks between the logs, striking the axe into the logs, close to the edge of the chinking and then driving a small wedge in the slot made by the axe to hold the chinking in place. Next we gathered moss from old fallen trees and stuffed all the cracks, using a blunt wedge to press the moss good and tight. We then begun on the mason work. We found a bank of clay that was rather free of stones and made a mortar by using water, making the mortar about as stiff as mortar usually used in house plastering. The chinking and mossing had been done from the inside, while we now filled the space between the logs good and full of mortar, or rather mud. The next work was to take the team and haul stones, which we found along the run and put up the fireplace. Considerable pains was taken and we done a pretty good job, as we hoped to use this camp for a number of seasons. After the fireplace was completed, we hung a door, using hinges made of blocks of wood and boring auger holes through one end. Shaping the other end on two of these eyes to drive in two holes boring into the logs close to the door jams. The other two eyes were flattened off and made long enough for door cleats as well as to form a part of the door hinge. Now a rod was run through these eyes or holes in these pieces. This formed a good, solid door hinge. Then a door latch was made from a slat of wood, which worked on a pin in a hole bored in one end of the slat and a hole bored through the door. A small hole in the slat and a string tied to latch and run through a hole in the door furnished the means of raising the latch. A loop for the latch to work in and a catch on the door jam and the door was complete. We next put in the window and made a bunk or bedstead from small poles and the hut was completed. I think we were about four days doing the work including an hour or so each day spent in picking huckleberries enough for our special need. Now as the camp was completed, we began to search for a place where we could find berries more plentiful than we had found them near camp. On the hillsides facing the river, where there were barrens, we found more. While searching for huckleberries we found a deerlick or salt log, which the deer were working good. Bill said he guessed we had better appropriate the loan of the lick for one night to our own use, and see if we could not get some venison to take home with us as well as huckleberries. When the sun was about an hour high, we took our guns and went to the salt log. There was no blind made to get in to watch them. We selected two jack pines that stood near together and we each climbed into a tree, breaking some of the boughs out that obstructed our view in the direction of the lick and laid the boughs across some limbs to sit on. We had scarcely got our seats fixed when I heard the crack of a limb off to our left. I whispered to Bill and pointed in the direction I had heard the breaking of the limb. Bill shook his head, to indicate that he had not heard anything, but had hardly done so when I saw Bill begin to cautiously shift his gun from the way it was pointed and slowly move it so as to shoot to his left. When he had the gun worked around so it pointed in the direction in which he wanted it, he began to raise it slowly to his shoulder. I thought to myself, that means venison for breakfast. I thought right, for when Bill touched the trigger and his gun spoke, I saw two yearling deer jump into sight and my gun came to my shoulder from habit, but there was no need to shoot. The second jump that the deer made one of them fell dead, the other one ran a few rods, stopped and looked back to see what had become of his mate. Bill's gun came to his shoulder like a flash, but I hollowed, "Don't shoot." Bill dropped his gun and said, I came dog-on-nigh making a fool of myself. We got down from our perches and dragged the deer (a yearling buck) out away from the lick, removed the entrails and Bill made a knapsack of the carcass and started for camp. The sun could still be seen shining on the highest peaks of the hills. Bill said, "That fun was over with too quick; I had one of the most comfortable seats I ever had. I had no time to enjoy it, when you called my attention to those little bucks and spoiled all my comfort." We got to camp before dark and stripped the skin from the deer, spread it out, cut all the meat from the bones, layed it on the skin, sprinkled some salt over it, then wrapped the meat up in the skin, saving out a few choice pieces to frizzle over the coals and eat with our lunch before bunking in for the night. We had seen some parties, while picking berries during the day. They told us that there was a man by the name of Sage living down on the river near Emporium, who had a large clearing on the hill only about a mile from where we were, or about two miles from our camp. He told us in which direction we would find the field, and said that we would find Mr. Sage there, as he was up there cutting oats. As the grub stake for the horses was getting rather low, and as we were not yet ready to go home, Bill said that if I would stay and jerk the venison (for here we cannot keep venison by hanging it up in a tree, or on a pole, as you can on the Pacific Coast or in the Rockies), he would go and see Mr. Sage. In the morning I began preparation to jerk the venison, while Bill went in search of grub for the horses. There was no road, but there was but very little down timber in the woods in those days, only occasionally a wind jam, which you had to work your way around. Bill found the clearing all right, and got oats in the bundle for the horses. Bill also made arrangements with Mr. Sage to bury eight bushels of potatoes and leave them on the hill where we could get them as we wished. Bill also killed a large rattlesnake on his way to the field, which he brought to camp, where we skinned and took out the oil. When we were skinning the snake Bill remarked, "that he thought the fur rather light on the varmint, but it was a pretty cuss." Let me say that at our place on the head waters of the Allegheny we had no eels, rattlesnakes or wartelberries, so we concluded that we would stop one night on the Sinnamahoning and get some eels to take home with us. While Bill was gone for horse feed I was busy jerking the venison. I gathered a good hill of dry hemlock bark from the logs, burned it to a good pile of live coals. I now made a rack or gridiron by driving four crotched stakes in the ground about the embers and then laid small poles across in the crotches to form a rack to spread the venison on over the coals. I stood hemlock bark up about the rack, freshly peeled from the tree and covering the top over also with bark, which forms an oven. It is necessary to remove the top or cover occasionally and turn the meat, and say, boys, next June when you are out camping just kill a small deer and prepare the meat as described. Is it good? I guess yes. Having our work completed at the camp, the next morning after we had got the horses fed and the venison prepared, we drove back onto Baleys Run. Here we camped near the mouth of the run, and that night we set fifty eel hooks, some in the run and some in the main Sinnamahoning. I think that we caught twenty-two eels and some trout. As we were now in a section where there were some barrens, which contained good huckleberry picking, we put in the next day picking berries until near night, and drove home at night, a distance of about twenty miles. All the time while picking berries, setting eel hooks and trout fishing, of which we did enough to supply our needs, we kept a close watch for signs of animals that we intended to take in later on. We saw signs of mink, coon and where an otter had been at play on a steep bank of the run. We saw signs of bear in several places where they had torn old logs to pieces in search of grub and ants. We saw at one place where a bear had dug out a woodchuck, and I should judge by the amount of digging he had done that he earned his chuck. We saw considerable signs of bear in the huckleberries, and of them will have more to say later on. * * * About October first, Bill and your humble servant again started for camp, which we found all right. From all appearances it had been occupied for several days by someone, probably berry pickers, and as usual they had burned up what wood we had cut. Bill made a little kick, and said they were welcome to the camp, but he would be "dog-on" pleased if they would cut what wood they burned. Our first week in camp was spent in cutting a good supply of wood and mudding the shack a little in places where we failed to do good work the first time. Being located well up at the head of the streams, it made it necessary for us to do a good deal of traveling to get from one stream to another where the water was of sufficient size to afford good trapping ground. Steel traps being none too plenty with us now, we started in to build deadfalls. The territory so far as trapping was concerned was left to Bill and I, and we took in the waters of Baley Run, the Portage, Conley Run and Hunt's Run, as well as several lesser streams. As the Baley was the farthest from our camp, Bill said we would put up the traps on that stream first. Bill said that we would go at it man fashion, for we would be compelled to get our grub from the trap line, for there was no chance to take a wood job in that section of the country. I suggested that we might get a job at the lumber camp, where we sold the deer the year before, and get a few beans and a little pork. I guess that Bill did not like the idea, for I remember he only gave me a grunt for an answer. Say, boys, the question of pork and beans leads me to ask how many of you who have a fireplace in your camp have a bean hole? Now, Bill and I had one in our camp, and I tell you we thought it fine and we did it in this way. We dug a hole in one corner of the fireplace about two and a half feet deep and about eighteen inches in diameter, using the regular old style of bake kettle. This is merely an iron pot, with a close fitting flange lid so as to seclude all dust and ashes, and we used it in this way. We would first rake a good lot of live coals from the fireplace into the bean hole, having the beans already in the kettle. Then we would put the kettle down in the hole and rake the hole full of live embers, being careful to cover the hole over with plenty of ashes. We prepared the beans about in this fashion: After washing we soaked them for about twelve hours. The water was drained off and the beans were then put into the kettle with the necessary trimmings, which consisted of a good chunk of pork put in the center of the beans, and two or three smaller pieces laid on top, a pinch of salt providing that the pork was not sufficiently salty. A spoonful of brown sugar or rather a little baking molasses and a little pepper. Now this kettle was allowed to remain three or four days in the hole without disturbing farther than to cover over occasionally with hot embers. You ask if beans are good baked this way--we guess yes. We have heard a great deal about the famous Boston baked beans, but we wish to say that they are not in it compared to beans baked in a bean hole. Well, to get back to the trap line. We took the Baley waters first. This was about six miles from camp, and as it was still a little earlier in the season than we cared to begin to take fur, we would build the deadfalls and have them ready to set when we thought that fur was ripe enough to begin to gather. Bill used a good heavy axe, and would cut the dead pole and bed pieces and the stakes and fit them all ready to put up. He would then go on and select a place to build another trap and get the material all ready as before and then move on to the next place. I would follow him up and build the trap, make the bait pen and have the trap all ready to set when the right time came. The triggers we would make evenings in camp. We always used the three-stick trigger, for then we could adjust the trigger so that we were sure that the front legs of the animal were over the bed piece, when the trap was sprung. In that condition there was not get-away for the animal that tried to snip the bait. We would build traps on one stream until we had a plenty for that stream. We would take up another and put in a supply on that stream, and so on until we had gone over as much ground as we could work to good advantage. All the time we were putting up these deadfalls we were keeping a watch out for likely places to set our steel traps for fox and other animals. After we had gone over the streams we built the necessary deadfalls in the dark, heavy timbered sections where we thought likely that there might be marten. As it was now well along toward the last of October, we set our bear traps on the different ridges in the sections where the chestnut timber was the most plenty. The chestnut crop was good and we knew that the first hard freeze would open the burs. Bill said we got to get a move on us from early in the morning until after dark when we would get into camp. We wished to get all the traps out now that we could. Later we were going to put in some time gathering chestnuts, as soon as they began to fall, as there was good money in gathering them. At this business there was lively competition with the squirrels, coons, bears and other animals to see which could gather the most, so naturally there is but a few days good picking after the chestnuts fall. Bill said that we would be in a deal while the nuts lasted and we did, for we gathered several bushels. I do not just remember how many now, but that wasn't all we got while we were gathering chestnuts. One day we came to where a bear had been raking for nuts and as it was only about a mile from camp I said to Bill that it might be possible that if we would stay out and watch for Bruin as long as we could see to shoot, we might get a shot at the bear. Bill said that he preferred to let the traps do the watching. There was a little mist of rain falling, and just the right kind of weather for Bruin to be prowling around. Some way it seemed to me if we stayed and watched we would get a shot at a bear, but Bill had no faith and said that I would get good and wet for my trouble. I told him that if he would take what nuts I had gathered along to the shanty, I would stay and watch awhile at least. Bill agreed, and said that he would have a hot supper ready for me when I came to camp. I suggested to Bill that he have the frying pan hot when I got there, for I would bring in some bear meat for supper. Bill said that I need not bother to skin his, as he would eat his hair and all. As soon as Bill was gone I selected a point where I could see down the hill, as well as over a good stretch of the top of the ridge. I had only fairly picked my ground to watch when I heard the brush crack close to me from behind. My gun came to my shoulder as I turned in the direction of the noise, and there stood Bill a-grinning. I asked him what had changed his mind. He said that if I could stand it he could, so he stepped along the ridge a few yards and I leaned up against a large hemlock tree. He had scarcely taken his stand when all of a sudden I saw him begin to slowly raise his gun to his shoulder. I knew that he was about to shoot at something, but thought it must be a deer. I thought that I ought to shout and scare it away, for I thought that Bill had come back on purpose to beat me out of the sport, and I guessed right. Bill said after he had started to camp it seemed to him that he had done wrong in leaving me to watch alone, and that I would kill a bear. So he turned back and got there just in time so as not to frighten the bear away, as well as to shoot it, which was a yearling and weighed about 125 pounds, with a fine pelt. Bill apologized for the little trick. Said he would never do anything of the kind again. He never did. A good reason being that another opportunity never occurred. But later I will tell how I got the laugh on Bill. The next morning Bill took the saddles of the bear to Emporium and sold the meat, but he said that bear meat was not at a premium in Emporium. I think he got about $6.00 out of the saddles. While Bill was gone to Emporium I took two bear traps and went on to a ridge where I thought would be the most likely place to catch a bear, as there was considerable beach timber on that ridge in places. Beach nuts last long after chestnuts are gone, and bear would be likely to work in this timber. As we had not got all of our small traps out yet, Bill said that if I would finish setting the rest of the small traps, he would put in the most of his time hunting deer, as the leaves were now pretty well off from the undergrowth, so that the woods were now quite open. This I agreed to, as I knew Bill to be a good deer hunter, while I was a little skeptical as to some of his trapping methods. Well, as the busy season was with us now, it was an early breakfast and a late supper day after day. Yet we were able to keep up the pace from the natural stimulating desire for sport, being anxious to know what the results of the next day would be. We were having the usual success of the average hunter and trapper who, as Bill said, if willing to get a move on, our supply of meat and game was never lacking, for I always shot at small game when hunting deer. Bill said that he did not like to come into camp empty handed, so he would shoot a grouse or a squirrel whenever a chance occurred. We had no snow up to this time, so that deer hunting was a little dull, and Bill said that he would take a line of traps, either on Baley Run or on the Conley, as I liked. I said, take your choice, Bill, so he said he would go to Conley Run, which was a little farther from camp than the Baley Run, and one or two more bear traps than on Baley Run. I found a coon or two, and I think I got a fox and one marten, but no mink or other furs. I found that a bear had been to one trap and torn down the bait pen and taken the bait, but left the trap unsprung. I knew that he would cut the same trick again, if I set the trap there, so I bent over a small sapling and hung the carcass of a coon on it for a bait. The carcass hung four or five feet from the ground. [Illustration: RESULTS OF A FEW WEEKS' TRAPPING.] I set the trap under the carcass and said to myself, "Old fellow, when you take that coon, there will be a bear dance." I got to camp long after dark, but when I came in sight of camp and looked for a light, there was no light to be seen, or any Bill to be found in camp. I lit a light and looked at my watch. It was only a few minutes of eight o'clock. I got supper and waited until nine o'clock, but no Bill came, so I laid down on the bunk to rest, expecting Bill to turn up every minute. I dropped to sleep and when I awoke, the fire had burned out and Bill had not returned. I looked at my watch. It was after three o'clock, and I knew that there would be no more sleep for me. I went outside and listened, but no sound could be heard. I got my breakfast, put an extra lunch in my knapsack, and sat down and waited for the break of day. As soon as the first streaks of light appeared in the east, I strapped on my knapsack, took my gun and started in the direction in which I had known Bill to take. I followed the ridge to the Conley Run waters, over which Bill would likely come if he had been detained in that region. When I came to the head of a run that led to the main Conley waters, I stopped at the brow of the hill. I could look down into the hollow. Here I knew that I could be heard for some distance. I listened for some time to see if I could hear a gun shot or any other noise that would lead me to the whereabouts of Bill. Not a sound to be heard, not even the hoot of an owl. I gave a long whoop and then listened, but still no answering sound. I again gave a long continued "co-hoop" and Bill burst out laughing, and asked what was the matter with me. Bill had sat down on a fallen tree that lay close to a large pine tree to rest before making the last pull to the top of the ridge. He had caught a glimpse of me just before I came to the brow of the hill where I stopped to send a wireless message. Bill skulked behind a pine tree to see what I would do and give me a scare, when I came along. When I inquired what had kept him out all night, he said that he got so big a job on his hands that he could not get to camp. Bill said that he had got about half way down the side of the hill from the ridge leading down into the Conley River, when he jumped a buck, which Bill said slid down the hill like a greased rag. He fired at the pile and happened to catch him well back to the hips. The deer being wounded through the small intestines made it very sick, but it was still able to lead Bill a merry chase. Bill had been working from the middle of the forenoon until about three o'clock in the afternoon before he was able to get in a finishing shot on the buck. While following the deer, he had come near one of the places where we had a bear trap set and found that a bear had been caught. He followed the trail a little ways, and as it led in an opposite direction from that taken by the deer, Bill said he thought he would finish one job at a time, so he continued after the deer. Before Bill was able to get in the finishing shot on the deer, it had swung around in the direction of the trail of the bear, so that when Bill finally got the buck, he knew that he could not be far from the trail of the bear. He hung up the saddles of the deer, which he had started to take to camp, and let the bear rest until the next morning. After hanging up the saddles he didn't search long until he found the trail of the bear, and followed the trail only a little ways, when he found Bruin fast in a clump of brush. Bill then killed the bear, and taking out the entrails, rolled the carcass up over a log and again started for camp with the deer saddles. He did not go far when it was so dark that it was difficult to travel and carry the deer saddles and gun, so Bill said he thought he would build a little shelter and camp for the night. Bill had started for camp with the saddles of the buck as soon as he could see to travel. He was near the top of the ridge on his way to camp and had sat down to rest when I came to the brow of the hill and began to "co-hoop" to see if I could get any word from him, which I did and much closer than expected. Bill brought his load up to where I was, and threw it down with the remark "I suppose that you did not think to bring along an extra lunch, did you?" When I told him I had the extra lunch, and also a bottle of tea (Bill being a great hand for tea). Well, said Bill, "then we are all right, once more." We now hung the deer saddles up, and went back after the bear. After setting the bear trap again, as Bill did not have time after he had killed the bear, we started to carry the bear to camp whole. We soon found it too heavy to carry that way, so skinned it and hung up the foreparts and took the skin and hindquarters. The next morning, we went back after the deer. We went to where Bill had left the fore parts of the deer; then we went to where the fore parts of the bear were left, intending to take them as far as where the deer saddles were and leave them there, and take the deer saddles to camp. When we got to where the bear meat had been left, we found that a cat had been there, and filled his shirt on bear meat. It was not far to where we had a steel trap setting. I told Bill to go on slowly with the deer meat, and I would go and get the trap and set it for the cat. Bill said that he thought that would be the right thing to do, as there was a two dollar bounty on wild cats. He said we could carry the pelt of the cat a great deal easier than we could tote the bear meat; he thought that the cat skin and the bounty would even things up for the bear meat. I soon had the trap set for the cat, and then hurried on to catch Bill. We went to camp with the deer and the next morning we took the bear and deer saddles to Emporium and shipped them to New York. The distance that we toted those saddles must have been ten or twelve miles. Say boys, won't a man do more hard work to get thirty cents out of a coon skin, or a saddle of venison, or bear, than he would to get thirty dollars in some other way? As it had been three or four days since we had been over a good part of the trap line, we now got back to regular business, each one taking up his line of traps. Each night when he came to camp, we would have some kind of pelts to stretch, either two or three coon, a mink or two, as many more fox, with now and then a marten. It would take the evening to stretch the pelts and tell our day's experience just what particular trap we got that or this fox in, or that mink or coon; just how clever some shy old fox has worked to get the bait at a certain trap; on what particular ridge or point we had seen Old Golden's track (you know all large buck deer have the name of "Old Golden".) Every man of the woods or trap line knows what pleasure there is in relating the experience of the day's hunt or of the trap line to his pard during the evening in camp. Yet, I will tell of one occurrence though I have told the story many times, and I cannot say that I relate it with any great amount of pleasure. Still since many years have passed, I have often laughed over the circumstance. I can still see that sympathetic grin of Bill's, when he would ask "if it hurt me much." It was a lowery morning, and Bill proposed that we go together and look after a line of traps on Salt Run, and then put in the balance of the day still-hunting deer. We went down to the lower end of the line, worked up the run so as to be near the top of the ridge and in a locality where we expected deer to be. We had not looked at more than three or four traps, when we came to one that was set under the bank. The trap chain was stapled to a root, and was stationary (and let me say here that I believe it bad policy to fasten a trap to anything, stationary) and it certainly was in this case for me. The water was quite deep right at the point where the trap was set and came close up to the bank. In order to see the trap, it was necessary to lie down on my stomach, and lean my head over the bank. When I looked down under the bank, I saw that there was some animal in the trap. The trap chain was drawn tight and when I drew gently on the chain I could tell that some kind of an animal was in the trap. I little suspected that it was loaded, as it proved to be. I could not see what sort of an animal it was, but supposed it was a mink. It did not like to be drawn out in sight, and I was afraid to pull too hard on the chain for fear I would draw his foot out of the trap. I let up and straightened up to consult Bill, as to the best thing to do. Bill said, pull him out and if he gets away, we will get him at another trap, and I now suspect that Bill knew what was coming. I leaned down over the bank and stuck my head down to see where the chain was. All of a sudden I was struck with something more terrible than lightning if not quite so fatal, and for the next half hour I was rolling on the ground and washing my eyes. Bill said that I danced the Bear dance and a Pot Full of Catfish all at the same time. When I recovered enough to see what "hit me", I found that I had been terribly shot by a measly skunk square in both eyes. Bill was grinning and asking "if it hurt much" and telling me that I could see better after a little and lots of other sympathetic nothings. I hope that none of you may ever have the experience that I met with by the treatment of that infernal skunk. After the atmosphere and my eyes had cleared somewhat, we went on and looked after the balance of the traps on the run. We then started out to hunt deer, Bill taking one side of the ridge and I the other. I saw nothing more of Bill until I reached camp long after dark. I worked along the different spires of the main ridge and through the heads of the different basins, and only got a glimpse of an old buck's tail, making over the ridge and beckoning me to come on. He had come over from the opposite side of the ridge and had got wind of me before he was fairly in sight. I kept on working the different points and basins, shaping my course as best I could in the direction of the camp. A drizzling rain kept up all day, and deer had not moved very much. I felt confident that towards evening the deer would come out in the open to feed in spite of the rain, and pretty well toward night I had the satisfaction of seeing three deer feeding along the hillside and coming in my direction. The wind was in my favor, and as the deer were rather too far to shoot, I stood quiet, only occasionally moving from one tree to another as a favorable opportunity occurred. The deer finally worked up in gun shot, and they proved to be an old doe, a yearling and the doe's fawn. The yearling was undoubtedly the doe's fawn of the year before. I was very careful to make a sure shot on the doe. The yearling and the fawn only took a few jumps when the gun cracked and the doe went down, and stood looking at the old lady to see what had happened to her. I gave the yearling the contents of the other barrel. He made a jump or two and went down, the fawn still standing and wondering what was taking place, but before I could get a load into my gun, the little fellow thought it best to move on. I took the entrails out of the two I had shot, hung them up and took a lively pace to camp. Bill was already in and had supper waiting. Bill asked me if I had seen any deer, and when I told him what I had done, he said that he had seen a deer. I told him that if he had used a little skunk eye-opener, he probably would have seen some deer. As it had now been three or four days since we had made the rounds of the bear traps, we concluded that we would not spend any particular time in deer hunting until we had looked all of the bear traps over. We were quite sure that some of the traps would be likely to be in a mixup with bruin as the weather had been favorable for bruin to be prowling around. Further we had seen several fresh tracks in the past few days. Early in the morning with an extra lunch in our knapsack we started out to see what luck with bruin, each taking a different route. Bill went to Baley Run, while I went to Conley Run. I had not gone far out on my road, when I came across a man that had been out as he said, hunting deer. But from the story he told, I judged that he had put in the greater part of his time hunting himself, and he was still lost. The man informed me that he was from Lockhaven, Pa., and that his name was Henry Jacobs; and that he was boarding at a farmhouse on the Portage but had gotten a little mixed and was unable to find his way out to his boarding place. I told him that I was on my way to the Conley waters to look after some bear traps, and if he wished he could go with me to the main branch of the Conley. Then he could follow the stream down until it emptied into the Portage, and to the road which would take him to his boarding house, which Mr. Jacobs seemed pleased to do. But it proved that Mr. Jacobs' destiny was in other directions. The first bear trap that we came to, we found a "porky" in it. I could see that Mr. Jacobs was very much excited and began to ask many questions as to bears and bear trapping. When we came to where the second trap was setting, we found things generally torn up and the trap gone, and it was plain to be seen that it was no cub that had taken the trap this time. The bear had gone only a few yards, when he had gotten fast in some saplings, and he had gnawed the brush and raked the trees and "raised Ned" generally; but had finally released the clog and had gone on down the hillside. By this time I had discovered that Mr. Jacobs had become pretty nervous and was shaking rather too much to do good shooting. At every rod we advanced along the trail, it was plain to be seen that Mr. Jacobs was becoming more and more excited. We did not follow the trail far when we discovered Bruin fast again. We went up within a few yards of the bear, who did not seem to like our company and would chank his jaws and snort similar to an angry hog. I told Mr. Jacobs to shoot the bear, and he did shoot somewhere, but I could not say that he shot in the direction of the bear. As my attention had been on the bear, I had not noticed Mr. Jacobs in particular, but when I saw that he had entirely missed the bear, I looked at him and he was shaking so from excitement, that he could not have hit a barn, and drops of sweat stood all over his forehead. He had a double barrel rifle, and as soon as he fired the first shot, he advanced a few steps toward the bear and fired again, and at once began to reload his gun, all the time going nearer to the bear until I was afraid that he would get so close that the bear could reach him. I had to caution him and tell him to step back, that he was getting too close. When Mr. Jacobs had one barrel of his gun loaded, he immediately fired again, with the same results of the other two shots. I told him to take my gun and try it, which he did with no better results. Mr. Jacobs was all the time becoming more and more excited, and the sweat was running off him like a man in the harvest field. I loaded my gun, while Mr. Jacobs was loading his, and after Mr. Jacobs fired another shot with no better results, I though that the fun had gone far enough, and shot the bear. After the bear was dead, Mr. Jacobs wondered why it was so hard to hit a bear's head. "Just look at it," he said, "it is as large as a dry goods box". As soon as the bear was dead, Mr. Jacobs wanted to know if I would sell the bear. When I told him that I expected to sell it, he asked what it was worth. I told him that I thought the hide and meat would bring thirty or thirty-five dollars. He drew out his purse and said, "I will take it." I told him that if he wanted the bear, that we would call it twenty-five dollars, as he should have something for his part in the game. He declared that the hunt had been worth a hundred dollars to him. We made a sort of a litter or drag rack with which we managed to haul the bear down the hill to an old lumber road where it could be reached with a team. Not long after this I received a copy of the Williamsport Sun containing the report of a monstrous bear captured by Mr. Jacobs in the wilds of Cameron County. It was a bear story equal to the one the prophet relates when the children called him Baldy. When I got to camp I found Bill stretching a couple of mink skins. He had also got a fox or two, and said that a bear had been in one of the bear traps, but had escaped, leaving two toes in the trap. Bill was considerably down at the heel over the escape of the bear, and said that if he had attended to the trap the day before, that the bear was then in the trap; that he had put up a hard fight before he had made his escape. When Bill called for my report I took out a marten skin and the money that I got for the bear and layed them on the table and told Bill there was my count. Bill said that I got the marten from one of the deadfalls, but he was dog-on sorry if he could tell where I caught the money. When I told him about Mr. Jacobs and the capture of the bear, Bill said he would have given a summer's work to have been there and seen the man sweat. I said that I would relate how it happened that I got even with Bill for the bear that he killed on my watching grounds. Well, after we had gone the rounds of the traps, we again put in our time still-hunting. Bill had gone south of camp, while I went east. I had traveled until the middle of the afternoon without having any luck or seeing any deer. So I shifted my course to the west and worked my way in the direction of a "burn-down" that was in the head of a hollow. As soon as I came to the brow of the ridge and looked down into the basin I saw four deer feeding and working towards me. The wind was blowing directly from the deer towards me, so I stood quiet and in a few minutes the deer fed up within easy range. I pulled the gun onto an old doe in the lead, and broke her down almost in her tracks. The three remaining deer made a few jumps in my direction and stopped and looked back, which gave me a good shot at a yearling buck, which also went down in my sight. The other two deer ran close by me and over the ridge into the green timber. I had hardly cut the deers' throats when Bill called out, "This is a dog-on pretty trick that you have played me." Bill had been following these deer all day and had followed to the "burn-down" and had seen the deer on the opposite hill, but too far away to shoot. As the wind was against him he had dropped down the hollow a ways, crossed and worked up around on the opposite side to get the wind in his favor, and was just about ready to fire on the deer when I began shooting. After Bill had explained how he had been working the deer all day and then have me slip in just as he had the game bagged and swipe it, Bill claimed was dog-on mean. I cautioned Bill to hold his temper and I would call it even on the bear he swiped from me, and told him I was pleased to have him on hand to help hang up the deer. We had worked along now up to about the middle of December with the various ups and downs that one on the trap line and trail always meet with. We had killed twelve or fourteen deer, and I think we had caught six bears and had made a fair catch of fox, mink, marten and some other furs. There had not been much snow up to this time, when a fall of 12 or 14 inches came all in one night. Bears had not denned up to this time, but we were quite sure that bruin would now go into winter quarters. We concluded to gather up the bear traps and all the small traps that were not setting in springs that did not freeze, or those setting in other likely places to make a catch. In nearly the last bear trap that we went to get, we found a bear, and when we began to skin it we found that it had lost two toes on one forefoot. We concluded that it was the same bear that had escaped from Bill's trap some time before, although it was eight or ten miles from where the trap was that had held Bruin's toes. A day or two after the heavy fall of snow we got a letter from a man by the name of Comstock, living at Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, asking the privilege to come and camp with us and hunt deer until the season closed, the first of January. He stated that he had never killed a deer, and that he was very anxious to kill one. We wrote him to come on, and that one of us would be at Emporium on the following Friday to guide him to our camp. Friday morning I went to Emporium and found Mr. Comstock there as agreed. He had paraphernalia enough to equip a fair-sized army, so we hired a team to take the outfit to camp and also bring out the saddles of a bear and what venison we had on hand. For three or four days Mr. Comstock hunted all by himself but had no luck in the way of killing deer, as he said it took more time to hunt the shanty than he had to hunt deer, and suggested that we all hunt in company. We had now been on the ground long enough so that we had learned all the runways. Bill said that if I would take Mr. Comstock down to a certain runway, which he had given the name of Fork Point, and place him on it, he would drive the ridge and see if he could not drive a deer to Mr. Comstock. Bill started a bunch of five deer and succeeded in getting a shot and breaking a foreleg of a large doe. As the doe with the broken leg soon dropped out from the other deer, he was sure that the deer had start enough so that they would come through to where Comstock and I were watching, he decided to take the trail of the broken legged doe, and as good luck, the deer did come through to Mr. Comstock, and as he had an Osgood gun with four shots, he succeeded in killing a very large buck. After firing the four shots, the fun began. Mr. Comstock was determined to take the buck to camp, as he wanted to take the deer home whole. We had a very steep point to climb for a distance of five hundred yards to reach the top of the ridge. The deer weighed about two hundred pounds. Any hunter will tell you what an awkward job it is to carry a deer of that weight lashed to a pole. Mr. Comstock would not consent to drawing the deer for fear it would rake the hair off. Well, we could not carry it up the steep point on the pole, as the swaying of the deer would throw us off our feet. Mr. Comstock said that he would carry it alone if I would help him get it on his shoulder. Mr. Comstock was a large man, weighing over two hundred pounds, but nevertheless I did not think he would be able to carry the deer and told him so. After some hard tugging we got the deer on his shoulder and he started up the hill. I started to get out of the way, and I was none too soon in doing so. Mr. Comstock had not taken a half dozen steps when back he came, deer and all, like ten thousand bricks. But as he did not break any limbs or his neck, he was bound to try it again, which he did with the same result. But this time he was quite badly bruised, and he was now satisfied to leave the deer until morning, when Bill went with us and we made a sort of a litter and carried it to camp whole; and he was a proud and happy man. When Mr. Comstock and I left the deer and decided to await reinforcements, we struck the trail of Bill, drawing a deer in the direction of camp, so we now knew why Bill had not followed the trail of the deer through to where Comstock and I were watching. It was now about the closing time for deer hunting, so after Mr. Comstock had left for home, Bill and I put in the time until the first of March tending the small traps with the usual success of the average trapper, getting a fox, or mink or marten or some piece of fur nearly every day. When the team which we had written home for came and got our camp outfit and our furs, we broke camp and went home to await another trapping season. CHAPTER XV. Trapping and Bee Hunting. Comrades of the trap line and trail, as every trapper and hunter likes to know what other trappers and hunters are doing, I will tell of some of my last season's (1908) doings. Having been somewhat relieved from my old enemy--rheumatism--I concluded to take a trip south and see if I could not find a place suitable to my liking where I might escape some of the rigorous cold of the Northern Pennsylvania winters. I went first into Southeastern Missouri. Here I found land cheap, unimproved lands ranging from $3.00 to $15.00 per acre; also plenty of timber for fuel and building purposes; plenty of fish of various kinds, some deer, a few wild turkeys, no bear, some mink, plenty of raccoon, a few otter and fox; with minor other fur-bearers, which was all quite satisfactory to me, but I did not like the water. From Poplar Bluff, Missouri, I went to Kenset, Arkansas, where I found the conditions as to the price of lands satisfactory, although the country was much less broken than Southern Missouri. As to water, well, there was water almost anywhere; in fact, you could hardly cross the streets without wading in water. The people who were natives of that country informed me that the water in the streets was not always so plenty, as they said that there had been very heavy rains of late. Here I found game of all kinds quite scarce, although I was told that southeast of Kenset game was quite plenty, including bear, deer, turkeys, quail, etc., and that mink, otter, coon, opossum, also a few wolves, were to be found. The water gave me the chills in three days, so I concluded to move to other parts of the lower St. Francis River, in Lee County. There appeared to be quite a plenty of mink, otter, coon and some bear, but the cane brakes were pretty thick in the bottoms. I think that if one was well prepared for trapping, they could do fairly well in either St. Francis or Lee County. I went from Hanes in Lee County, Arkansas, to Memphis, Tennessee. From Memphis I went to a town by the name of Shepard, on the Hatchie River, in Haywood County, Tennessee. Along the Hatchie River there were signs of otter, mink and coon quite plenty, and in some places the cane brakes were quite open. I liked the lay of the land here very well. It was just rolling enough to suit my fancy, but again I failed to find our cold, Pennsylvania spring water. From Shepard I went to Pickens, in Pickens County, South Carolina. Here I found fairly good water, but other conditions were not entirely to my liking. While I did not have time to look up the game or rather the fur-bearers as thoroughly as I would have liked to, yet I saw considerable signs of mink and coon and was told that there were quite a number of otter in that section on some of the streams. From Pickens I bought a ticket to Columbus, Ohio, where I intended to stop over a day and call on the editor of the greatest of sporting magazines, _Hunter-Trader-Trapper,_ but when I got to Columbus my courage failed. I was afraid that the editor would be too busy pushing the quill to bother with a lone trapper, so concluded to hasten back to old Potter, where chills, jiggers, ticks, fleas and poisonous snakes are unknown, and where the cold, sparkling spring water flows from the mountain side to your very door. Say, boys, you may think that I am stuck on the water question. Well, I am, and I have good cause to me. Only for spring water, I should not have been able to have made the journey which I am writing of. For the past two years, barring the time I was south, I have drank from four to six quarts of cold spring water every twenty-four hours. I have got more relief from rheumatism than I ever did from all the rheumatism remedies that I ever knew of, and I have tried the most of them. I used all the salt in my food that I could to aid the desire for water, and took six drops of oil of wintergreen three times a day. Now, if any of the old trappers have rheumatism and the good spring water, I ask you to try it. Well, after getting back home and resting a few days and the frost began to hit the pumpkin vine, I began to feel as I imagined that the wild goose does about their migratory time. At least I felt as though I should fly if I did not get into the woods. We were having splendid weather for camping, and the warm, dry, sunny days afforded splendid weather for bee hunting, and after the trap and gun then my delight is to trail the honey bee to his den tree. One day when a young man called on me and said that he would give me an interest in a "goose pasture" to go out in the woods and camp, I was interested. Smoky Jim (that is his nickname) although his name is Charles Earl, and there is nothing smoky about Charley except his pipe, which he is very fond of, too much so, I think, for so young a man. Well, when Charley said that he would like to go and camp out in the woods, I was practically as good as gone. I knew Smoky to be a lively kid and all right, although he had never put in any time as a trapper or a bee hunter. I said, "Smoky, can you see a bee fly?" Smoky said that he thought he could, for he knew that he could tell when one stung him, but he had never watched to see how far he could see one fly. I found that Smoky was given to making comical remarks as well as to smoking. I said, "Smoky, what day can you go?" He replied, "Any day." This was on Tuesday, so I said, "Alright, Smoky, be here Thursday and we will start early Friday morning." Smoky said, "Alright, but we will not get a darn thing while we are gone if we go on Friday unless we get drowned, and there will have to be more water in the creek than there is now or we won't get that much." I had already made application to the State Tourist Commissioner for a permit to camp on state lands. It may be well to state here for the benefit of those who wish to so camp in this state (Pennsylvania) that the authorities will not give a permit to camp for a longer time than 14 days. In my case they were very obliging and made out the papers for several applicants of 14 days each, so that it would only have been necessary to have signed one of the applications and send it on a few days before the previous application had expired. [Illustration: WOODCOCK FISHING ON THE SINNAMAHONING.] We were all ready to start Friday morning. Our route lay over the mountains a distance of about 20 miles from the head waters of the Allegheny to the head water of the west branch of the Susquehana waters, known as the East Fork of the Sinnamahoning. We pitched our tent just at the point where the Buffalo and Susquehana Railroad begins to cross the divide, known as the Hogback, by means of several switch backs. It is a splendid sight to see two or three trains working their way up the mountain's side on a clear, frosty morning, when the steam and smoke show so plain. We did not get the tent in good shape for the first night, nor did we get our bunk up, owing to its being so late when we got to our camping ground. The first night in camp we had a sharp frost and in the morning Smoky Jim's fever for camping had dropped fully one-half. He complained that any one that would go into such a country to camp should be reported for trespassing on the rights of the porcupine. It took until the third day to get our camp in good shape. We built a skeleton frame of small poles all over the tent, leaving a space of about 18 inches between tent and frame, and thatched it good with hemlock boughs. While we were working at the camp we had our bee bait out, and the second day after we put out the bait no bees came to it. Smoky laughed at me and said that a honey bee was too intelligent to stop in a place like that, but Smoky was wrong. The next morning after the sun had got well above the top of the hills, so as to warm up things down in the valley, I heated a large stone quite hot and burned some honey comb on it. It was not long before Smoky called out to me and said that there was one fool of a bee. It was not long before we had bees a-plenty. We paid no attention to them farther than to keep plenty of bait out for them. Every bee hunter knows how much steadier a bee flies after they have the bait well located. After the camp was well completed and a good pile of wood cut we gave our attention to the bees. We soon located two lines, one going nearly east while the other went nearly south. I told Smoky to take his hatchet and go across the creek some 50 rods and make an opening or a stand about half way between the two lines, or about southeast from the stand, and when he had it ready, to call to me and I would bring the bees over and we could get a cross line and locate nearly the tree that the bees were in. We soon got the direction in which the bees flew. I then told Smoky to take the line that now flew in a westerly course from the stand and in the direction of two or three large maple trees. The other line now flew nearly north from the stand and back toward the creek where there was considerable large timber still standing. Leaving the bait on the stand, I took the course of the bees that were now flying north and went to a large birch tree that was standing on the bank of the creek. I was still several rods from the tree when the bees began coming to me and I knew that the tree was close by. I was looking the different trees over to see which tree the bees were in when Smoky began to halloo as though something terrible had happened him. Guessing at the cause of Smoky's shouting, I continued on in the direction in which the line led and soon saw the bees going into the large birch tree. I took my knife and cut the letters B T on the tree and then went to Smoky, who was still making the woods ring with his shouts. Smoky began guying me, saying that I was an old bee hunter but it took Smoky to find the first bee tree. I did not tell him that I had found the tree that the other line of bees went to, but agreed with him. I told him to mark the tree that he had located and then he could go and locate the other tree if he wished while I would go to camp and be getting grub ready. In about three-quarters of an hour Smoky came to camp and began washing for dinner and said not a word. When I saw that Smoky would not talk, I said, "Well, Smoky, did you find the other bee tree?" He said, "Oh! you keep right on baking flapjacks." Well, after Smoky regained his speech and told how blamed bright I was, he was going to go right to work and take out the honey from one of the trees at once. I told him that as we had no screen to put over his face, the bees would sting him to death, and that he had better wait until early the next morning when it was frosty. Smoky said that he would not go without honey for the flapjacks when we had two bee trees so close to the camp. So he took an old burlap and removed every other thread in a space of about ten inches square, making a sort of an open-work to cover his face, then pulling the sack over his head and buttoning his coat close up about his throat Smoky was ready for the fray. He cut the birch tree, the one that I had located, that tree being a little closer to camp. There was over a hundred pounds of honey in the tree and we had only one large pail in the camp, and that we had to have to use as a water pail. The tree did not break in falling so as to break up the honey and waste it. While we cut a large beech tree and took a block of about four feet long and split it in half and dug out two large troughs to hold the honey, which was very nice, being nearly all white honey, and Smoky said, "Old Golden, won't we live high now, rabbit, partridge, baked potatoes, buckwheat flapjacks and honey to swim in." It was now the 20th of October. I told Smoky that we would go up the creek a mile above camp and put out the bee bait, burn more honey comb, and leave the bee box on the stand and await results. In the meantime we would take a couple of bear traps and go on to a ridge and set them. It might be possible that we would get a bear, although we had not seen any bear signs on what ground we had been over. We took the traps, Smoky carrying them, while I carried the bait. The hill was high and rough and I found it about all that I was able to do to climb although I went very slow and rested often. I did not complain, for Smoky was doing all the complaining necessary for both of us. He said that we would not catch a darn thing unless it was a cold, and he didn't think that we would get that much. It proved later that Smoky was wrong in his reckonings. We set the two bear traps in as likely places as we could find for bear to travel, and put in the balance of the day traveling through the woods in search of bear signs. Not a track or sign could we find, and when we reached camp at night I was seemingly more dead than alive. The next morning after we had left the bee bait on the old road bed and then climbed the hill to set the two bear traps, Smoky said that we would go down to Hull's, a distance of about three miles, and see if he could get cans to put the extracted honey in. We had made a sack from two towels and had begun to strain or extract the honey from the comb and had the water pail nearly full of strained honey, and were sorely in need of the pail to carry water in. When I got to where we had left the bee bait, on the old road bed, I found plenty of bees at work. I soon got the line which went up the stream and a little to the left of the road and directly toward two large soft maple trees, the only trees of any size in that direction for a long distance. I said to myself, a quick job for you must be in one or the other of those maples. I left the bait and went to look for the bees in one of the two trees. When I came to the trees, bees came to me in great numbers, but I could not see a bee going in or out in either. I was satisfied that the bees were in one of the trees, but after looking for a long time I thought that I must be mistaken, that the bees were farther on and up on the side of the hill. I gave it up and moved the bait up the road to a point about opposite where the line would strike the hillside and where several trees were left standing, making a good opening by cutting away the brush. I then released the bees from the box. After they had done much circling I was quite sure I saw two or three of them swing back in the direction of the soft maple trees. I left the box and went along the creek in search of mink or coon signs, so as to give the bees time to get the bait well located, as they will then fly so much steadier and without doing so much circling. When I returned to the bait, the bees were flying steadily in the direction of the two soft maples and there could be no mistake this time. I took the bait down and placed it in the road opposite the two soft maples and began the second time to search the trees. After looking a long time without seeing bees going to or from the trees, I was again compelled to give it up. I began searching among the old timber, old stumps and stubs, as it was in the midst of an old bark slashing. I would search among the old down trees a while and then look over the two soft maples. I had kept up this search from 9 o'clock in the morning until 2 o'clock in the afternoon. When I was approaching the two maple trees from the southwest side I readily discovered bees going into the tree close to and just above a large branch or prong of the tree which made it impossible to see them until the sun was just in the right position to shine square on the place where the bees entered the tree. In my younger days I always carried a pair of climbers and a rope, so that when I found it difficult to locate the particular tree that the bees were in, when they were in thick timber, I could climb any tree no difference how large and locate the bees. This would often save much time in finding a bee tree. I would often climb a tree that stood in a favorable place on the bee line and cut off the top of the tree and make the bee stand up 30 or 40 feet from the ground. This I found a great advantage in lining bees in a thick, bushy section. That day is past with me for I am too clumsy to climb any more. When I got to camp, I found Smoky at work putting the honey that was strained into cans and he said that he had concluded to change his name from Smoky Jim to Sticky Jim. We concluded to let bee hunting go for a day or two and set two more bear traps south of camp, although we had seen no signs of bear. Hear I will mention one of Smoky's dry remarks. We took two bear traps and bait for them following up a hollow south from camp to the top of a ridge where there was quite a large clump of green timber still standing. When we came to the head of the hollow and near the top of the ridge where we thought would be a good place to set a bear trap, I pointed to a small scraggly beech sapling and told Smoky to cut it. Then to cut off a piece six or eight feet long for a clog. Also to measure the size of the ring in the trap chain and cut the clog off so that when the ring was put down over the end of the clog, sixteen or eighteen inches to a prong, it would fit the ring fairly close. This would make the ring or chain secure to the clog, as it would give the ring no chance to work about, while I would make a bed to set the trap in and have the trap set by the time that he got the clog ready. It was now that I found that Smoky had brought a small hatchet weighing less than one-half pound instead of the larger belt axe, but there was nothing to do only to cut the clog with the little hatchet. So Smoky went to work cutting the clog while I went to setting the traps. After a while Smoky came with the clog and he had cut it off where it was considerably too large for the ring in the chain. I said, "Smoky, I guess you did not size that ring or the clog very much for you have got it much too large." Smoky replied readily, "Yes I did too, the tree has grown that much since I began to chop it." After a time we managed to get the two traps set and got back to camp. That night about 10 o'clock, Smoky woke me with a punch in the ribs and at the same time saying, "Get your gun, the whole Siwash tribe of Indians are on us." On the impulse of the moment I though Smoky was right for I could hear many voices and the barking and snarling of dogs. In a moment all that had ever happened to me and many things that never did, nor can happen, passed through my mind but it was only for a moment when some one called out at the tent door saying, "Get up, you have visitors." We asked who was there and the reply was, "Oh get up, two sleeps is better than one any time." I got up and put on my pants and unbuckled the tent door and there stood a half dozen men and as many more dogs. Two of the men had a large demijohn strung on a pole and they were carrying it on their shoulders, two more of the men had coons slung over their shoulders. The boys said that they were out coon hunting and by chance ran into our camp and thought that they would call on us and learn what we were doing. The demijohn contained cider, and the barking of the dogs was caused by getting into trouble over scraps that had been thrown about camp. We invited the boy in and asked them to tell what luck they had had hunting coon. They said that they had only got the two coons on their way up, but thought that they would do better on their way back down the creek. The boys lived about six miles down the stream. The creek ran close along the wagon road nearly all the way so the boys would follow along the road allowing the dogs to hunt along the creek for coon. The boys concluded to stay and eat their lunch before starting back. We made them a cup of hot coffee and set out a plate of honey and the boys ate their lunch, drank cider, and told stories until nearly 1 o'clock. They said that they had had a dandy time hunting coon along the last of September while coon were working on the corn and they said that they had killed about 30 and one wildcat. I asked if they did not think September rather early in the season to kill coon? They said that they thought that there was as much sport in it in September as at any other time of the year. I asked if there was any more sport in coon hunting in September than there was later in the season? They said that they did not know that there was. I replied that then they were out at least one-half or more on the price of the skins. They replied that it would be a queer jay that would put off a coon hunt a month for the difference that there might be in the price of a coon skin. I saw that I was up against it and that my argument had no weight in the matter, so I dropped it. When told that we were putting in our time mostly hunting bees, the boys said that we were losing the best time of our lives by not having some good coon dogs along with us, and Smoky quite agreed with them. However, I could not see it in that light. After the boys left, Smoky and I had to laugh over the boys' jolly time until near daybreak before we could get to sleep again and we quite agreed with the boys that the second sleep was better than the first. It was now the first of November and we had not put out any small traps, as the weather was still very warm and dry for the season of the year. Each day we could see away off to the southwest by the black heavy smoke that the forest fires that had been burning in that direction were coming nearer and nearer to us. Smoky said that he thought that a coon skin in October was worth as much as in November. He said by the time that we could get our traps out the forest fires would have the whole country burned over and all the game driven out. Smoky was not far from the mark in his prophesying. We now began to put out the small traps at as good a "jag" as I was able to stand the travel. We had, while bee hunting at odd times, selected and prepared many of the sets so that we were now able to set out many more traps in a day than we could have done had we not fixed and selected many places for sets. The fourth day of November was a very warm day in Potter County, and as we had not tried to get any bees west of camp, I told Smoky that we had better let the balance of the traps go for a day and try the bees in that direction as it was not likely that we would have many more days that bees would fly during the season. We went about one-half mile west of camp and put out the bee bait and burned more comb. It was not long before a bee came to the bait and then another and another, until we had several at work. As soon as the first bee that came was loaded up and began to make preparations to go, I told Smoky to keep a good eye on him to see which way he went, as the quicker we got a line the quicker we could move on. When the bee first started from the bait, he jagged off east, then he circled so that neither Smoky nor I could tell which way he went. I told Smoky that I was afraid that the bee went back up the creek toward a tree we had already found. Smoky said that he did not know what made me think so, for no one could tell which direction that bee went. I told Smoky that I had always noticed that the way that the bee first started when leaving the bait was pretty sure to be in the direction of the tree and to get in position so that he could see well if the bee should fly back up the creek as we had no time to spare on bees flying in that direction. It was not long before we had bees a-plenty and they came from a tree that we had already found. I told Smoky that we would leave some bait there so that those bees would not follow us, and we would move down the creek some distance before we would try for more. We moved nearly a mile, and while I was fixing a stand--there was no stump or good place to set the box--so I cut a stick about four feet long, an inch in diameter and split the top end into four parts, or in other words quartered the stick, then with two small sticks the size of a lead pencil, pressed down in between these quarters. It spread them so as to form plenty of space to set the box on. The other end of the stick is sharpened to drive firmly into the ground. As I was about to say, while I was fixing the stand, Smoky discovered a bee working on a witch-hazel bush close by the stand. Smoky said that he thought that the bee must have the rheumatism and was gathering Pond's Extract to bathe his joints in (it is with this shrub that Pond's Extract is made) and this was the cause of Smoky making the remark, I suppose. It was necessary to burn comb here as we soon had three or four bees at work on the bait and in a short time we had bees a-plenty. They flew just to the right of the wagon road in a westerly direction and on to the side of a very steep hill where there was considerable standing timber. We soon got the course of the bees' flight, but there seemed to be two lines, as some of the bees would fly to the left of a large tree that stood Just on the bank of the road, while others would fly to the right of the tree. This caused Smoky to remark that we had another sticky job on our hands, saying that there was two different lines. I told Smoky that I thought not. It was all the same bees and that the bees would soon all be flying to the left or lower side of the tree. Smoky wished to know how I made that out. I explained that I thought the bees were around the point of the hill and up a side draft that came into the main hollow some sixty rods below where we were and that the bees that were flying to the right of the tree flew in a direct line to the tree by flying up over the point of the hill then down into the hollow; those that flew to the left of the tree flew around the point of the hill and up the hollow to their tree. Smoky laughed at my idea and said that bees always flew in a straight line--does not everybody say as straight as a bee-line? I told Smoky that was all very well in a level and open country. That a bee knew that it was no farther around the rim of a kettle than up over the bail; that a bee was far too wise to carry a load up over a hill when he could get there in the same distance on a level; that bees in their flight would often vary their course and fly along the side of a hill to keep out of a strong wind until they were nearly opposite the tree, when they would make nearly a square turn to the tree. That they would also vary their flight from a straight line to follow an opening as a road cut out through the thick woods. The flight of the bees, as I suspected, was soon all to the left of the tree standing on the bank of the road. We moved the bait down to the mouth of the side draft and soon had a line flying nearly up the hollow. I told Smoky to take the bees some forty rods up the hollow and make a stand while I would follow and inspect the trees that looked favorable. Soon Smoky halloed to me and said that the bees had nearly all left him. I told him to make the stand where he was. As he had passed the tree that was the cause of the bees dropping off all at once. Just below where Smoky was and a little up on the bank from the hollow stood a large maple tree. I started to inspect the tree. Bees were flying all about me and as soon as I was near enough to the tree to see, I could see bees flying all about the tree, some forty feet from the ground. I called to Smoky and told him that the bees were treed in a large maple. This was on the fourth day of November and was a very rare thing for bees to be working at that time of the year in this section of the country. This tree made the sixth bee tree that we had found while in camp. This ended our bee hunting and we now put in the balance of the time, while in camp, with the traps. It will now be necessary to go back to the 20th of October to a time that Smoky said was the biggest day of his life. On the 20th of October we started out to look at the bear traps with little hopes of getting anything more than a porcupine. Up to this time we had not seen any signs of bear, only what had been made during the summer, where the bear had dug out woodchucks and torn old logs to pieces in search of grubs, and where they had dug wild turnips. These signs were so old that we had but little hopes of getting a bear while in camp and Smoky was continually condemning the country. We went up along a hollow that led to the top of a high ridge where we had a bear trap setting and where I thought was the most likely place to catch a bear, but found the trap undisturbed. We next crossed a narrow ridge where we had another trap. The trap was set in a spring run and the banks on either side of the run were quite thickly grown up with low brush. Smoky was in advance a few steps so that when he came to the edge of the thick brush that grew on the bank of the run, parted the brush and looked through at the trap, he caught a glimpse of some black object moving in the run. He quickly stepped back and held up his hand, his eyes sparkling with excitement and he whispered to me, "By Moses, we have got him." Smoky being given to much joking, I asked, "What have we got?" for I had not heard any noise of any kind. Smoky said, "A bear, by long horn spoon-handle." I stepped past Smoky and looked through the brush and there was a large black porcupine moving about a little in the trap. I stepped back and said to Smoky, "Well, shoot him." Smoky said, "No, I will miss him. You shoot him," at the same time handing me the gun. I now saw that Smoky was in earnest and surely thought we had a bear and I burst out with laughter. Smoky was amazed and said, "You blooming simpleton, what is the matter with you?" The look of anxiety and the manner in which Smoky spoke still caused me to laugh the harder. When I could cease laughing long enough to tell Smoky what was in the trap, Smoky's change of looks of excitement and anxiety to one of disgust was pitiful. Smoky began to condemn the country and tell how foolish we were to come to such a forsaken place as that was to trap where there was nothing but porcupines. After resetting the trap we went on to the third trap, which was setting about a mile farther north. It was necessary to cross two narrow ridges in order to reach the trap. Smoky was in a moody state of mind and lagged along behind, hunting partridges, killing two or three. When we reached the top of the second ridge and the trap was in the hollow beyond, I heard some sort of a noise where the trap was setting, but I was unable to tell what it was. Smoky was behind somewhere on the line, but while I stood listening he came on in great haste. He had heard the same noise and was hurrying up to inquire what it was. I told him that I was unable to tell just what it was, but was afraid that some dog had got caught in the trap as the sound came from the direction in which the trap was. Smoky said that it was a different noise than he had ever heard a dog make. I told Smoky that I feared that it was some hound that was in the trap and was making the pitiful sort of a howl and that we must hurry on and get him out of the trap. When we were half way down the side of the hill, the noise ceased, but I could now see that the noise came from some distance farther down the run than where the trap had been set and I knew that no dog could move the trap and clog. We now went a little more quietly. I soon got sight of Bruin rolling and tumbling in a bunch of small birch saplings where the trap clog was fast, good and stout. Smoky had not got his eye onto the bear yet, when I stopped and pointed in the direction of the bear and said, "Smoky, there is the gentleman that you have been so anxious to see." Smoky had not yet got his eye onto the bear and he said, "That's no darned dog that makes that noise. What is it? I don't see anything." "No, Smoky, it is no dog; neither is it a porky; it is a bear this time all right." I pointed at the clump of yellow birches and said, "Don't you see him down in the gulch there?" When Smoky got his eye on the bear, you should have seen them sparkle. This was the first bear that Smoky had ever seen outside of captivity. When I told Smoky that we would go up close to the bear and he (Smoky) should shoot it, he again reached the gun to me and again insisted that I should shoot it, saying that he would surely miss it, the same as he declared in the case of the porcupine. I told Smoky that he had plenty of cartridges and that it would be some time before it would be too dark to see to shoot and that he must shoot the bear. It took a great deal of urging to get Smoky to shoot, he declaring all the time that he knew he would miss it. I said, "Smoky, you must not shoot at the bear but at the base of the bear's ear," which he finally did and Bruin was out of his trouble almost before the smoke from the rifle had cleared away. The bear was a large one, measuring seven feet two inches from end to end. We were unable to get it out of the woods whole. Smoky insisted that he would carry it if it was as large as a mountain. He soon gave up that idea and we cut the carcass into pieces and took part to camp and returned the next day after the balance. That night after we got to camp with the bear we had for supper bear steak, partridge, rabbit and bacon with warm biscuits and honey, baked potatoes, butter and coffee, with the necessary trimmings, which caused Smoky to remark that the country was all right for a living, but thought that society was rather limited. The day after we had brought in the remainder of the bear, we could see the smoke from the forest fires that were burning away to the southwest, loom up thick and black. It was plainly to be seen that the fire was steadily working in the direction of our camp and was getting in close proximity to where we had a bear trap setting. I was afraid that the fire would burn sufficiently hard to spoil the trap unless it was taken up, so Smoky said that if I would "mix the muligan" (get supper) that he would go and get the trap, which I readily consented to do, telling Smoky to bring the trap down to a small creek and put the trap in the water. Smoky got back about the time I had supper ready. He came in and put his gun up and washed ready for supper without saying a word. I saw that Smoky was looking down-hearted but thought that he was a little tired and homesick, so I did not say much to him, but after a little I said, "Charley, did you get anything in the trap?" He answered very short, saying, "If I had you would be likely to see something of it, wouldn't you?" so I said no more. After supper was over and the dishes washed, Smoky took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me with the remark, "What do you know about that?" I unfolded the paper and found that it contained a lock of bear's hair. I said, "Smoky, what is it? Another one of your jokes?" I thought that Smoky had taken the hair from the bear that we had caught two days before. Smoky remarked that he thought that the joke was on him as much as anyone, and then explained that a bear had been in the trap and he got out. He described the circumstances, and it was plain to be seen that the guide or stepping stick had been placed a little too close to the trap which had caused the bear to step his foot partly over on to the jaw of the trap and had only been caught by the heel, which was not sufficient to hold him, although Smoky said that the bear had put up quite a fight before it had got out. Smoky said that when he came to where the trap was set and found it gone, he thought he would have the biggest time of his life. A bear all by himself, and when he found that the bear had got away, he felt like throwing himself into the creek along with the trap. I told Charley not to take the matter to heart so, for if he followed the trap line and the trail very long that he would have many a slip just at the time that he thought he had the game bagged. The next morning the fire was sweeping over the whole country so we hustled around and pulled all of the traps that were not setting in the water or that were not out of reach of the fire. The fire put an end to trapping for everything but a few mink along the stream. I wish to speak of one of Smoky's dry remarks. Smoky is a strong Republican. A few days after the Presidential election we were going up a small draft to look after three or four traps that I had set for fox. The first trap that we came to was undisturbed. The second one was lying at the side of the brook all in a bunch, chain and all. Plain to be seen that it had been dropped there by human hands. As soon as I saw the trap I said, "Smoky, some one has dropped that trap there." "There has been some animal in it and it has gotten out, see, there is blood on the jaws." "Very true, Smoky, there has been some animal in the trap, but human hands took it out, for no animal leaves a trap, clog and all, lying free in that way, with the trap chain slack in that way." It only required a glance about to see that there had been a coon in the trap and had been fast. Just up on the bank there lay the club that they had used to kill the coon with. After giving my opinion of the gentleman that had taken the coon, I began to reset the trap again where it was before. Smoky objected to again setting the trap there only for some one else to get the game again, but I told Smoky that lightning rarely struck twice in the same place so we would set the trap again. We started up the hollow and were soon discussing politics again until we came to where the next trap was setting. Just before we came to the trap, Smoky picked up an empty cartridge shell. A few yards farther on lay the second trap which had had a fox in it, as was plain to be seen by the tooth marks on the small brush and by the fur on the trap. That the fox had been shot was evident by the amount of fur that was lying on the ground where the animal had been caught. This was more than I could stand without giving vent to my feelings. After trying for some time to find words to give the case justice, and failing, Smoky remarked with all the coolness imaginable, that there was one thing certain about it, that it was a Democrat that took the fox and coon. I was astonished at the remark and asked what he meant. "Well, if it had been a Republican that had taken them, he would have taken the traps, too." We were now getting our trap line down to a few traps along the main creek, and we now worked those traps to the best of our skill, as we wished to get our share of the mink. We had not put out any mink traps until the first of November. The weather had been very dry and warm but as it had now turned cold and I found that I could not stand the cold as I once could, I told Smoky that we would take what mink pelts we could get in a few days and pull stakes. Smoky replied that that sort of "chin music" suited him. So after ten or twelve days of mink trapping we pulled the rest of the traps and went home, having to my idea a pleasant time. Smoky agreed that the time was all right but he thought that the society was a little slow for him, saying that if it had not been for the boys on the coon hunt we would not have seen a half dozen persons since we had been in camp. We had not made a large catch of furs but I thought that we had done fairly well, all things considered (one old played-out trapper and a kid who had never set a trap for anything greater than a muskrat or a ground hog). [Illustration: WOODCOCK AND SOME OF HIS CATCH.] We had caught while in camp one bear, ten mink, eight coon and some other furs as shown in the accompanying picture. After we left I set a few traps about home, catching three fox and a few skunk and four more mink, making fourteen mink in all. We got $4 and $4.50 for the fox, and $4 to $6 for the mink, and from 80 cents to $2.25 for skunk, and about the same for coon. We got 30 to 40 cents each for muskrats. This will about complete the story of my trapping for the season of 1908. I am sorry that I am no artist, as I could have sent some fine pictures, consisting of the bear in trap, as well as many other animals in traps, and other pictures that would have been interesting had I been able to take them at the right time and place. CHAPTER XVI. Hits and Misses on the Trail. Many years ago when deer were plenty in this section of the country (North Central Pennsylvania) and dogs were allowed to run deer at their will, there being no restriction by way of law against hounding deer, I started from the house about 10 o'clock in the morning to go to some traps that I had set for mink along the creek in a swamp not far from our place. There was an old road or path that led from the wagon road down through the swamp to the creek. Along this path it was thickly grown up with laurel and other underbrush that nearly shut out the path. I was accustomed to follow this path to the creek when going to look after my traps. On my way up to the road I heard dogs barking as though they were on the trail of something, but thought nothing of it as it was a common occurrence to hear hounds running nearly every day. I was following this path and had got within a few rods of the creek and was just about ready to climb over a fallen tree that lay across the path. The tree lay up from the ground about a foot or so and it was perhaps three feet from the ground up to the top of the log. I was just in the act of climbing this log when a good-sized buck deer went to jump the log also and we met, head on. I had no gun and if I had would have had no time to use it. I seized the deer by the horns and forced him back from the log with a startled cry at the same time. The deer, instead of trying to get away, seemed bound to come over the log to where I was, so I held to the deer's horns, not daring to let loose. I could keep him from raising over the log and after he tried several times to jump the log, he then tried to break loose from me, but I had the advantage of the deer owing to the log being so high that the deer could not pull me over, neither could the deer get in shape to strike me with his feet under the log. I think that I was so badly frightened at the sudden meeting with the deer, that I did not know what to do so I hung tight to the buck's horns and called as loud as I could for help, thinking that some one might possibly be passing along the road, which was not so far away, hear my call and come to my assistance, but no one came. A man by the name of Nelson lived about a fourth of a mile away, who had a large bulldog. The dog's name was Turk. This dog would follow me at every chance that he could get. As no assistance came, I had about made up my mind to release my hold on the deer as my strength was fast leaving me, when I thought to call for Turk. I began calling as loud as I could and it seemed that the dog had heard my calling before I began, for almost before I was aware of his presence the dog sprang over the log and seized the deer by the hind leg, but the dog had barely grabbed the deer when the deer kicked him away from the path into the laurel. In an instant the dog, with an angry yelp, jumped and seized the deer by the throat and in a moment the deer ceased to struggle and began to settle to the ground. As soon as I dared to release my hold on the deer's horns I got my pocket knife out and sprang over the log and ran the knife blade into the deer's throat. The deer did not seem to notice the knife. I think that the dog had choked the life out of him. The battle was over and it was only a few minutes but it was the hardest battle that I ever had and the dog came to my assistance none too soon for I could not have held on much longer. This did not end the fight, for I had hardly begun to dress the deer before two dogs that were in pursuit of the deer came up. I was compelled to use sticks, stones and clubs to break up a fight between the bulldog and the hounds, though I finally got the row broke up and drove the hounds off in order to keep peace. Boys, I am not sure whether the incident just related would be called a hit or a miss. I will tell of an incident that I call a hit. A man by the name of Wells and a brother of mine were camping near the old Jersey Shore turnpike and were trapping, also hunting deer. One day they had been off on the west side of the turnpike setting marten traps and had built a number of deadfalls and had also set several steel traps for foxes. On their way home to camp they had to cross several low ridges which were good sections for deer. It was nearly sundown and just the right time for deer to be on their feet feeding so we spread out along one of the ridges in hopes that some of us might get a shot. There was a good tracking snow and deer tracks were plenty. We were on the last ridge before we dropped off into the hollow to where the camp was and it was beginning to get dark in the heavy timber. I had come out onto a short spur of the ridge and was standing looking over the ground very carefully to see if I could not see a deer feeding, when I heard a shot fired by one of the boys. In a few moments a bunch of five or six deer came in sight, making their way around the point at breakneck speed. I opened fire on the bunch without taking aim at any particular deer, as it was too dark to get down to real business and the deer were in too much of a hurry to change their feeding grounds to give me very much of a show. I was not stingy of my ammunition and pumped lead at the bunch as long as I could guess where the deer were. As soon as I had ceased to waste ammunition I heard my brother calling for me. When I got to him he was at work taking the entrails out of a good sized buck. We dragged the deer down to where the deer were when I began shooting to see if I had chanced to hit one of the bunch. It was too dark to see much but we found a little blood on the snow in one place but concluded that I had not done much damage. We dragged the buck that my brother had killed to camp, got our supper and made plans for the next day's work. It was agreed that I should look after the bunch of deer and see what effect my shots had on the deer that we had found that had bled some. I was to work this bunch of deer while the other boys went to look after the marten traps, being quite sure that there would be a marten or two in the traps, for we had built some deadfalls where we saw fresh marten signs quite plenty. The next morning I was up early and had breakfast before daylight and ready to start out and carry out the work as already planned. It was about one-fourth of a mile from camp to the turnpike and as the deer which I was going to look for were making their course, the last I had seen them, in the direction of the road, I was going to go to the road and then go north along the road to see if they had crossed. The boys would take the same path to the road that I did when they would go south of camp to look after the marten traps. I had my gun and stood in the cabin door waiting for my brother and Wells to get ready as I would accompany them as far as the road. The boys were having some trouble belting their leggins and creepers on to their satisfaction. I became tired of waiting and made the remark that I could go and kill a deer before they could get their feet dressed. My brother said that I had better be going then, so I started on up the path to the road. It was thawing a little, just enough to make the snow pack. I had gone about a hundred yards from camp when I saw a track of a deer where it had stepped into the path, then had turned back about forty yards to the left of the path. A large birch tree had blown down, knocking one or two smaller trees down so that it made a little jam. Seeing that the tracks were so fresh I knew that the deer was close by and as the woods were open I was quite positive that the deer must be about the jam of trees, when a large doe stepped out in sight and it was only the work of a moment to let her down in her tracks. When the gun cracked out jumped a yearling buck that was lying down just in the edge of the jam and bounded over the trunk of a large birch and stopped broadside to me and I let him down. Thinking of what I had said on leaving the cabin and what my brother had said to me I ran back to camp as quick as I could go without even stopping to cut the deer's throat. As I came around the corner of the cabin I heard my brother say to Wells, "I bet a gander that he has killed a deer all right, for he would not shoot twice so quick at anything else." Well, the boys had not got their feet dressed yet, but chance had allowed me to make my word good only I had killed two deer instead of one. The boys helped me to hang up the deer and then went to the marten traps while I went in search of the deer I had started after. Soon I struck the trail of the deer and shortly saw that one of them had a broken leg and I did not follow the trail far when the wounded deer dropped out and left the others. I began doing the creeping act and soon found the deer lying on his trail. I hung the deer up and went back to camp thinking that I had enough sport for one day and would let well enough alone. When the boys came in at night they brought in two marten skins. CHAPTER XVII. Lost in the Woods. One writer contends that the pocket compass is but very little use to a man in a dense forest. This, I think, depends largely upon circumstances. While the writer has spent a good portion of fifty years almost continuously in the woods, he has seldom found it necessary to use a compass to guide him out. Now this is due partly to the natural faculty of locating any particular place. This faculty of locating any certain place or point by giving or knowing the proper direction to take after one has traveled all day or for several days in the woods, I am inclined to credit to a sort of natural instinct. I have often thought of the story of the Indian who was met by a man in the woods who asked the Indian if he was lost. The reply was, "No, me ain't lost, wigwam lost, me here." Now I can say without boasting that it is seldom that the camp or a given point gets lost with me, while it is not an uncommon occurrence for the writer to get lost or rather bothered himself in a strange locality. But after a moment's thought, I say the camp or the point I wish to reach is in that direction, and it is not often that I miss my calculation. As I have had several occasions to search for parties lost in the woods, I wish to relate a particular instance of one man who was lost. It was an uncle of mine by the name of Nelson, and the writer went in search of him. To illustrate that those who are lost lose their heads as soon as they find that they do not know where they are. Now I wish to say that if you lost your course or get bothered in your bearings, do not lose your head, for if you do you are lost, but keep cool and keep your head. Sit down and fill your pipe, and while you smoke draw a map of the country carefully in your mind, and almost invariably you will locate yourself and in so doing will locate the camp. To get back to the lost man in question whose name was Amos Fish, and at the time, was the proprietor of the Cherry Springs Hotel, in this county. This hotel was located in the heart of the largest forest in Pennsylvania, and originally was a great resort for hunters from all over the state as well as southern and western New York. (The time of which I write was somewhere in the 60's--have forgotten exact date.) There were several men boarding at this hotel and my uncle and myself were among the number boarding with Mr. Fish, hunting, as were other boarders. This hotel stood in the center of a field containing perhaps eighty acres of cleared land, and there was not another clearing or a building within a distance of seven miles. One morning after there had been a fall of four or five inches of snow, which made fine tracking, Mr. Fish thought that he would go out that morning and try and kill a deer. He left the house going through the field in nearly a due east course. After going about one mile he crossed a stream which ran in a north and south direction. Mr. Fish had fished this stream for trout many a time. After crossing this stream Mr. Fish crossed a broad ridge and went on to a small stream known as the Sunken Branch, and a tributary of the stream Mr. Fish had previously crossed. Now Mr. Fish was fairly well acquainted with the location which he was in, but in his search for deer he had got a little mixed in his whereabout and at once lost his head. My uncle when coming in from hunting that evening crossed Mr. Fish's track on the ridge near the head of the Sunken Branch, and had heard him shoot several times but supposed that he was shooting at deer. When the hunters all got in that night and Mr. Fish failed to appear, the matter was discussed by the hunters from all points of view. It was generally thought that Mr. Fish had had good luck killing deer and had been detained in dressing and hanging them up, or that he had wounded a deer and had been led a long way from home in getting it. When it got well along in the evening and Mr. Fish failed to come then it was feared that he had met with some misfortune. No one would believe that he was lost, as it was known that he was pretty well acquainted with the woods in the direction that he had been known to take. But as the time went on and still Mr. Fish did not come, we all began to fear for his safety, as the night was very cold, so every few minutes some one would go out and fire a gun. This was continued all night, though there was no answer. My uncle and myself had an early breakfast and started some time before daybreak for the locality in which uncle had seen Mr. Fish's tracks and heard gun shots which were thought to have been fired by him. Shortly after daybreak we found the track of a man which we could readily see had been made during the night. After following the track some distance we were convinced that we were following the track of Mr. Fish and he was lost, for his tracks would go in a zigzag sort of a circle and crossing his tracks previously made. After we had followed Mr. Fish's track for an hour or longer we saw him coming nearly towards us with his hat in his hand. We stood still and he came close to us before he seemed to notice us. He had no gun, and when he stopped he stared at us and did not seem to know us. Uncle then spoke to him and said, "Amos, what is the matter, are you lost?" Mr. Fish replied that he wanted to go to the Cherry Springs Hotel. In a few minutes after eating a good lunch which we had carried with us for that purpose, he seemed to know us. When questioned as to what he had done with his gun, he apparently had forgotten that he ever had a gun. But after a time seemed to remember the gun in a vague sort of way, and said that he must have left it by a tree but could not tell in what direction the tree was. After a search of a half hour we found the gun standing by a tree where apparently Mr. Fish had traveled around for some time. When we came to the creek on our way to the house and at the place where Mr. Fish had crossed it in the morning before, he asked what stream it was. When told that it was the place where he had crossed the creek the morning before and asked if he did not remember the creek as he had fished there many a time, he said that he had no recollection of ever seeing the stream before. Shortly we came out into the field and Mr. Fish did not know his own house. Asked who lived there and did not seem to recognize his own home until he had been inside the house for several minutes with his family. I have related this instance of Mr. Fish to show how necessary it is for one who has got slightly mixed in his course to keep cool and not allow himself to become excited. If he does he immediately loses his head and is at once lost, as in the case of Mr. Fish. He was at no time more than four miles from his house, and was quite familiar with the ground he was on during the whole time. He was lost while following the deer that he was in pursuit of. They led him into a windfall perhaps containing one hundred acres, and it was while in this that he became bothered as to the right course to go to his house. He at once lost his head, or more proper, his reasoning faculties, and at once became lost. Mr. Fish was east of the ridge and road and as he had a compass, all there was for him to do was to consult the compass and go west to the road, but Mr. Fish declared that his compass would not work, and it might have been possible that he held the compass so close to the gun barred that the compass did not work properly. In my more than fifty years' life in the woods as a trapper and hunter, it has been my lot to search for several persons lost in the woods. Once in these same woods I searched for three weeks for a little child four years old. At first the search for days was carried on by more than a hundred men, then another man and myself continued, then my companion gave it up. I continued alone for days, but there has never been a trace of the child seen or heard of, since its grandmother last saw the little fellow sitting on the door step eating a piece of bread and butter on the morning of its disappearance, along in the early 80's. To speak of the use of the pocket compass, I would say to the trapper or hunter that where he can it is best to locate his camp when in a section of a country where the woods are very large, and the trapper or hunter is not well acquainted with the locality, on a stream or in a valley of considerable size, or near a public highway or some landmark that is readily recognized by the trapper. Even thought it may be after nightfall, for the thrifty trapper or hunter will oftener find himself on the trail after the stars are shining than he will in camp before dark. Now it is quite necessary that the camper should first acquaint himself with these land marks for some distance either side of his camp (when I say some distance I mean miles) and especially get the general course or direction that the stream runs or other landmarks, for this is where the real use of the pocket compass comes in play. Now when you start out place out a line of traps or on the trail of a deer or other animal, all that there is to be done is to know whether you are on the south, north or other direction, as the case may be, from this valley or other landmarks. Now the trapper or hunter soon becomes so accustomed to traveling in the woods that when he makes up his mind to strike for camp, he can tell about how long it will take him to reach this valley that the camp is located in. When the time comes to go to camp consult the compass, and as it is known what direction to take to hit the camp, or at least the stream or other landmark on which the camp is located. Yes, boys, if any one is in the habit of getting lost the pocket compass is a very useful instrument in finding the way, providing it is properly used. Let me say, however, that no matter how often "the shanty gets lost," don't lose your head, for if you do, the compass or the landmarks will do you no good. CHAPTER XVIII. Traps and Other Hints for Trappers. All trappers have their favorite traps--the writer has his. Every boy knows that the Newhouse trap is at the top of the ladder, as to quality, but as to convenience, well, I prefer the No. 1 1/2 Oneida Jump trap, which is superior to all others on the market for small game. This trap is now made with jaws much thicker than the original "Jump" (Blake & Lamb), and the way the chain is now fastened gives the animal a straight draw instead of a twist, as was the case with the Blake & Lamb style. The Oneida Jump however, is lacking in strength of the springs, being much weaker than the Blake & Lamb of the same size but in all other ways I consider it far better than the original Blake & Lamb. The spring being so much weaker than the Blake & Lamb springs were, is a serious drawback, as the Oneida Jump trap of this size will not hold a large raccoon or a large fox. Now, while many trappers might not seriously object to the trap on these grounds as they use many different sizes of traps or a different size of trap for each animal. This I never do in trapper the smaller animals, for when I make a dry or ground set, I set the trap for any animal from the fox to the coon or wildcat, although I may be more particular making the set for mink. It makes a trapper feel sore to go to a trap and find that a fox or coon has been in his trap and escaped. This rarely if ever occurs when using the Blake & Lamb No. 1 1/2 trap, or as the original was called No. 2, though it had the same spread of jaws as the No. 1 1/2 Oneida Jump. Now the advantages that the Oneida Jump trap has over the long spring trap are many. The most desirable are perhaps the easy manner in which the "jump" trap can be concealed. In fact, a practical set can be made in certain places where it is entirely impracticable to make the set with a long spring trap. Another advantage that the "jump" trap has over the bow or long spring trap is its comparison to the long spring trap in shipping by express. This, if going on a long journey, to your trapping grounds, is not safe by freight, as the trapping season may be over before your traps reach you. Still another advantage is the amount of room saved in packing, for you can pack two of the "jump" traps in the same space required to pack one long spring trap. The writer has had a good deal of experience in this matter and knows the difference in handling the two makes of traps. Now I do not like to use the double spring "jump" trap where I am trapping, for I might possibly catch a dog or other domestic animal and it is a hard trap to get a live animal out of. Many, perhaps most trappers use the No. 1 trap for trapping mink, muskrat, marten, etc. The No. 1 Newhouse or Victor is sufficiently strong for these animals but as I have stated, I do not think this the best plan if the trapper is operating on grounds where there are larger animals to be taken, as most frequently the one set can be made to catch several kinds of animals. I have found also that one is more liable to catch the animal by the end of the toes in a No. 1 trap than in the No. 1 1/2, but where one is trapping for the purposes of saving the fox, skunk or other animal alive, then the No. 1 trap should be used, as the animal is not so liable to break a leg or to hurt the foot so badly. For otter I prefer the single spring Newhouse trap, owing to the fact that it is more easily concealed than the double spring trap. I see that a number of writers think that the No. 5 bear trap should have a larger spread of jaw so as to catch higher on the bear's foot. Now I do not intend to dictate to others as to what kind of a trap they should use, not in the least, for I have my own ideas as to traps and guns as well as the manner of using them. Now as for myself, I think the Newhouse No. 5 bear trap could not be improved, as to spread of jaws. The grasp is just right to catch the bear through the thick of the foot where there is no danger of the bear twisting the foot off. In case where the trap has a spread of jaws sufficient to grasp above the foot and for more space for the bear to place his foot well between the jaws, will say there is plenty of room in the Newhouse No. 5 trap, if the trap is properly set. I also see that some trappers want the swivel in the trap chain 8 or ten inches from the bed piece, or the point of fastening. Now I am somewhat puzzled as to an explanation in this matter, as it seems to me that the swivel will be far less liable to become useless by being twisted or wound around saplings, etc., where the swivel is close to the bed piece than it would be if placed eight or ten inches out in the chain. I prefer to have the swivel in my trap chain placed as close to the trap as possible. [Illustration: WOODCOCK AND HIS STEEL TRAPS.] Another thing that I have but little use for is a trap from which the animal must take the bait in order to spring it, for often the animal will go up close enough to a trap to inspect the bait but will not touch it. I do not think that there should be a latch on any trap, as I think that often the animal's foot is thrown free from the trap, or at least causes many catches by the tips of the toes and the animal escapes, becoming a hard animal to catch thereafter. The animal having a part of the foot resting on the latch and the toes striking the treadle sufficient to unlatch the treadle, the released jaw will throw the latch with the portion of the animal's foot resting on the latch, free from the trap, or at least may often cause a slight catch of the toes or other part of the foot. All that is necessary is to leave an extension to the arm or heel of the treadle to catch over the jaw of the trap. The trap may be made to spring hard or easy by simply raising the pan slightly higher or lowering it to catch farther on to the jaw of the trap more or less as desired. Now boys, I have given a few of my ideas as to traps, and if any of you have any suggestions to make as to improvements on the animal steel traps, let us hear from you through the columns of the H-T-T. I believe that manufacturers of animal or game traps would be glad to make any improvements on their traps could they be convinced that the suggested improvements were really of any value. * * * As I get many letters from trappers who are beginners in the business making inquiries about camping and the necessary traps, guns, etc., I will try to give a few practical hints to those who have had but limited experience of trapper's life. While, like the setting of a trap, there is no single code of rules that will answer for all localities and conditions, I will give a few general rules. The trapper should first try and inform himself of the nature and conditions of the locality where he intends to trap. If the waters are of such a size that a boat can be used to advantage, then the boat becomes a necessity. Now in regard to traps. If the section where you intend to trap has the larger animals like bear, otter, beaver, etc., then the trapper should provide himself with a sufficient number of traps of different sizes as he may be able to tend and do it well. I would advise to start with, that the trapper has about one-half dozen No. 5 bear traps, one dozen No. 4 wolf and about the same of No. 3. But the greater number of traps will be Numbers 1 1/2 and 2, if of the Jump or Blake & Lamb pattern. If of other patterns would say use the Hawley & Norton Nos. 1 1/2 and 2, say 75 No. 1 1/2 and 25 No. 2. The genuine Newhouse is of course the best long spring trap made, but a little more expensive, and we find that the H. & N. fills the bill. We prefer the B. & L. on account of its lightness and convenience in setting. Now, if the trapper is trapping where the animals are no larger than fox, raccoon, wildcat, etc., then I want no traps larger than the No. 2 1/2, nor smaller than the No. 1 1/2 Blake & Lamb. Now about the gun. If you are in a large game country it is quite necessary that you carry a good rifle. I like the Winchester and not of too large a caliber, but if there is no large game in the locality then I think one should have a Stevens pistol, ten-inch barrel, or a Stevens Pocket Shotgun, 15-inch barrel, and in either case have a good holster to carry it in. As for myself I prefer a Pocket Shotgun. It might be well to have a large shotgun in camp. You will also want your belt axe or hatchet and a good heavy sharp axe at the camp. As for bedding, this will largely depend on what kind of a cabin or camp you have. If you are in a tent, two persons should have not less than six good blankets. If your camp is so situated that you can drive to it with a team or pack horses, then you should have a straw mattress. But if you are in a locality where you can get cedar or hemlock boughs, you should use only the finer boughs. Begin at the foot of the berth and push the larger or butt end of the bough into the ground and then begin the next row so as to lap or shingle onto the first row, and so on until the head of the berth is reached. If you use a tent, I find that it is a good idea to make a skeleton frame of good heavy poles over the tent and about twelve inches above and around the tent and shingle it well with boughs, so that the snow will not fall directly on the tent. It will be a great help in keeping out the cold. But I think it is best to have at least one good log cabin well chinked, mudded and banked. Always select a spot where it is easy to drain away the surface water on all sides of the camp, and if possible have the main camp close to good pure water which is a great protection against malaria. If you are doing a stroke of business so that you will need more than one camp, the others need not be quite so tidy as the main camp, for it is not likely that you will occupy them more than a night or two at a time. Your temporary camps need not be larger than 6 x 8 and quite low, as this will save both fuel and bedding. Do not forget to get up a good supply of wood at all the camps before the trapping season is open, for you will find plenty to do after the trapping season opens without cutting wood. The main camp should be at least 10 x 12 feet inside. A place should be provided for curing furs outside. Furs should never be cured by a fire or in a warm place, for this will have a tendency to curl the ends of the fur and give it a woolly appearance. There can usually be a place fixed either on the outer gable or under the eaves of the cabin to cure the furs. Now, as to the commissary part. You will, of course, to a great extent select the kind and quantity according to the distance and convenience in getting the grub to camp. The camper will find that the most convenient as well as better satisfaction, as a rule, will be found in taking provisions to camp in a crude state, i.e., wheat flour, corn meal, beans, bacon, with the necessary supply of tea, coffee, sugar, good baking powder, salt, pepper and a quantity of rice. If, as I have before stated, the camp is so located as to be of easy access by wagon, then choose a bill-of-fare to your own liking. The medicine box should contain a box of good cathartic pills and a quantity of 2-grain quinine tablets, with any other medicine you may wish. Other necessities about the camp are a good supply of strong cord, a few feet of small rope, a yard or two of muslin, a yard of oilcloth. It may be well to give a few suggestions about a temporary camp for a night, if by chance you should get caught out and unable to reach camp. You should select a place before dark. If a large fallen tree can be found that lies close to the ground where you wish to build the fire it is best. If the log cannot be readily found then select a bank or knoll to build the fire against. First, build the fire out from the log five or six feet where you will make your bed so as to warm the ground. Now set two crotches about four feet high and place a pole in these crotches. Then from this pole place three or four poles, one end on the ground, the other resting on the pole that rests in the crotches. Then place boughs, bark, or anything to break the wind. This shelter will, of course, be placed over the spot where you will make your bed. Now rake the coals and live embers down against the log where you will have the fire for the night. Now place some boughs over the spot where the fire has been and where your bed will be. With this kind of a camp you can get along through a rather chilly night. You should always carry matches wrapped in waxed paper in three or four different places about your person. You may lose your match safe. If convenient, when going into camp, you should take several stretching boards for different kinds of fur with you. If not, you can usually find a tree that will split good and you can split some out. It is usually hard to find withes that are long and straight enough to bend so as to form a good shaped stretcher. You should always aim to stretch and cure the furs you catch in the best manner. In skinning you should rip the animal straight from one heel across to the other and close to the roots of the tail on the under side. Work the skin loose around the bone at the base until you can grasp the bone of the tail with the first two fingers of the right hand while you place the bone between the first two fingers of the left hand. Then by pulling you will draw the entire bone from the tail which you should always do. Sometimes when the animal has been dead some time the bone will not readily draw from the tail. In this case you should cut a stick the size of your finger about eight inches long. Cut it away in the center until it will readily bend so that the two ends will come together. Then cut a notch in each part of the stick just large enough to let the bone of the tail in and squeeze it out. It is necessary to whittle one side of the stick at the notch so as to form a square shoulder. You should have about three sizes of stretching boards for mink and fox. For mink they should be from 4 1/2 inches down to 3 inches and for fox from 6 1/4 inches down to 5 inches wide, and in length the fox boards may be four feet and the mink boards three feet long. The boards should taper slightly down to within 8 inches of the end for fox and then rounded up to a point. The mink boards should be rounded at 4 or 5 inches from this point. You will vary the shape of the board in proportion to the width. Stretching boards should not be more than 3/8 inch thick. A belly strip the length, or nearly the length, of the boards 1 1/4 inches at the wide end, tapering to a point at the other end and about 1/4 to 3/8 inch thick. Have the boards smooth and even on the edges. Other stretching boards should be made in proportion to the size and shape of the animal whose skin is to be stretched. You should not fail to remove all the fat and flesh from the skin immediately after the skin is on the board. If a skin is quite wet when taken from the animal it should be drawn lightly on the board until the fur is quite dry. Then turn the skin flesh side out and stretch. It is always best if you can go into the country where you intend to trap. This is especially important if the ground is a new field to you. During the summer or early fall, acquaint yourself with the streams and the general surroundings, and prepare some of your best sets for the mink and the fox. If you have a dog of good intelligence take him along, though he may not be broken to the business of trapping. It is many a fox and coon that my dog has saved for me when they have escaped from footing or a broken chain. If the dog is of much intelligence, and you use care in training him, you will soon find that a dog will learn more about trapping than you supposed possible. If you have long lines of traps your dog will inform you more than once that you have passed a trap that chanced to be a little off the main line. * * * Brother bear trappers, how do you like this style of bear trap (see frontispiece) for toting through the woods three or four miles from camp and at the same time tote a couple of sheep heads or the head of a beef for bait? In times gone by I have carried two or three Newhouse bear traps and bait to bait them with from one to five miles in the woods to pinch old Bruin's toes. Such is a pleasure to any red blooded man, who was born a real lover of the open and the stimulating effect of obtaining that $30 or $40, which the hide and meat of the bear brought, had on the trapper, was nearly equal to the desire to be out in the tall timber. Now brother bear trappers, these traps that you see on my shoulder are of my own make and are made with a half circle bed piece instead of a straight bed piece, as the ordinary trap is made. I wish to call your attention to how this trap fits the shoulders and how much easier it is to carry than the trap with the straight bed piece and note how much more readily you can get your gun into shape for action. Many a deer has given me the slip before I could drop the bear traps and get my gun ready for action when I have been toting bear traps in the woods. But with this style of trap your gun can be put in operation at once, regardless of the traps. Boys, another thing that I have learned in the last five years' experience in trapping in the south, (this was written Spring of 1913) is that it requires a trap a size larger to trap small fur bearers in the south than it does in the north, owing to the difference in conditions of the streams and the soil. Well friend Bachelder, there is no use of you and I talking or worrying any more over our bear traps or bear trapping. The gentleman sportsman and his dog has ordered you and I and all other trappers of Pennsylvania for that matter to cast our traps on to the scrap pile and we must submit. CHAPTER XIX. Camps and Camping. I will say that the conditions and location in which one is to camp makes a great difference in the preparations. If one is just going outside of town to camp for a few days outing, commodities may be to your liking as to quality and quantity. In these days, should the larder run low, it is only necessary for the camper to step out a short distance to a farm house where he is almost sure to find a telephone. In such cases all that the camper has to do is to 'phone to town, ordering his favorite brands delivered to camp, and soon an automobile is on the road laden with supplies, hastening to the campers' relief. Conditions are different when the camper is far from town; or perhaps miles from a dwelling or perhaps even a public road and the camper is compelled to pack his camp outfit, grub stake and all over miles of rough trail, or it may be no trail at all; then the camper must curtail his desires to their utmost limit. If the camper is on strange ground, and the camp is to be permanent or for some weeks, it is best for the camper not to be in too big a hurry to select the camping ground, and take up with any sort of a place. It is even better to make a temporary camp and look the locality over and select a place where good water can be had, and wood for fuel is plentiful and near camp. If possible, select a spot in a thicket of evergreen timber of a second growth and out of the way of any large trees that might blow onto the camp. If the ground is sloping, place your camp parallel with the slope, whether tent or log cabin, as the surface water can more readily be drained off, and not allowed to soak into the ground and cause dampness inside of the tent. A ditch should be dug around the tent to drain all surface water, and eaves so the water will not soak inside. If a log cabin, the dirt from the drain can be thrown up against the logs of the cabin. If the camper expects to camp through cold and snowy weather, it will pay him to place a ridge pole in crotches placed firmly in the ground. The pole should be a foot above the ridge of the tent, then place poles from the ground, the ends resting on this ridge pole as rafters to a building, then nail a few poles to these rafters sufficient to keep boughs from dropping down onto the tent. The boughs should be of an evergreen variety. This outer covering should be well thatched or covered with these boughs. This extra covering adds greatly to the warmth and comfort of the camp, as it protects from the wind blowing directly on the tent, also keeps the snow from falling onto the tent. It is also a great convenience if this ridge pole is allowed to extend out three or four feet, and a strip of canvas run over the pole and down to side poles, so as to form a sort of an awning so one can step outside to wash when it is raining without getting wet. It also makes a convenient place to pile a small amount of wood, and will be found useful in many ways such as hanging furs, clothing, etc., out to air. Do not make your bed on the ground. Build a box bedstead by driving four posts into the ground, then nail pieces across, up about twelve inches from the ground. Lay small poles on these cross pieces, then nail one or two small poles entirely around on the posts above the bottom pieces forming a sort of crib. This crib may be filled first with boughs, then on top of the boughs put a quantity of leaves or grass, when the mattress is lacking. There will also be store room under the bed, which would be wasted if the bed is made on the ground. Brother camper, when you are going well back into the tall timber where you are obliged to pack your outfit over a rough trail or perhaps no trail at all, do not waste any energy packing canned "air" in the shape of canned fruits. Take your grub in a crude state in the way of flour, beans, lard, bacon or pork, and if fruit is taken, take it in a dried form. Take the necessary supply of tea, coffee, sugar, salt and pepper, also that unavoidable baking powder. [Illustration: WOODCOCK FISHING ON PINE CREEK.] As to preparing an emergency camp for a night, if the weather is cold, and there is snow on the ground, the camper should pick a place where he will be as much sheltered from the cold winds as circumstances will allow and where he can get wood as conveniently as possible. Select a log (if one can be had) that lays close to the ground. Now, scrape away the snow about six or eight feet back from this log, and where you will have your bed, build a fire, on this space the first thing you do. Then build a cover over this space or fire, by first setting two crotched stakes about four feet apart and five or six feet high, back three feet from the log. Cut a pole, and place it in these crotches and then from this pole lay poles long enough to come back so as to give room for your bed, covering the space where the fire is built; one end of the poles resting on the ground. With evergreen boughs, cover this entire framework, top and two sides--toward the log open. Now scrape the fire down against the log and proceed to build your fire for the night. Cover the space where the fire was with fine boughs; this is your bed. Take off your coat, and spread it over your shoulders, rather than wear it on you as usual. When the camper has plenty of time, and a good axe, in building an open campfire the thing to do is to cut two logs six or eight inches in diameter and three feet long and place them at right angles with the back log, and three or four feet apart; then lay the wood across these logs. This will give a draft underneath the wood and cause the fire to burn much better than where the wood lays close to the ground. CHAPTER XX. Deer Hunt Turned Into a Bear Hunt. A friend by the name of Dingman invited me to come to his camp on More's Run, a tributary of the Sinnamahoning. This was something like forty years ago, when deer were plentiful and several men in this section made it a business to hunt for the money that there was in it, and Nathan Dingman was one of those men. It was about eight miles from my place to Mr. Dingman's camp. One morning after we had a fall of snow, I packed my knapsack with as much grub stake as I was able to carry, with my gun and blanket, and started over the hill to Mr. Dingman's camp. After I had crossed the divide, I did not go far before I began to see deer tracks. There was no road or trail down the run, and the run was pretty well filled with timber. I had about all that I could handle without deer tracks, but when I was within about a mile of Mr. Dingman's camp, I came onto the trail of several deer that had only been gone a few minutes. I could not stand it longer, so I hung my pack and blanket up in a tree and took my track back up the stream until I was quite sure that I was well out of range of the deer, and then climbed the ridge until I was near the top of the hill and on advantageous ground. The direction of the trail of the deer where it crossed the stream led me to think that the deer were going south, or down the ridge but on the contrary they had turned to the right and up the ridge. I had not gone far along the ridge before I began a sharp lookout. I suddenly found the deer lying in a thicket of low laurel. They broke from cover at a breakneck speed. I fired both barrels at them with the best aim that I was able to get, and had the satisfaction of seeing one of the deer, a good sized doe, stumble and partly fall, then hobble on in the direction that the other had gone. It was nearly sundown and I only followed the trail a short distance when I could plainly see that the deer had a foreleg broken, and she soon left the trail of the others, and went down the hill all alone. Knowing that the wounded deer would soon lay down if not disturbed. I left the trail, went back, got my pack, blanket and went on down the creek to Mr. Dingman's camp. I found Mr. Dingman about to sit down to a supper of roast potatoes, venison and other good things to be found in abundance in the woods in those days. The next morning we were out at daybreak after the wounded doe. Mr. Dingman said that when the doe was started up that she would come to water, and that she would stop on the creek below where I had left the trail, which led down the hill until in sight of the creek, when it turned to the right, then went back up the hill only a few yards to the right of her trail where she had gone down. When I saw what the doe had done, I thought to myself, old lady, you are well onto the game, and we will have lots of sport before we get you. I was well aware that she had seen me when I passed by on her trail where she had gone down the hill, and thinking that she would go to the creek below where Mr. Dingman was and told him the game the doe was playing. He said that she would come to water at the point just below the camp, and that he would go down there and watch, while I should follow the track through. I told Mr. Dingman that I was afraid that we were too late, and that the doe had already gone out, that she had made her bed so that she could watch her trail where she went down the hill, and had slipped out after I had gone down the hill on her trail. Mr. Dingman thought that he could get the runway before she would get through, even if she had gone out when I came through on her trail down the hill. In hopes that the deer had not taken the trail and lit out when I came through the hill, I worked my way cautiously back up the hill, only occasionally going in sight of the trail so as to keep her course, but as I feared, when I was about halfway up the hill, I found her bed, but the doe was gone. I took the trail and followed it up the hill until she struck the trail of the deer that she was with when I first started them, and instead of going down the ridge, she took the back trail of the other deer. I followed it back until near where I had wounded her, when she again broke down the hill and crossed the creek near where I first found their trail, and had gone back onto the same ridge that she had come from. Now the only thing for me to do was to leave the trail and go after Mr. Dingman again. When I found him and we got back to camp, it was about noon, so we got a warm dinner before continuing the chase. When we got up to where I had left the trail, we held council and made our plans for the next move, and decided that as the old lady was continually doing the unexpected, we would follow her track, one going on each side of the trail a few yards from it. We had only gone a short distance up the hill when we found the old lady's bed, where she had laid down, so that she could watch back on her trail, where she had come down on the opposite hillside. We did not go far when the trail turned to the left and went up the side of the ridge toward the head of the creek. We continued along the trail one on either side and soon we came to where a large hemlock tree had fallen parallel with the side of the hill. Mr. Dingman was on the upper side and above the fallen tree, while the deer tracks led away below the tree. All of a sudden I heard the report of Mr. Dingman's rifle, so I stood still for a minute, and hearing nothing more I went to see the cause of the shooting. The doe had gone beyond the fallen tree, then turned back and went about midway of the tree, on the upper side and lay down. Mr. Dingman caught a glimpse of the old lady as she went out, but did not catch her. We did not follow the doe far from where she lay behind the fallen tree, for we crossed the trail of a bear going west, and partly in the direction of that of the wounded deer, which continued to work her cards on us all afternoon without our getting sight of her. At dusk we trailed her into a small thicket at the edge of the farm owned by a man by the name of Foster, at the extreme head of the run. As it was too late in the day to do any more with the old doe, we concluded to go to Mr. Foster's and stay over night, and take the trail early in the morning. It was snowing a little and we thought that the thicket would be an easy place to find our game, should it snow enough to cover the tracks. In the morning when we got up, we found six or eight inches of snow on the ground, that had fallen during the night. We had an early breakfast, and started out to again play the game with the broken legged doe. Before we got to the edge of the woods, we struck the trail of some animal, that had gone across the field in the early part of the night before it had snowed much. We were not positive what sort of an animal it was, whether man or beast. The trail was leading straight across the field without a curve in it, and was making straight to a laurel patch that was one and a half miles away on the Taggart farm, less than a mile below Coudersport. Mr. Dingman said that it was a bear. I admitted that it was a bear all right, but replied that I would say it was making for the Adirondack Mountains in New York, rather than the laurel patch on the Taggert farm. We did not have far to go to make sure, and a good part of the distance was across farms, so we concluded to hunt bear a while, and give the old doe a rest for a short time. As Mr. Dingman said, the bear made straight for the laurel patch. There was not more than 15 or 20 acres in the patch, so we thought that we would circle it and make sure that the bear was still in the laurel. We found that the bear was there all right, so Mr. Dingman selected a place where he thought the bear would come out when he was routed from his nest, while I was to follow the trail and drive out the bear. I followed until near the center of the patch, when I came onto a small open place forty or fifty feet square. This open space was covered with a heavy growth of wild grass which partly held the snow from getting close to the ground, and I could see the trail of the bear through this grass and loose snow very plain until nearly the opposite side of the open space, and there I could see a bunch of snow. I was sure that it was the bear that made the bunch. I thought the matter over for a minute, then concluded to back out and go after Mr. Dingman, and see what he thought would be best in order to make a sure thing of Bruin's capture. Mr. Dingman thought the best thing to do was to go up town and get plenty of help so as to thoroughly surround the laurel, and make sure of Bruin. I objected, as I thought it best to try our own luck, and if we failed we could still get plenty of help. We followed my track back to where I had turned, and concluded to both fire at the bunch at the same time, hit or miss as luck would have it. When we fired at the bunch there was a shaking of snow, and bruin rolled out but was unable to rise to his feet. On examination we found that one ball had entered his shoulder. It was a short job to get bruin out to the road, and take him up to town where we sold him to Mr. Stebbins, a merchant, and then we made tracks back to see if we could find the broken legged doe. We found by circling the thicket that she was there, and we had the good luck to get her. We drove her out, and thus ended one of the liveliest day's sport that we ever had. CHAPTER XXI. Dog on the Trap Line. Now, we will say first that there is as much or more difference in the man who handles the dog as there is in the different breeds of dogs. I have heard men say that they wanted no dog on the trap line with them, and that they didn't believe that any one who did want a dog on the trap line knew but very little about trapping at best. Now those are the views and ideas of some trappers, while my experience has led me to see altogether different. One who is so constituted that they must give a dog the growl or perhaps a kick every time they come in reach, will undoubtedly find a dog of but little use on the trap line. I have known some dogs to refuse to eat, and would lay out where they could watch the direction in which their master had gone and piteously howl for hours. I have seen other dogs that would take for the barn or any other place to get out of the way of the first sight or sound of their master. This man's dog is usually more attached to a stranger than to his master. The man who cannot treat his dog as a friend and companion will have good cause to say that a dog is a nuisance on the trap line. I have seen men training dogs for bird hunting, who would beat the dog most cruelly and claim that a dog could not be trained to work a bird successfully under any other treatment. Though I have seen others train the same breed of dogs to work a bird to perfection and their most harsh treatment that they would use would be a tap or two with a little switch. I will say that one who cannot understand the wag of a dog's tail, the wistful gaze of the eyes, the quick lifting of the ears, the cautious raising of a foot, and above all, treat his dog as a friend, need not expect his dog to be but little else than a nuisance on the trap line. Several years ago I had a partner who had a dog--part stag hound and the other part just dog, I think. One day he, my partner, asked if I would object to his bringing the dog to camp, saying that his wife was going on a visit and he had no place to leave the dog. I told him that if he had a good dog I would be glad to have the dog in camp. In a day or two pard went home and brought in the dog. Well, when he came, the dog was following along behind his master with tail and ears drooping, and looking as though he had never heard a kind word in his life. I asked if the dog was any good and he replied that he did not know how good he was. I asked the name of the dog. He said, "Oh, I call him Pont." I spoke to the dog, calling him by name. The dog looked at me wistfully, wagging his tail. The look that dog gave me said as plain as words that that was the first kind word he had ever heard. We went inside and the dog started to follow, when his master in a harsh voice said "get out of here." I said, "Where do you expect the dog to go?" I then took an old coat that was in the camp, placed it in a corner and called gently to Pont, patted the coat and told Pont to lay down on the coat which the dog did. I patted the dog, saying, "that is a good place for Pont," and I can see that wistful gaze that dog gave me now. After we had our supper I asked my partner if he wasn't going to fix Pont some supper. "Oh, after awhile I will see if I can find something for him." I took a biscuit from the table, spread some butter on it, called the dog to me, broke the biscuit in pieces and gave it to the dog from my hand, then I found an old basin that chanced to be about the camp and fixed the dog a good supper. After the dog had finished his supper I went to the coat in the corner, spoke gently to Pont, patted the coat and told Pont to lay down on the coat. That was the end of that, Pont knew his place and took it without further trouble. The next morning when we were about ready to start out on the trap line I asked pard what he intended to do with Pont. He said that he would tie him to a tree that stood against the shanty close to the door. We were going to take different lines of traps. I said, "What is the harm of Pont going with me?" "All right, if you want him but I don't want any dog with me." I said, "Am (that was pard's given name, for short), I do not believe that dog wants to go with you any more than you want him." Am's reply was that he guessed he would go all right if he wanted him. I said, "Am, just for shucks, say nothing to the dog and see which one he will follow." So we stepped outside the shack and the dog stood close to me. I said, "Go on Am, and we will see who the dog will follow." He started off and the dog only looked at him. Am stopped and told the dog to come on. The dog got around behind me. A said, "If I wanted you to come you would come or I would break your neck." I said, "No, Am, you won't break Pont's neck when I am around, it would not look nice." I started on my way, Pont following after I had gone a little ways. I spoke to Pont, patted him on the head and told him what a good dog he was. He jumped about and showed more ways than one how pleased he was. He showed plainly the disgust he had for his master. It so happened that the first trap that I came to was a trap set in a spring run, and it had a coon in it. I allowed Pont to help kill the coon, and after the coon was dead I patted Pont and told him what great things we had done in capturing the coon, and Pont showed what pride he took in the hunt, so much so that he did not like to have Am go near the pelt. I saw from the very first day out that all Pont needed was kind treatment and proper training to make a good help on the trap line. I was careful to let him know what I was doing when setting a trap, and when he would go to smell at the bait after a trap had been set, I would speak to him in a firm voice and let him know that I did not approve of what he was doing. When making blind sets, I took the same pains to show and give him to understand what I was doing. I would sometimes, after giving him fair warning, let him put his foot into a trap. I would scold him in a moderate manner and release him. Then all the time when I was resetting the trap I would talk trap to him, and by action and word, teach him the nature of the trap. Mr. Trapper, please do not persuade yourself to believe that the intelligent dog cannot understand if you go about it right. In two weeks Pont had advanced so far in his training that I no longer had to pay any attention to him on account of the traps and the third day that Pont was with me he found a coon that had escaped with a trap nearly two weeks before. My route called me up a little draw from the main stream, and I had not gone far up this when Pont took the trail of some animal and began working it up the side of a hill. I stood and watched him until the trail took him to an old log, when Pont began to snuff at a hole in the log, and he soon raised his head and gave a long howl, as much as to say "he is here and I want help." After running a stick in the hole I soon discovered that the log was hollow. I took my belt axe and pounded along on the log until I thought I was at the right point and then chopped a hole in the log. As good luck would have it, I made the opening right on the coon, and almost the first thing I saw on looking into the log was the trap. Pont soon had the coon out, and when I saw that it was the coon that had escaped with our trap, I gave Pont praise for what he had done, petting him and telling him of his good deed, and he seemed to understand it all. Not long after this Am came into camp at night and reported that a fox had broken the chain on a certain trap and gone off with the trap, saying that he would take Pont in the morning and see if he could find the fox. In the morning when we were ready to go Am tried to have Pont follow him but it was no go, Pont would not go with him. Then Am put a rope onto him and tried to lead him but Pont would sulk and would not be led. Then Am lost his temper and wanted to break Pont's neck again. I said that I did not like to have Pont abused and that I would go along with him. When we came to the place where the fox had escaped with the trap Am at once began to slap his hands and hiss Pont on. Pont only crouched behind me for protection. I persuaded Am to go on down the run and look at the traps down that way while Pont and I would look after the escaped fox. As soon as Am was gone I began to look about where the fox had been caught and search for his trail, and soon Pont began to wag his tail. I began to work Pont's way and said, "has he gone that way?" Pont gave me to understand that the fox had gone that way and that he knew what was wanted. The trail soon left the main hollow and took up a little draw. A little way up this we found where the fox had been fast in some bushes but had freed himself and he had left and gone up the hillside. Pont soon began to get uneasy, and when I said, "hunt him out," away he went, and in a few minutes I heard Pont give a long howl and I knew that he had holed his game. When I came up to Pont he was working at a hole in some shell rocks. I pulled away some loose rocks and could see the fox, and we soon had him out and Pont seemed more pleased over the hunt than I was. There was scarcely a week that Pont did not help us out on the trap line. Not infrequently did Pont show me a coon den. I had some difficulty in teaching Pont to let the porcupines alone, but after a time he learned that they were not the kind of game that we wanted, and he paid no more attention to them. I have had many different dogs on the trap line with me. I can say that to any one who can understand "dog's language," has a liking for a dog and has a reasonable amount of patience and is willing to use it, will find a well trained dog of much benefit on the trap line, and often a more genial companion than some partners. But if one is so constituted that he must give his dog a growl or a kick every time he comes in reach, and perhaps only give his dog half enough to eat and cannot treat a dog as his friend, then I say, leave the dog off the trap line. [Illustration: WOODCOCK AND HIS OLD TRAPPING DOG PRINCE.] CHAPTER XXII. Two Cases of Buck Fever. I have heard many hunters say that they had never had a case of buck fever, and that they could shoot at a deer with as little emotion under all circumstances as they could at a target. Now this is not the case with me, for the conditions under which I am working makes all the difference imaginable with my nervous system. I never saw but one place that I did not get the buck fever when deer hunting and that was in Trinity and Humboldt counties, California. There I saw deer so thick and tame that it was no more exciting than it would be to go into a drove of sheep in a pasture and shoot sheep. If by chance you failed to hit the deer the first shot it was only a matter of a few minutes when you would have another opportunity to kill your deer. So there was no cause to get the fever, but such has not been the case in Eastern States, for many years at least. About 1880, a man by the name of Corwin and I were camping on the Jersey Shore turnpike in Pennsylvania. We had just gone into camp and as I usually make it a point to first get plenty of wood cut for the camp at night, so that when I come home in the evening I will not have to go out and cut wood, I had been cutting wood and fixing up all day until four o'clock in the afternoon, when I suggested to Mr. Corwin that we go out and see if we could find some signs and locate the deer so that we would know where to look for them early the next morning. We followed down a ridge for some distance without seeing any signs of deer but about the time that it was getting dark so that we could not see very good and we were about to go to camp, we came onto a trail of a number of deer. As it was so dark we left the trail and went to camp being careful not to start or alarm the deer. The next morning when we got up we found that a snow had fallen of some 8 or 10 inches and knowing that this snow would cover the trail of the deer so deep that there would be no following it until we could start them out of their beds, we concluded that one of us should go down the ridge opposite or west of the ridge where we had found the trail of the deer. It was decided that I should take the ridge opposite where the deer were thought to be, and Mr. Corwin was to warn me by firing two shots in rapid succession if he started the deer without getting a shot at them. I was familiar with the woods and knew about where the deer would run when started up from any particular point. I had gone down the ridge until I thought that I was below the point where the deer would have crossed had they done so during the night, or if Mr. Corwin should start them. I had neither heard anything from Mr. Corwin nor seen anything of the deer trail. I had given up hope of Mr. Corwin starting the deer so they would be likely to come my way. I had struck the trail of a single deer that was going down a short sawtooth point or a short spur of the main ridge. The track had been made during the night when it was still snowing and in some places it was hard to follow the trail owing to so much snow falling. The track led down this spur in the direction of low hemlocks. I was working my way very carefully thinking that the deer had gone down into those low hemlocks to get shelter from the storm and were lying down in the thicket. The thicket was just over a little cone or ridge so that I could not see the surface of the ground and I was dead sure that I would catch my game lying in his bed. In a moment a dozen deer came into sight as suddenly as though they had come up out of the ground and I was suddenly taken with one of the worst fevers that any man ever had. I at once began firing into the bunch. The deer seemingly did not notice the report of the gun but kept steadily on their trail. I knew the condition I was in and that I was shooting wide of the mark. I then singled out one of the largest deer, a good sized buck, and tried to pick out a spot on the back of his shoulders as though I was shooting at a target. I could not keep the gun within range of the deer by ten feet, so when I thought the gun had jumped into line, I pulled the trigger. The deer made no alteration in its course or speed but kept steadily bounding along. The deer were not more than forty yards from me. I dropped on one knee and leaned the gun across my knee, grabbed a handful of snow and jammed it into my face, then placed the gun to my face and began firing at the deer again with no better results. When the bunch of deer were nearly a hundred yards away and they had all passed over the brow of the hill, except one large doe that was a little behind the rest, the fever left me as suddenly as it came on. I pulled the gun onto her and fired. She staggered, gave a lunge down the hill and fell dead. I could have told within an inch of where the ball struck her before I went to the deer. I could not have told within fifty feet of where my other shots went. I followed my drove of deer a short distance to make sure that I had not wounded any of them and then I dragged the doe down into the hollow to dress and hang up. Pretty soon Mr. Corwin came to me and seeing only the one deer asked me if that was the only one I had killed with all that shooting. Mr. Corwin said that he had counted nine shots that I had fired. When I told him the story he had a hearty laugh of half an hour and said that I was lucky that I did not die in a fit. Now boys, you who have never had the buck fever can laugh at me all you like, but those who are over fond of the chase and get the buck fever will sympathize with me. Had I been expecting and looking for this drove of deer at the time instead of only one deer I should not have been attacked with this case of buck fever. Now, I will tell you of another case of buck fever from a cause entirely different from that just related. I was following the trail and there was just enough snow on the ground to make the best of still hunting. The wind was blowing just strong enough to make a noise in the tree tops overhead to drown any noise that the hunter might make by stepping on a dry limb, and every once in a while there would come a snow squall that would be so dense that you could see scarcely fifty feet. I had trailed the doe along the side of the hill for some distance. She was feeding alone and I was working along very carefully, keeping along the ridge several yards above the trail, to always be on advantage ground. I had not seen the trail of any other deer during the morning although it was in the height of the mating season, or as us common folks call it, the running season. I was trailing the doe along through a small basin where the timber was nearly all hardwood, beech and maple, and the woods were very open. I was quite positive that the doe was not far in advance for she had just been feeding on some moss from a limb that had blown down from a tree and the tracks were very fresh. About this time one of those snow squalls had come up. I was standing by a large maple tree waiting for the squall to pass by so that I could look the ground over well before I went any farther. After the squall had passed I looked the ground over closely but could see nothing of my deer. Forty or fifty yards farther along the side of the hill and below me there was a very large maple tree which had turned up by the roots. This tree hid from view a piece of ground close to the log. I could see that the trail led directly up to the tree. I could see a slight break in the snow on top of the log that I took to be made by the leg of the deer in jumping the log. I could see nothing of the trail beyond the tree so I worked very cautiously along until I could see past the root of the tree and as I suspected, there stood my game with head down, apparently asleep and standing broadside to me. I drew the gun onto a point just back of her shoulders and let go and the deer dropped almost in her tracks. I cut the deer's throat and began to skin out the foreparts. I had only partly gotten my work done when another one of those snow squalls came along. I was bending over the deer, busy at work when I heard a slight noise, and straightened up to see what had caused it. I looked none too soon to save myself from a terrible thrust from the horns of a large buck deer, for as I straightened up the deer shot past me like a shot from a gun, barely missing me and landed some six or eight feet beyond me. I had stood my gun against the log 8 or 10 feet from me. I sprang for my gun but I was trembling so that I could do nothing and I could scarcely stand on my feet. The buck stood for a moment looking back over his shoulders. Every hair on his back stood up like the hair on the back of an angry dog and I well remember the color of his eyes which were as green as grass. The deer stood and gazed at me for a moment then slowly walked off. The deer had gone some distance before I could control myself sufficiently to shoot. The buck had followed the trail of the doe up to the fallen tree and had caught me skinning her and it angered him. Instead of running off he was determined to attack me and the only thing that saved me from being severely hurt was my straightening up just at the right time to miss the thrust of the buck and the deer's missing me was what caused him to leave me. This was the worst case of buck fever that I have ever had and I do not care to ever experience a case of that kind again. CHAPTER XXIII. Partner a Necessity. As I promised to give some reasons why a partner is necessary, and as I have trapped many seasons both with and without a partner, I should know something about the subject. A writer, some time ago, in Hunter-Trader-Trapper said that it took some trappers fifty years to learn what others learned in a week. Now, I fully agree with this writer, for it only took me about three seconds to learn that a partner was necessary, and it came about in this way. I had several bear traps set near what is known as the Hogsback on the old Jersey Turnpike Road in Pennsylvania. The traps were strung along the ridge that divides the waters of the East Fork and the West Fork, which are tributaries of the west branch of the Susquehanna River and were setting from one and a half miles to four miles of the wagon road, and about nine miles from any house. The time in question was the last days of October or the first of November, and the day a very warm one for that time of the year. I had been walking very fast, in fact where the ground was favorable, I would take a dog trot. I wished to make the rounds of the traps and get out of the woods that day. When I came to where the second trap had been set, I found it gone, clog and all. The place where the trap was setting was in the head of a small ravine and near the edge of a windfall, just on the lower side of the bait pen, and but a few feet from it lay the partly decayed trunk of a large tree. I jumped on to this tree to get a good look down into the windfall to see if bruin was anywhere in sight. I had scarcely got on the log when I received a reception which I think was something equal to that the Russian Naval Fleet met with in the Corean Straits. I had jumped square into a colony of large black hornets, and they did punish me terribly in three minutes' time. My feet were swollen so that I was obliged to remove my shoes and my entire body was spotted as a leopard with great purple blotches and the internal fever which I had was most terrible. I thought that every breath that I drew was my last. I was two miles from the wagon road and nine or ten miles in the wilderness. No one knew where I was, nor where the traps were set. I thought no more of the bear. I only thought of reaching the wagon road. I began one of the worst battles of my life, but after a struggle of three hours I got to the road more dead than alive. But here fortune favored me for soon after a man by the name of White (one of the county commissioners who had been in the southern part of the county on business) came along. He took me home where the doctor soon got me on my feet again. I told my oldest brother where he would find the trap, so he took a man and team and went early the next morning and got the bear all right. It was four or five days before I felt able again to go into the woods and look at the traps, but when I did, I found a small bear, (a cub) dead and the skin nearly worthless. This was 45 years ago, but I am still working at the same old trade, in a small way. At another time and previous to the time mentioned, I, with a partner, was trapping on the headwaters of Pine Creek. We had been in camp about a week, when one day we had been setting a line of traps about three miles from camp. It was in November and the weather was very disagreeable, yet we were hustling for we knew that the snow would soon be on us, and then we wished to put in all the time we could hunting deer. On the day in question Orlando (that was my partner's name) long before noon was complaining of a bad headache, and said that it seemed as though every bone in his body ached. I tried to persuade him to go to camp but he insisted on setting more traps. About three o'clock in the afternoon he was obliged to give up, and said he would sit down where he was and wait until I could go further up the stream and set a couple more traps. I said no, we will go to camp, so we started. We were about three miles from camp, but Orlando could only go a few steps when he would be obliged to rest. He soon became so weak that I could only get him along by partly carrying him. He was several years younger than I, but he was somewhat heavier, so he was rather more of a load than I could well manage. I kept tugging away with him, and about 9 o'clock in the evening I got him to camp, where I fixed him as comfortable as I could, then I began a race of about eleven miles to Orlando's father's house. The distance was about one-half of the way through the woods and it took me until 12 o'clock to make it, but we soon had a team hitched to the wagon and were on the way back to the camp where we arrived about 3 o'clock in the morning. We could only get within about one and a fourth miles of the camp with a wagon, so we had to leave it there and go on with only the horses. When we got to the camp we found Orlando no better, so we got him on to one of the horses and by steadying him the best we could, managed to work our way back home. We arrived there about 8 o'clock in the morning and found a doctor already waiting. To make a long story short, it is sufficient to say that Pard had a long run of typhoid fever, and if he had been in the woods alone he would have surely died. I could relate other incidents where a pard did come in very acceptable. As it is a necessity to have a partner, it is also necessary to have a good one, for the successful trapper has no idler's job on his hands. You should always have a partner who is able to read and write and should have a pencil and paper in your pocket, for it often happens that you wish to leave a message at a certain place where Pard and you expect to meet on the trap line. Then each one takes a different line of traps, and circumstances has happened since you left camp in the morning that it changes the entire program. It also often happens that you get into camp at a different time than what you expected and wish to go out again and take up another line of traps, and you should try to keep one another informed as to about what section you are working in. Always endeavor to carry out the plans as near as possible the way they were planned before leaving camp in the morning. Of all things, do not accept of a man who is lazy or void of manly principles as a partner, for sooner or later you will drop him. Then it will make no difference how much you have done for him or how much you have befriended him in times past, he will do you all the dirt he is capable of doing. If you want to know all about a man, go camping with him. Probably you think you know him already, but if you have never camped on the trail with him, you do not. It may be that he is your near neighbor or he may have been a partner in business, but if you have not camped with him, you have yet to learn him. It is not a hard job to believe a man a good fellow when at home, but when you have camped with him on the trail, then you will know him. When your companion wishes to annoy any game, which you may find in your traps for the mere purpose of hearing the animal moan with pain; will shoot birds and animals just for the purpose of killing if you have a team with you, and your companion will ride up the steep hills where other men would walk; will neglect his beasts of burden in any way, this man you should never choose as your camping or trapping partner. But when you find one who will never wantonly torture a dumb animal and is kind to his beasts of burden, always giving it all the advantages and kind treatment possible, this man you needn't fear to accept as a trapping partner for in this man you will find "a friend indeed when in need." CHAPTER XXIV. A Few Words on Deadfalls. Comrades, as I have been asked to give my idea on the deadfall as a practical trap in taking the fur bearing animals, will say that I do not consider it a useless contrivance as some of the boys of the trap line claim. On the contrary, I consider it to be a very successful trap in taking many of the fur bearers such as will readily take bait including the skunk, mink, coon, opossum, rabbit, muskrat, etc. It is not to be supposed that the fox, coyote, wolf, etc., can be taken in the deadfall; neither is it supposed to be as convenient or as successful a trap as the steel trap. Yet, under favorable conditions I prefer it to the steel trap in trapping some animals, and it is certainly a little more humane in its operation as it usually kills its prey almost instantly, therefore it saves the animal much suffering. Now there are many kinds of deadfalls, the most of which have been shown from time to time in Hunter-Trader-Trapper. Were I up on drawing, I would illustrate some of the deadfalls which I consider the most successful, but I am not, so enclose photo. I will mention some of the deadfalls which I have seen in use in different parts of the country, some of which were good, but the majority I have seen in general use I did not like mostly on account of the length of time that it took to construct them, and the manner in which it was necessary to place the bait. I prefer a deadfall so constructed that several different kinds of bait can be used at the same time, therefore the trap is ready for more than one kind of an animal and also a trap that is readily constructed. In the South we see many deadfalls. The most common deadfalls used are those made by placing a bottom log about six or eight inches in diameter and five or six feet long. The drop was about the same size as the bottom log, only much longer and stakes were split from the pine logs and driven into the ground the entire length of the bottom log on both sides of the log. These stakes or boards were long enough to come above the drop log when the trap was set. The drop log was placed between the two rows of stakes and above the bottom log. The common figure 4 trigger was used and placed about midway of the bottom log and raising the drop log six or eight inches from the bottom log. This made a runway that enabled the animal to enter from either end of the run and the animal necessarily was on top of the bottom log and directly under the drop log. The bait was fastened to the spindle. This deadfall may work well on mink, skunk and opossum, but I hardly think it a good trap for other animals and it requires too much time to construct it. [Illustration: GOOD SMALL ANIMAL DEADFALL.] Another deadfall that I saw in common use on the Pacific Coast as well as in other sections of the country was the ordinary string deadfall. It is hardly necessary to describe this trap for every boy who works a trap line knows how to make them. The trap is made by using a bottom log three or four feet long and a drop log of the same size, but much longer. If the trap is not heavy enough of its own weight, place logs on the drop log until it is sufficiently heavy to kill the animal. Four stakes are driven, two on either side of the log and close to the bottom log and about two feet apart and driven so that the top or drop log will work easily between the stakes. Two of the stakes, the ones driven on the side where the bait pen is, had a crotch or fork and a stick was placed in these crotches. A string was tied to the drop log and to a stick of the proper length so that when the drop log was raised up eight or ten inches from the bottom log and the string passed over the stick in the crotches, one end of the trigger stick would rest against the stick placed in the crotches. The other end would slightly catch onto another stick, laid directly under the one that rests in the crotches and resting against the forked stakes and about two inches from the bottom log. This stick is called the treadle, as the animal going into the bait pen to get the bait must step on this treadle, pushing it down, which will release the trigger spindle and allow the drop log to fall. The bait pen is usually made by driving stakes in a circle from one of the trap stakes to the other stake on the same side of the bottom log. This style of a deadfall is alright as to handling bait, but I do not consider it a sure trap, as often the animal will set off the trap before it is far enough under the drop to make a sure catch. I prefer a trigger that will cause the animal to get at least one fore leg over the bottom piece before the trap is sprung. In making this style of a deadfall it is not necessary to use a string and the forked stakes with the cross stick in the forks; all that is necessary is to have two upright standards, one locked on to the other by just a notch cut in the standard that the drop rest on and catch the other end of the standard resting on the bed place. This standard is made slightly wedge shape so as to rest firmly in the notch in the upper standard. The notch should be about two-thirds the distance from the lower end of the stick up and just long enough to come down and rest against the side of the crossbar or treadle, which, as before stated, should be about two inches above the bed piece. The stone deadfall with the figure 4 trigger, I have found in common use in nearly all sections where large flat rocks were to be had to use in making the trap. This stone deadfall is alright in mink trapping and smaller animals but it is not favored much in coon trapping. There are many other styles of deadfalls which I will try to describe later. As to animals taking bait, will say, I have never had much trouble in getting meat or carnivorous animals to take bait, but sometimes it is necessary to use a different bait than what they will take at other times. This, undoubtedly, is owing to what the animals have been accustomed to feeding on. If the animal is fed on a certain kind of food and will no longer take readily to it as a bait, then use something different. For instance, I found it difficult on the Pacific Coast in the vicinity of Vancouver to get mink to take flesh as a bait, while they readily took other baits. When the mink will not take bait readily, then of course the deadfall does not make a successful mink trap. While the deadfall cannot take the place of the steel trap, yet a well constructed deadfall under some conditions has advantages over the steel trap. Often a deadfall can be set in a thicket of evergreen trees or under a single pine, hemlock or other evergreen tree, or it may be protected by building a frame of poles above the trap and cover with boughs to partly protect the trap from the heavy snows. Now you have a trap that will work alright, where a steel trap would freeze down from sleet or other causes and would not spring; nor will Johnny Graball carry off a deadfall. No, boys, do not shun the deadfall when trapping skunk in a section where material is convenient to build it with, and especially if you are near your trapping grounds so that you can go out at times and put up a trap or two so as to have a good line of deadfalls ready when the trapping season arrives. CHAPTER XXV. Advice from a Veteran. In trapping, cultivate the habit of taking great care in making sets. Always leave the surface level. As you cannot tell what particular animal may come your way, prepare for the most cunning. Note the surroundings of your set and use such material for covering as may be found there so that all may appear natural. Never stake the traps down for a dry land set, but select for a drag an old limb or root; not one fresh cut if avoidable. Obliterate your tracks; John Sneakem will not then catch on so quick. Above all things, never molest another's traps. The jump-trap as now made by the Oneida Community has thicker jaws than the old style and therefore it is not so liable to foot the animal. I find it a good trap to use. For mink, a good set is close to a bank and near the edge of the water. The bait if any is used, should be fresh muskrat, rabbit or chicken. All are good. If you wish for scent, the musk from the animal you are trapping is preferable. One famous trapper says, "any fool knows enough to catch a muskrat." I doubt whether this man himself, knows how to trap them successfully. Of course, everyone knows that muskrats should be trapped along streams or swails where you find their works. For bait use carrots, cabbage or sweet apples. I like sweet apples best, and so do the muskrats. Set the trap in about two inches of water, fasten the chain at full length to a sunken limb, drive a stake on either side of the chain near where it is fastened and you need not fear that the rat will "foot" himself. He will soon become entangled and drown. Another good set for rats is by scooping a piece out of a sod and placing it on a stone or root just under the water. Set trap on sod, fasten the chain as before and scatter bits of apple on the sod. * * * Now, boys, as many of you are about to seek new trapping locations, and as I have had more or less experience in trapping from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and as I get many letters from brother trappers as to different trapping locations, I thought perhaps that it would not come amiss to give you a little of my experience in regard to this matter. I would advise that before you go to a new location in other states from those in which you are familiar with the game laws, that you first write to the State Game Commissioner of the state that you intend to trap in, enclosing 10 or 15 cents in stamps, and ask for a copy of the game laws, or for the information that you desire. The address of the Game Commissioner is usually at the capital of the different states. Advice on game laws is generally so meager that it is often misleading, and one relying on newspaper information, often runs up against problems that he would not have undertaken had he known the exact truth of the matter. The game laws of the different states are changed so often that the only way to get reliable information is to go direct to headquarters. Now, some states have local laws, county laws, and some states have even township laws. I will also speak of writing to trappers for information as to the quantity of the fur bearing animals and game in their locality as another way to get posted. Now, while I hope that the average trapper is as truthful as mankind generally, I am aware that a trapper will sometimes exaggerate as to the amount of game in his locality. If the person whom you make the inquiry of, is not particularly interested in trapping, or knows but little about trapping and wild life, he is liable to think there is much more game in his county than there really is. And on the other hand, if the party makes a business of trapping, he is quite liable to think that game is less plentiful than it really is. It is a good plan to write to two or more parties in the same neighborhood, on this matter, if you can, and then draw your own conclusion as to the scarcity or plentifulness of the game in that section. But the better way is to go and prospect the country and acquaint yourself with the locality, for you remember the old adage, "If you would have your business done, go and attend to it yourself; if not, send some one." * * * I have read with interest the discussion of the many different makes of guns, the different calibers for large game hunting, etc., and as I am not well up on "gunology," I have listened and wondered why there was so much agitation on the gun question. I believe that nearly all of the modern guns that are manufactured today are good--at least sufficiently good shooters for all practical purposes. Shotguns can be bought at $3.00 or $4.00 that do good work. Perhaps there is not a man in the country who has carried a gun as many days as the writer, but what has done more target shooting than I have. Back in the 70's when men hunted deer in this section for the money that was in it, I often did not take my rifle down to shoot from one season's hunting to the next, unless by chance something in the way of game came into fields near the house. I was always in love with my gun and if I did not like it I would get rid of it at the first opportunity. I am still of the opinion that a gun is similar to a man's wife, you must love them in order to get the best results. I always wanted as good a gun as there was on the market. By this I do not mean the highest priced, nor the highest power gun, but the gun that would do the business. A man by the name of Orlando Reese and I were the first to buy Winchester rifles in this section, and I think in this county. The guns were the common round barrel .44 caliber and we paid $60.00 apiece for them. The same kind of a gun can now, I think, be bought for $12.00 or $14.00. Previous to the time I bought the Winchester, I had been using a Henry rifle for a time, but it was not a good gun for hunting purposes. A few years later the .45-75 Winchester came into use, so I sold my .44 and bought a .45-75. I did not like it so I sold it and bought a Colts, which was a good gun, but one day I was doing some fast work on a bunch of deer and in my haste I did not work the lever just as I should and it jammed. This made me rather angry, so I sold it and got another .44 Winchester, which I used for a long time, but I disposed of it very unexpectedly. I was coming out from camp after a new stock of provisions. My partner, Amersley Ball, was with me. We had not gone far after getting in the wagon road when we met a man by the name of Lyman who was on his way to the Cross Fork of Kettle Creek, for the purpose of inspecting the timber lands and wanted a gun to carry with him. Before Mr. Lyman was hardly in speaking distance he yelled at me and asked what I would take for my gun. Thinking that he was only joking I said $40.00. Mr. Lyman came up to me, took my gun from my shoulders, looked at it and asked me if it was alright. I replied that if it was not I would not be carrying it. Mr. Lyman replied, "I guess that is right," and taking a check from his pocket dropped down on one knee, filled it out for forty dollars and handed it to me, so I was without a gun right in the midst of the hunting season. My protest was of no use, as Mr. Lyman took the gun and went his way, laughing at me. I received a little more for the gun than the usual price at the time, but there was no dealer at our place who kept the Winchester in stock. The dealers were always obliging and would take your order and get you a gun for a small profit of about sixteen dollars. I had no time to wait for a gun to be ordered, so I began to look about to find some one who had a gun for sale. Mr. Wm. Thompson, the publisher of a local newspaper in our place had bought a new .38 caliber Winchester to use in his annual outing and said that he would have no further use for a gun until another season that if I would give him $35.00, I could have his gun. I gave Mr. Thompson the money and the next morning we went back to camp. After we had arrived at camp, I crossed the divide from the Sinnemahoning side of the Pine Creek side to hunt. I had not gone far after reaching Pine Creek before I struck the trail of five or six deer. After following the trail a ways I concluded that the deer would pass around the point of the ridge and pass through a hardwood balsam on the other side of the ridge. I climbed the hill and made for the balsam in hope to head the deer off. I had only reached the brow of the hill so that I could look into the basin when I saw the deer. I thought to myself, there is a good chance to try my new gun, for I had not yet shot it. I drew on a large doe that was in the lead of the bunch and cut loose. The doe made a leap into the air, made a jump or two down the hill and went down, while the rest of the deer made two or three jumps up the hill towards me and stopped and looked back down the hill in the direction of the doe that I had shot. I pulled onto the shoulders of a buck, the largest deer of the bunch, who gave his tail a switch or two, wheeled, made a few jumps down the hill and fell, while the rest of the bunch made a lively break for other parts. I continued to scatter lead as long as I could see them. I ran down to the deer that I had killed, cut their throats, removed their entrails, climbed some saplings, bent them down, cut off the tops and hung the deer on them. Getting a pole with a crotch at the end to place under the sapling, I pulled the deer up the best that I could and started on the trail of the others. I did not follow the trail long when I saw one of them had a broken leg. The deer with the broken leg soon dropped out from the others and went down the hill, crossed the hollow and went into a thick hemlock timber and laurel. As it was nearly night, I left the trail and went home to camp. The next morning, Mr. Ball went with me to help get the wounded deer. We did not follow the trail far until we saw the deer fixing to lie down. I backed up and went up the hill above where we thought the deer might be lying. While Mr. Ball waited for me to give the signal to come. Mr. Ball had not gone far after I had howled, letting him know that I was ready, when out of the laurel came the deer. Mr. Ball was close, so that we both got a shot, killing the deer almost before it was on its feet. Now I was so infatuated with my new gun, that it was a case of love at first sight. This was in the late 70's. I have used several different makes of guns. I also had a .30-30 Savage, which I considered a good gun for big game, and in fact, I can say that the most of the guns that I have tried were all good. I however am still married to my little .38 Winchester. I can say that in all these, considerable more than thirty years, I have never run up against a subject but that this little Winchester was equal to the emergency. Now I wish to ask, why it is that a hunter cares for a high power gun that will shoot into the next township and kill a man or a horse that the hunter was not aware of existing, when a gun of less power will do just as good execution in deer hunting? The ammunition for the gun of lower power costs much less and there is far less danger in killing a man or beast a mile away. We hear men talk of shooting deer 200 and even 300 yards. In the many years that I have hunted deer, I believe that I have killed two deer at a distance of from 50 to 75 yards, to one a distance of 100 or 150. I believe most deer hunters will agree that there are far more deer killed at a distance of 50 or 60 yards than over that distance. I think that if those hunters who kill deer at a distance of 100 or 200 yards will take the trouble to step off the distance of their long shots, instead of estimating them, they will find that 100 yards in timber is a long ways. Yes, boys, 20 rods through the timber is a long ways to shoot a deer. Why? Because the deer can not often be seen at a greater distance, where there would be any use of shooting at all, and the little .38 will do all of that and more too. * * * Perhaps the average beginner at trapping makes his greatest mistake in listening to those who have had more experience in handling the pen than the trap. For instance, someone advised readers to use a No. 2 or 3 Newhouse trap to catch marten and said that marten frequented marshy places. Now if they had asked the editor of Hunter-Trader-Trapper, he would have told you that the Pine Marten frequented the higher and dry grounds in dark, thick woods and that it was their nature to run on old down trees and to run into hollow stubs, trees, etc., and that these were the places to set your traps. Unless you were in a country where the snow fell very deep, then you should use the shelf set. He would have also told you that the No. 1 and 1 1/2 Newhouse trap was plenty strong enough for the marten, that many use No. 0. [Illustration: SPRING SET FOR FOX.] The average trapper also makes a mistake in listening to some one's ideas about scents in trapping the animal, instead of going to the forest, the field and the stream and there learn its nature, its habits and ways, and its favorite food. He also makes a mistake by spending his time in looking after scents, rubber gloves to handle traps with and wooden pincers to handle bait, instead of spending his time in learning the right way and the right place to set his traps. For one little slip and the game is gone if the trap is not properly set. It is like hunting in the days of the percussion cap gun. I have tramped all day long over hills and through valleys to get a shot at a deer, and just at night get the coveted opportunity, taking every precaution to see that there was no bush or obstruction in line. I would take deliberate aim, holding my breath that my aim might be sure. I trick the trigger, flick went the hammer, up goes the deer's tail and away he bounds beckoning me to come on. Come on, and my day's tramp has been in vain all on account of a damp gun cap. Now in these days of fixed ammunition, such mishaps rarely occur. It is so in setting the trap, one little misfit and the game is gone. In the Hunter-Trader-Trapper, I read, undoubtedly written by a trapper of many years experience, telling the true way of setting the trap in front of a V shaped pen. He said that the trap should always be set so that the animal had to pass over the jaws of the trap and not between them. Now mark my mistakes, for of late years I have been very particular to set the traps so that the animal passed between the jaws, not over them for I reasoned like this: I thought that the animal might step on one of the jaws and turn the trap up without springing it. In so doing be frightened away, or that the animal might have ball of foot resting on the jaw of the trap, while it set the trap off with its toes, or the ball of the foot might rest on the latch, while the trap was sprung with the toes on the pan. In either case, the animal's foot would be thrown entirely from the trap or so that it would only get slightly pinched, which would put a flea into the animal's ear that he would never forget. In days long since past, I was not particular how I set the trap, just so I got it planted, but in those days I also made the mistake of running after scents. We make a mistake in thinking that the fox is more sly in some states than in others. Not long ago, I received a letter from a friend in Maine, asking if I did not think that the fox was harder to trap in some states than others. Now the states that I have trapped in are rather limited, but I have trapped in Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania, mostly in Pennsylvania. I have also trapped in one or two other states, and wherever I found the fox, I found him the same sly fox. In order to trap this animal successfully it was necessary to comply with the natural conditions. We make mistakes in not handling our fur properly; in not removing all fat and flesh from the skin in not stretching the skin on the proper shaped stretchers. Stretchers for most fur that we case should not taper more than 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch from shoulder to hind legs. We make mistakes in setting our traps too early, for one prime skin is worth more than three early caught ones. We make mistakes in not having one, and only one, responsible and honorable party in each large city to ship our furs to; by giving one party a large trade should give the trapper the full market price for his furs. It would also have a tendency to make the buyer honest and honorable, even though he was not built strictly that way in making. All trappers should know the address of the party agreed upon in each city. This would give the trapper a chance to ship to the party most convenient to the trapper. The worst mistake of all mistakes is in one who uses poison to kill with. Let me tell of an instance that came under my observation the spring of 1900, I believe it was. I had an occasion to go into the southern part of this country, my road lay over the divide between the waters of the Alleghany and Susquehanna, about five miles of the road lay over a mountain that was thickly wooded and no settlers. While crossing this mountain I saw the carcasses of four foxes lying in the road. On making inquiries I learned that a man living in that neighborhood was making a practice each winter of driving over the roads in that section and putting out poisoned meat to kill the foxes. I chanced to meet this man not long ago. I said, "Charley, what luck did you have trapping last winter." His reply was, not much only got one or two foxes. Old Shaw has dogged them out of the country (referring to a man who hunted with dogs). I said, "Charley, don't you think that poison business had something to do with it. He replied, "Oh, h--l there will be foxes after I am dead." This man called himself a trapper, and is quite an extensive fur buyer. Thomas Pope says, "Man's inhumanity to man, makes countless thousands mourn." But, in this case, I think it is the dumb animal that mourns and not the man. The trapper who makes the greatest mistake of his life is the one who does not subscribe for the Hunter-Trader-Trapper. * * * In a former article I undertook to give the most practical way of killing a skunk, as I have found it, but owing to a mistake, it left the method of killing rather hard to be understood, so I will try again. I do this, owing to the many requests that I have from trappers to give a method for killing skunks, without the skunk scenting themselves as well as the trapper. Practically, there is no way of killing a skunk without causing the skunk to discharge his scent. Their scent is a skunk defense, and they will use it when in danger. Now my way of doing the job is to go at it without hesitation. We have an old adage, "If you would grasp a nettle, grasp it as a man of mettle." Now my plan is to wear clothes on the trap line to be discarded as soon as the day's work on the trap line is finished. When I come to a trap that has a skunk in it, I approach the skunk, advancing a single step at a time, with a good strong stick about four feet long, with the stick drawn up in readiness to strike as soon as close enough. Now when I am close enough to make the blow sure I strike the skunk a hard blow across the back, and immediately after, I place my foot on the skunk's back, holding the animal tight to the ground. At the same time giving the skunk a sharp rap or two on the head with the stick to make sure that it is dead. Then pick up the skunk and remove it a little to one side of the place where it was killed. Rip the skunk across from one leg to the other close to roots of tail, skinning around the scent glands at the roots of tail, so that the glands can be easily cut out and thrown away or saved for bait, as the trapper wishes. Now proceed to skin the skunk. By following these directions, the trapper will not suffer any great inconvenience from the animal's scent. Now if the trapper is a little timid, he can carry some kind of a gun of small caliber and shoot the skunk in the head. But if the skunk does not use his weapon of defense, then it is a different skunk than I have been accustomed to meet with. If the trapper uses a clog instead of a stake to fasten his trap with, and his traps are close to water, he can use a long pole or a hook and gently drag the skunk to the water and drown it. Then the water will carry the fluid or scent as discharged, away. Now if the trapper is very timid and has plenty of time, I would advise that he provide himself with a light pole ten or twelve feet long, split at one end and take a quart tin can with sockets or brackets soldered onto the sides of the can, so that the can may be placed in between the split at the end of the pole. The two prongs placed into the sockets on the can so as to hold the can firm. Now fill the can part full of cotton and prepare yourself with a bottle of chloroform (not brandy). Now with this outfit the trapper will proceed to follow along his trap line, and when he finds a skunk in his trap he will cautiously approach the skunk after he, the trapper (not the skunk) has well saturated the cotton in the can from the chloroform from the bottle. Then gently work the can up to the skunk's nose and over its head, when the chloroform will soon do its deadly work. After the skunk is dead, the trapper should remove the scent glands as before described, lest the scent may be squeezed from the glands in skinning the skunk. Another reader asks what kind of a gun he shall take with him to hunt deer, as he is contemplating going on a deer hunting trip next fall. Now I would say any kind of a rifle that suits you. But if you should ask me what kind of a gun I use, I would not hesitate to say that I prefer the 38-40 and black powder. This gun shoots plenty strong to do all the shooting as to distance or penetrations that the deer hunter will require, and there is not near so much danger of shooting a man or domestic animal a mile away that the hunter knows nothing of, as is the case with a high power gun. Besides, from an economical point, the ammunition for the 38-40 black powder gun costs only about one-half that of the smokeless or high power guns. However, if the hunter thinks that he must have a high power gun in order to be a successful deer hunter, he will find the 30-30 or similar calibers good for large game, and it is not heavy to handle. CHAPTER XXVI. The Screech of the Panther. Some time ago, a writer to the H-T-T, whose name I have forgotten, gave his views in regard to this subject, and requested that the readers give their experiences and ideas on the matter. A year or so ago, I wrote to a sporting magazine (now defunct) giving my views on this horrible screech of the panther. I have camped in the wilds of California, Oregon, Idaho and Washington. Sixty years ago, in my childhood days, it was an everyday occurrence to hear some one tell of having a panther follow them through a certain piece of woods, and tell of the horrible screams that the panther gave while following them. And still to this day, there is, occasionally a person who reports of hearing that terrible screech of the panther here in old Potter, notwithstanding that there has not been a panther killed in the county for upwards of fifty years, though twice within fifty years, I have been frightened nearly out of my boots by that terrible screech. On one occasion I was watching a salt lick for deer; I was on a scaffold built up in a tree thirty or forty feet from the ground. The lick was in a dense hemlock forest. It was well along into the night--I was listening with all my energy, expecting to hear the tread of a deer, but, so far I had heard nothing but the rustle of the porcupine and the hop of the deer-mouse and the jump of the rabbit on the dry leaves. Still, I was listening intently for that tread of a deer which sounds different from that of any other animal, when, with the suddenness of a flash of lightning that terrible screech of the panther came within six feet of my head. Was I frightened? I guess yes. And had not my gun been tied to a limb of the tree to keep it in place it would have gone tumbling down the tree to the ground. Glancing up in the direction from whence that terrible scream came, I could plainly see the outline of a screech owl. On another occasion I had started about midnight from home to go to my hunting camp. About five miles of the distance was along a road with heavy timber on each side. The night was warm for the time of the year, with a slight mist of rain. I was hustling along the best I could to reach camp by the time it was daylight. I had my rifle and a pack-sack with a grub stake to last for a week, on my back. When again, with great suddenness that terrible screech of the panther sounded in the trees over my head. The screech was so sudden and so sharp that I came near dropping right through to China. After recovering my breath and gazing into the timber for a moment, I again discovered one of those frightful owls. Every close observer, who has put in a great deal of time in the woods in the night, away from a fire and noise, knows that an owl will alight within a few feet of them, and they will not be aware of the presence of the owl when it approaches them. This noiseless movement of the owl is said to be from the large amount of down that grows on the wings of the bird. As I stated, I have camped in several states west of the Rockies, and have from childhood until late years almost continually been in the woods, and the only screech of the panther I ever heard came from the owl. My father moved from Washington County, York State, into this county about a hundred years ago, when northern Pennsylvania was an unbroken wilderness, and the few settlers who lived in these parts were compelled to go sixty miles to Jersey Shore to mill. This trip was made down Pine Creek, and usually with an ox team, and those who made the trip were obliged to camp out every night while making the trip for there were no settlers living along the whole route. The road was merely a trail cut through the woods. Father often made this trip down Pine Creek to Jersey Shore, camping out each night. I have often heard him say that he never head any kind of a noise that he thought came from a panther--and panthers were plentiful in this section in those days. Father laughed at the idea of the panther screaming, when he heard people telling of hearing them. However, regardless of what my father and other early settlers of this section, who were not possessed of strong imaginary minds have told me, as well as my own experience, I have evidence that the panther does scream and scream terribly, too. A neighbor of mine, by the name of Mr. Mike Green, a man about fifty years old, after reading the article which I mentioned at the beginning, came to me and said that I was away off in regard to the panther not screaming. He told of two occasions where he had had adventures with panthers and they screamed fearfully. One of Mr. Green's adventures happened in Clearfield County, this state, the other in West Virginia. Mr. Green stated that he was driving a team, hauling supplies for a lumber camp, when on two occasions he was out on the road until late at night with his load of supplies some of which consisted of several quarters of fresh beef. He heard the panther scream out in the woods and narrowly escaped the panther by whipping the team and driving rapidly into camp, the panther following him, screaming at every jump. A few nights later the panther again attacked Mr. Green near camp. He heard it scream and again made haste to reach the camp. When near camp the panther made several attempts to leap onto the wagon, but owing to Mr. Green's rapid driving the panther failed to reach the load. Later, Mr. Green was lumbering in West Virginia. The teamster who was hauling camp supplies the same as Mr. Green had in Clearfield County, was killed by a panther. Mr. Green heard the panther scream and when the teamster did not come, he with others from the camp went in search of the man, and found him dead. The men in camp made up a purse to pay the burial expenses, Mr. Green contributing to the fund. I have often been going along the road at dusk through the woods and had an owl follow along for some distance, flying from tree to tree, alighting on trees near me, and would often give one of those screeches, which no doubt has often been mistaken for the scream of a panther, when this trick of the owl occurred when too dark to be seen. * * * The screech of the panther I believe to be all imagination. Years ago it was an everyday occurrence to hear some one tell of a panther screaming in a certain locality and tell how it (the panther) had followed them and how they escaped by running their horses, and how the panther screamed in a tree right over their head, and how they could see the panther's eyes shine. Now I know that one cannot see an animal's eyes shine unless the animal is in the dark and a light shines directly in their eyes. It is not always these stories are told to misrepresent facts, but it is often the case of imagination or being mistaken. One of the large owls has another cry or call besides the well known hoo-hoo-hoo, which the deer still-hunter often imitates when he wishes to inform a companion just where he is without fear of alarming the deer. The writer has often seen, just at twilight, or nearly break of day, one of those large owls follow along some distance in the woods, flying from tree to tree, lighting on the lower branches of the trees, only a few feet above my head, apparently doing this from curiosity. Frequently the owl would give a screech which was similar to that given by a woman who has been suddenly frightened. Undoubtedly this screech of the owl has often been taken for that of the panther. Owing to the great abundance of down or fine feathers on the quills of the wings of the owl, the owl can light within six feet of a person's head, and if the owl was not seen, you would not know of its presence, for you could not hear the flight of the owl. While I have not had as much experience in the haunts of the panther as some, yet I have been all through the Pacific Coast States and a good part of the mountains, and have never heard what I thought was the cry of a panther, or a mountain lion. My father often told me that he had never heard anything that he called a screech of panther and did not think that a panther ever made any such screeching noise as is claimed, yet in my younger days it was a frequent occurrence to hear some one tell of hearing a panther and how a panther had followed them through a certain piece of woods. Even to this day we occasionally hear of some one being followed by a panther and how they had heard a panther screeching on a certain hill. CHAPTER XXVII. Handling Raw Furs and Other Notes. Boys, as you are nearly all in from the trap line and the trail, (May, 1910), I am going to take the opportunity to give the younger trappers (and some of the older ones, too) a drubbing. I would like to see every trapper get all that his furs are worth and I would not like to see one-half the value of your furs go, simply because you neglected to skin and stretch your catch as it should be. During the past winter I was in town one day and met a fur buyer and he asked me to go over and see his bunch of furs, saying, "I am going to ship the furs tomorrow." I went with the fur dealer and found that he had a lot of stuff, several hundred dollars worth of furs, consisting of fox, coon, skunk, mink, and muskrat, some wildcat. A good part of this bunch of furs had been caught at least a month before it should have been. Of this unprime fur I will have but little to say. I am sorry to know that any trapper will throw away his time and money by trapping furs before the fur is in reasonably prime condition. This dealer had many coon and skunk that had from one-half to a pound of grease left on the skin. I asked the dealer if he was going to ship those pelts with all that grease on. His reply was, that he was going to ship the furs just as they were and added that he did not pay anything for that fat, and only half what the skins were worth if they had been handled right. I suggested that he would have to pay express charges on that grease. The dealer said that he could not help that, signifying that he had made that up in buying the furs. I called the dealer's attention to a very good black skunk skin, that had been badly skinned and stretched and asked what he paid for such a pelt. He said that he did not remember, but he knew that he did not pay $3 for a hide that looked like that. Now this skunk skin was spoiled so far as the looks went, if not in real value, and it at least gave the dealer a good excuse to put that pelt in the third or fourth grade. The trapper, in skinning this skunk, had ripped down on the inside of the forelegs and across the belly three or four inches up from the tail. The proper way being to begin at the heel, ripping straight down the leg and close to the under side of the tail. Then carefully cut around the roots of the tail and work the skin loose from the tail bone until the bone can be taken between the fingers on one hand and with the other hand draw the tail bone clear from the tail. In this pelt the tail bone had been cut off close to the body and left in the tail. In stretching this skin the trapper had made a wedge-shaped board. The board was at least four inches wider at the broad end than it should have been and then sharpened off to a point. I think it best to make the stretching board in width and length in proportion to the animal, slightly tapering the board up to where the neck of the animal joined to the shoulders, then taper and round up the board to fit the neck and head of the animal. The tapering from the shoulders to the point of the nose of course would necessarily be longer on a board for a fox or mink than that of a muskrat or coon, which would need to be more rounding. There are some good printed patterns for stretching boards for sale. I have noticed that some trappers have holes in the broad end of their stretching boards and hang up their furs while drying with the head of the animal hanging down. Now I think that is a wrong idea. It is not a natural way for the fur on the animal to lay, pitching towards the head of the animal, and especially if there is any grease, blood, or other matter that would dry, causing the fur to stick out like the quills on a fretful porcupine. Now, boys, let us get into the habit of getting more money out of our catch of furs by removing the greater part of the fat from the skins; also by taking a little more time to skin and stretch the furs that we catch; also by doing less early and late trapping, when the fur is not in a fairly prime condition. I am pleased to see so many of the trappers in Pennsylvania advocating a closed season on the furbearers of this state, though I think that they seem to be in favor of a longer open season than will be to the trapper's advantage. * * * Comrades of the trap line, are you awake to the conditions under which we must work? The dog man has no use for the trapper and his traps. Now comrades, while I am a lover of the dog, and have used him on the trap line and trail, I have, nevertheless used the dog for a different purpose than it is ordinarily used by the average sportsman. I hope the trappers throughout the country will arouse themselves to the conditions and not allow the legislation of their respective states to pass laws to put the trapper in the hole, at the pleasure of the dog man, as has been done here in Pennsylvania. (This was written Spring of 1912.) I believe that the dog man and the trapper, are each entitled to equal privileges--the dog has no better friend than the writer. Though we do not blame our brother trapper, who will not put up as good a scrap in defense of his traps and his sport and occupation, as does the dog man in defense of his dog, and his way of enjoying an outdoor life. But comrades, we are all men and sportsmen in our way, and let us be reasonable in this matter; but brother trappers, let us not take a back seat because we may not be possessed with as large an amount of worldly goods as some of the dog men may be. Express your views upon this matter of the trappers' rights through the columns of Hunter-Trader-Trapper. Also with our respective representatives that they may not pass game laws that the trapper is compelled to ignore, as is the case here in Pennsylvania. Here they ask for a bounty on noxious animals, yet, the law forbids the setting of a trap in a manner that would take anything more wary or greater than the weasel. Was this law enacted wholly for the benefit and pleasure of the dog man? Now I wish to speak of another matter that I think is greatly to the interest of the trapper, and that is, early and late trapping. No, no, I do not mean morning and evening--I refer to trapping early and late in the season. And while I do not approve of putting out traps too early in the season, it is far better that we begin trapping in October, than it is to continue trapping until into March, for such animals as mink, fox and skunk begin to fade, or become rubbed, while the mink that is caught in October, has nearly its full amount of fur. Still, the flesh side of the skin is a little dark, which gives the dealer a chance to quote the skins as unprime, notwithstanding the pelt has its full value as to fur purpose. And as to furs caught in March, the dealer has a chance to quote "springy." And brother trappers of the States, do not put off your shipments of furs until late in March. It has been my experience where furs are shipped late in the spring, the returns are marked "springy," "rubbed," etc., notwithstanding the skins, or at least part of them, may have been caught in December or January. Comrades, let us work for our own interest, for no one will do it for us. And, Comrades, you are certainly aware that the dog man is playing every card to put the trapper in the hole. * * * Comrades of the trap line and trail, I wish to ask your ideas as to whether it is advisable to stick to the taking of the fur and game late and early, all the year around. We know that we all like the sport, and the trapper is a little greedy, as well as people of other occupations. But, is it wise to take a mink, fox or other fur bearing animal so late or early in the season that the skin is not worth more than one-third of what the same skin would have brought in a prime condition? On the 18th day of March, 1912, a neighbor, who had put in many a day on the trap line with the writer, a man who with his three younger brothers makes a business of trapping every season and makes good money, came to my house with a female fox skin that he had just caught. I glanced at the skin and remarked that the skin was of but little value. My friend replied in an angry tone, "No. It ain't!" And that is not the worst of it--she would have soon had five young foxes. I said, "You will keep it right up, won't you, Fred." "No, I am done now," he answered. But I said, "Fred, that is what you say every year." The skin was large for a female fox, and had it been caught any time from November to the last of January, it would have brought five or six dollars; but the best that he could get for the skin was three dollars. This is only one case of many, which came under my observation, and especially in the case of taking skunks after they are so badly rubbed that they will not bring more than half the price of prime skins. Now in the case mentioned above, of the female fox, the loss in the price of the skin was small compared to that of the young foxes whose skins would have been worth, next November, or December, in the neighborhood of twenty dollars. In this particular case, my friend would have got the most of those young foxes if not all of them, for the fox den was on his premises, and not far from his house. Now, comrades, let us stop this catching of unprime furs--it is our bread and butter. Let us stop wasting it, for there are but few trappers, who have any more of this world's goods than he needs. Let every trapper do all that he can to put a stop to this waste of fur by catching the fur bearers, when their skins are not more than one-half their value--and many are taken that are practically worthless. We must do all that is in our power to stop a wasteful slaughter of the fur bearing animals, for they are already becoming far too scarce; both for the trappers' benefit, as well as those who wear the finished goods. Comrades, instead of slaughtering the fur bearers during the season of unprime furs, let us look up our trapping grounds, for the coming season, and have all preparations made, and our plans well laid. Then when the season of prime furs arrives, let us take to the trap line and follow it diligently for two or three months, then drop the fox, skunk, mink, coon and opossum and put in more time on beavers, otters, and muskrats. This applies to the middle, northern and southern states, while those in the far north, can, of course, continue to take the fox, mink, etc., longer, but it is not good policy for the northern trapper, even to keep up the good work so long as to "kill the goose that lays the golden egg." * * * I notice that some of the comrades are complaining that they do not get a square deal from some of the fur buyers. Shame! shame! brothers. Do you not know that the Fur Dealer is not even making a living profit out of your pelts? That is the reason why there are so many in the business. And do they not always urge the trapper to send in his furs early for fear there will be a drop in the price, and the poor trapper will lose on the price of his furs? Now, boys, can't you see that the average fur buyer is awfully good to the poor trapper? But comrades, are not we, the trappers, partly to blame for this unfair deal? Are we careful that our furs are at least fairly prime and carefully cured and handled? Are we always careful when making our estimate to give a fair grade ourselves? This, comrades, we should always be careful to do, and then we should never ship our furs only to parties who are willing to hold them until they have quoted what price they can pay for the bunch. If the prices are not satisfactory, the fur dealer should have agreed with the shipper before the furs were shipped to him to pay one-half of all express charges, and either return the furs to the shipper or to any house in their city that the shipper may designate. Now, comrades, make some such bargain with your dealer, and if you do not get a square deal do not be shy in giving the transaction with the dealer's name. * * * Comrades of the trap line, come down to camp and let us talk over this question of the fast disappearance of the furbearing animals. The fact of timber becoming scarce has made nearly every one timber-mad--no, that is not right, I mean money-mad--and they wish to secure this money through the fast increasing value of timber. In the late sixties, right here in sight of where I am sitting, I saw as nice white pine cut and put into log heaps, burned up for the purpose of clearing the land, as ever grew. Now, boys, I liken the trapper and the dig-'em-out and the dog-hunter to our ancestors in the wasting of timber, only our ancestors at that time could not see the value of the timber that they were wasting. The trapper, the dig 'em-out and the dog-hunter are all money-mad, made so by the high prices of fur. But unlike our ancestors, the trapper, dig'em-out and dog-hunter should be able to see the folly in taking the furbearers when in an unprime condition, because we all know the difference in the value of a fox, a skunk, a mink, or the skin of any other fur-bearing animal taken in September or late in the spring when unprime, than the same skins would be worth if taken in November or any month during the winter. I trapped in three different states in the South last season (1912) and I met with trappers and dog-hunters who admitted that they trapped and hunted in September. We saw one trapper who had four large mink also quite a bunch of other furs, consisting of coon, muskrats, civet and skunk; the trapper said that the mink were caught last September or the first of October. He wanted six dollars for the four mink. Just think of those four large mink being offered for six dollars and he could not get a buyer at that price. The rest of his early caught furs ranked with the same grade as the mink. Comrades, just think that over and see how foolish we are to begin trapping so early in the season. These same mink, had they been caught the last of November or in December, would have been worth, easily, six or seven dollars apiece. This same party had two mink that he had caught the first of November and he asked five dollars apiece for them and they were not near as large as those caught in September. Now, brothers of the trap line, the most of us will admit that we are not overstocked with worldly goods and we are not to be blamed for getting a little money-mad; but when we get so money-mad that it makes us so blind that we not only destroy our pleasure but we throw away from twenty-five cents on a muskrat and four to six dollars on a fox or mink we should stop and think! While out in camp on our fishing trips this summer, let us invite all of the boys of the neighborhood to come and let us talk this matter over with them and show them how lame we are to indulge in this early and late trapping and hunting of the furbearing animals. Let us induce the boys to become readers of the H-T-T, one of the greatest sporting magazines of the world, and through the columns of this magazine, put up their fight for the protection of the furbearer and the song birds. Unless the trapper puts up his own fight for the protection of the furbearers, they will soon be exterminated. The dog-man is now trying to place a tariff on the trappers' bread and butter in placing a bounty on the furbearer to induce the money-mad trapper to destroy the furbearer during the summer when their fur is worthless. Also, let us have a little chat with the dig 'em-outs or den-destroyers. Boys, what is the difference how the skunk or coon is caught, whether by the steel trap or by dig'em-outs or by the dog; if the animal is caught is it gone, isn't it all the same? Well, it looks to the fellow up the tree as though there was quite a difference. Now comrades, if we dig out a skunk, that den, that habitation is gone, is it not, and there is nothing left to induce other skunks to frequent that location. Now, as to hunting the coon and possum with the dog, two-thirds of the time the coon or possum is treed in a den tree or rock and the tree is cut down and the rock or other den is destroyed and you will get no more coon or possum at that place. If this work of destroying the dens of the skunk and the coon is thoroughly practiced, the dens will soon be gone and with the disappearance of the dens the skunk and the coon also disappear. If the dig'em-out or dog hunter, when he found that he must destroy a den in order to get his game, would leave it or get the animals in some other way without destroying the den, then there could be no objection to the dig'em-outs or to dog-hunting. Now, comrades, I will give some of my own experience in regard to this destroying of den trees. I trapped for a short time around a slough or pond in Alabama two years ago. The large timber in the vicinity of this pond was mostly oak and lumbermen were cutting this timber and taking it out. Coon were quite plentiful around this pond when I first began trapping there but I soon noticed that signs were fast disappearing and I could not think what the cause was. I went to another pond or rather a swamp about two miles from this pond where I again found coon quite plentiful. Not long after I had moved my traps to this other slough a party of negroes came to my camp; they had five dogs. I inquired what luck they were having and they complained that since the timber had been cut around Swan Pond there were no den trees for coon or possum and they were all gone. When these colored people told me what the trouble was I could readily account for the fast disappearance of the coon signs about the pond. I went to the same pond again this past season and while I found a few signs I did not consider it worthwhile to put out a line of traps so I went on to the swamp and put out my traps. It made me two miles further travel in that direction but it paid me just the same. Comrades, let us induce all the boys to come to camp where we can consult with them and let us get a move on us and locate our trapping grounds and make all preparations for the trapping season. This will enable us when the fur is prime to make more money in two months than we do in four months when we indulge in this September and unprime fur trapping. At the same time we will be able to lift our traps while there is still some of the furbearers left and we have not "killed the goose that lays the golden egg." CHAPTER XXVIII. The Passing of the Fur bearer. Well, boys, I suppose you are well pleased with the bounty law in this state, (Pennsylvania) as it now is? While it is doubtful if I shall ever again be able to follow the trap line, I am nevertheless as much, and perhaps more, interested in the welfare of the trapper, than when I was able to follow a line of traps. I am inclined to think that the present bounty law (1907) will not only be a damage to the trapper but also to the state. People who never thought of trapping before are now preparing to trap, and some are already at it, and their cry is, Bounty! Bounty! It reminds me of John Chinaman when gold was discovered at Cripple Creek, Colorado. All John could say in his rush for gold, was Cripple Creek, Cripple Creek! Fortunately the greater part of this class of trappers will catch but few of the shyer animals (and the best fur bearers). It was the Game Clubs that asked for and received the Bounty Law. Now if the bird hunter will leave his trained bird dog at home, and walk up to the birds he shoots, he will get plenty of exercise, and the game birds will soon be more plentiful--but I suppose this would not be sportsmanlike. I am well acquainted with a man who is a member of a Game Club; also a game warden. A neighbor of mine who is a good trapper was visiting me a few days ago and he told me of a little matter that took place between the game warden and sportsman in question, and himself. My neighbor said that he was at the place of business of the Game Warden ----, and he said to my neighbor, "There are three traps you can have for I have no use for them. My dog got in one of them, and I brought the things home with me. I should have thrown them in the river." When my neighbor came to look at the traps he found his own private mark on the traps, so he said to the warden that they were his traps, for there was his own private mark. The warden replied that he couldn't help that, and that there were three more over at the house that he could get if he wanted to. When my neighbor went to get the other traps he found that they were not his traps, but he knew by the mark on them the traps belonged to his neighbor, so he told the warden about it. Now the intention of the true sportsman is to kill two birds with one stone through the Bounty Law; destroy the fur bearer, and by so doing, do away with what I have heard many a true sportsman call a nuisance--the trapper and his traps. Apparently this state or its lawmakers, look upon the game business and the fur industry in a very different light from what many do. Many states throughout the Union are enacting laws to protect the fur bearing animals of their respective states, and are only placing bounties on such animals as are of little use as fur bearers, and are destructive to stock. No doubt but that these states look upon the hundreds of thousands of dollars put into the pockets of their citizens through the trapper and his products, the same as they would upon equal amount of money brought into their respective commonwealths through any other industry. I believe it would have been well to have had a bounty of $2.00 on a wild cat, and 50 cents or $1.00 on a weasel, and the same on hawks. I would like to have a little private talk with the trappers of Pennsylvania. I do not wish to go away from home to give advice, for usually unsought-for advice will reach about the same distance that the giver's hat rim does. Boys, remember that this is private--just between you and I. When we get ready to set our traps about the first of November, let's try to--Oh, well, you kick, do you? You say that the bounty trapper will have everything caught before the first of November. That is true to a certain extent, but we can't help that, for you know we are not true sportsmen, so all we can do is to stick to common sense. What I was about to say, boys, when we set our traps about the first of November, was, let's try to set our traps so as to avoid catching our neighbor's cats and dogs. If by mistake we should catch a neighbor's cat, in freezing weather, and the cat's foot is frozen, kill the poor thing at once and don't let it out to remain a poor cripple the remainder of its life. And say, boys, don't you think it would be a good idea to get the consent of the farmers to allow you to set traps on their premises, wherever you can do so? And don't you think it would be best to be very careful to not break down the farmer's fences and leave their bars and gates open when we pass through them tending our traps? In fact, we should be very careful and do as little damage as possible, for you know we trappers are not true sportsmen. The true sportsman can buy or lease lands and have their private game preserves, so let us try to keep on the right side of the farmer or there will soon be a time when we will have no place to set our traps. * * * Certain game club men who are headed by a certain M. D. are circulating a petition to both branches of the Legislature and the Governor, to have a law passed to abolish bear trapping in Pennsylvania. This M. D.'s excuse is a plea of humanity, claiming that many bear are caught and allowed to remain in the trap until the bear gnaws or twists off his foot and often the bear is caught the second time and another is taken off, when the bear is destined to go through life on two feet. Now in all of my more than fifty years of bear trapping, I have never known a bear to gnaw his foot in the least degree. Neither have I had a bear twist off his foot when caught in a trap that has a spread of jaws no larger than 12 inches, which will catch a bear through the thick of a foot. The Newhouse No. 5 bear trap which is the most common trap used in bear trapping, has a spread of jaws of 11 1/4 inches. The law which is now (1910) in force in this state provided that a bear trap must be looked to at least every forty-eight hours. Under these conditions, there is no danger of a bear twisting off a foot. It is true that if a trap is used with a grasp high enough to catch above the foot and the bear is allowed to remain in the trap for a long time, they will sometimes twist off a foot. But this sympathetic M. D. makes no mention of the bear that is wounded by a gunshot, escapes and lies for weeks, and then dies or recovers as the case may be. The wounding of a bear from a gunshot is far more liable to occur than it is to take a bear's foot by being caught in a trap. This sympathetic doctor makes no mention of the farmer who has a number of sheep killed by bears, which is almost an every day occurrence during the summer season in any section where bear frequent. Now, Brother Trappers, it is not the great sympathy that these gentlemen club men have for the bear. No, not in the least. What these gentlemen want is to drive the lowly bear trapper out of business, so that those very sympathetic gentlemen may more easily kill a bear without losing too much of their precious sweat, and not be compelled to get too far from camp and the champagne bottle. Now, Brother Bear Trappers, my object in writing these few lines is to ask you and each of you to write your respective representative at once, advising him that you are opposed to any law to abolish the trapping of the bear. I believe that I was the first to advocate some remedy against the wasteful slaughter of the fur bearing animals through the medium of our favorite magazine, the Hunter-Trader-Trapper. I urged that the remedy was with the large raw fur dealers by refusing to accept skins that were not in a reasonably prime condition. Since my writing, other more capable writers have taken up the matter and have advocated a remedy from the same standpoint. Now by close observation I have become satisfied that there is no use of looking further in that direction for a remedy of this wasteful slaughter of the fur bearing animals. The city fur dealers receive the goods which consist of all manner of skins and all grades from good to poor and worthless. In most cases the dealer received the goods from local dealers who have gathered the furs up from among the trappers, paying such prices as he thought would leave a fair profit on the whole bunch. In most cases paying more for the poorer grade than it was really worth, while paying far less than the prime skins were worth. [Illustration: WOODCOCK ON THE TRAP LINE 1912.] Now the dealer was hardly to be blamed for this sort of transaction, for it was the only way that he could make a deal with the trapper. The city dealer is in the same fix as the local dealer. He quotes furs from number one down to number four and trash, making up on the better grades what he may have lost on the poorer. Thus you see there is no one out anything except the trapper, who will insist on trapping too early in the season, as well as too late in the spring of the year. Now we will say to the brother trappers of Pennsylvania and other states as well, that we are at the parting of the ways, allowing us to use the term. We must do something desperate if we wish to save the fur bearers from becoming extinct and save the trappers' pleasure and what profit he may derive from the business. Now the only remedy is a closed season on all fur bearing animals. If we are to derive any special benefit from a closed season, the open season must be made short, for every trapper of much experience knows that the fur bearers of Pennsylvania have become extremely scarce in the past few years. In fact in some parts there is but little stock left to build on. I would say that not more than two months of open season should be allowed, if we get real benefit from a closed season, and taking the whole state into consideration, I believe that November and December would give the best general satisfaction. Now, brother trappers, do not be hard on me because I advocate a shorter season to be open than some trappers seem to be in favor of. Well, we had the bounty law and we all have seen the results. I would like to say here that the bounty law is still doing its work of annihilation. The law is still in force as it appears on the face of it, but nevertheless there has been no appropriation made by the legislature to pay the bounty. Some trappers do not know but what they will get the bounty until they present these certificates for payment, then to learn that there is no bounty for them. Other persons and would-be trappers are getting the certificates and holding them, thinking that there will be an appropriation made to pay this bounty. In this they will also find their mistake. Now, brother trappers, we all know that the Lord helps him, who helps himself and if we would save the fur bearing animals from complete annihilation we must each of us do our part and not depend on some one else doing the work. Let us all who would have a closed season on mink, fox, skunk and muskrat get a petition to that effect and circulate it. Get your merchant, doctor, and every other business man in your neighborhood to sign the petition and as many others as we possibly can. Now, my dear friends, let us remember that the gentleman sportsman will not help us in this matter and if we would have a closed season we must push this matter ourselves. In my upwards of fifty years on the trap line and the trail, I have always done my part (as I saw it) to stop wasteful slaughter of game and the fur bearers and I will do the very best that I am able in this matter, although I realize that my days on the trap line are few. Now, comrades, on the fourth of July (1910), the primaries to nominate candidates to represent the people of the commonwealth of Pennsylvania, will be held. Let every trapper of the state, who is interested in the matter of a closed season on our fur bearing animals get out and talk with their candidates whom they wish to represent them at the next assembly. Let him know that you wish a law passed at the next legislature giving a closed season on fur bearing animals. We should bear in mind, that writing and talking without action will not do. We must get busy at once if we would accomplish anything. CHAPTER XXIX. Destruction of Game and Game Birds. Of late (1908) there has been much writing and law making in an attempt to preserve the game of this commonwealth, and it reminds one of the old adage of "Locking the Barn Door, after the Horse was Stolen." At the last Assembly of the Pennsylvania Legislature, there was a Bounty Law passed with an appropriation of $50,000 to pay the bounty on the different animals. The appropriation was exhausted almost before the trapping season had begun, or at least should have begun, so far as the trapper's interest was concerned. Now, I wish to speak of the bounty as to fox and mink, and I wish to speak of an incident that came under my observation. A neighbor of mine makes a business of trapping each fall; there were three in the family, who trapped last fall. They caught 11 fox, 4 mink, 8 coon, 2 weasel and 1 wildcat. This catch was all made before the 20th of October and sold for $34.45, or including bounty, $66.45. Now, had this same fur been caught in November or December, the fur alone would have brought at least $68.00, and the taxpayers would have been $32.00 ahead. I also know of another party who dug out two nests of young mink and got nine young ones. The old mink escaped. I asked this man why he did not let them go until fall or winter, as these dens were near his mill? He informed me that he never fooled away any time trapping and had he left them go until fall the mink would have been gone and now he was $6.50 ahead. Now, this man had actually destroyed at least $30 worth of furs to get $6.50 in bounty. While I think that the bounty on wildcats and weasel is all right, I do not think a bounty on fox and mink at all necessary. The high price their fur brings will induce the trapper to take all that the bounty would induce him to do, and at a time when the fur will bring more than a great deal of early caught furs would bring, including the bounty. It is quite doubtful as to mink being very destructive to birds or their nests, and as to the destruction of poultry, it is a very easy and inexpensive matter for any poultry raiser to arrange his poultry house so as to take any prowling mink that should come about his premises. Now, I would suggest to the bird hunter, or as he prefers to be called, "sportsman," that if he will leave his automatic gun and his bird dog at home, and merely take a good double-barrel breechloader and go into the bush, and "walk up" his birds, instead of having a dog to show the bird to him, he will do far more to protect the game bird than any bounty law will do! This the sportsman must do, or the game birds of this state will soon be a thing of the past. About 1870, there was a move begun to check the slaughter of the deer in this state, but it was only in a half-hearted way. The writer circulated the first petition to get the law enacted prohibiting the hounding of deer. After some years the law prohibited the chasing of deer with dogs, but the law could not be enforced for the very reason that these same sportsmen wished to hound deer. He would go on to the streams where there were but few inhabitants, and hire all of the people living in the neighborhood to take their dogs to the hills and start them on the trail of deer. The "sportsman" would lay in ambush and shoot the deer when they came to water, providing they were able to see the sights on their guns sufficiently clear to get a bead on the deer. These "sportsmen" would pay the natives a good sum for their services and would often buy hounds at high prices and bring them to the locality where they intended to hound deer and pay some one living in the neighborhood a good price to keep their dogs from one season to another. These "sportsmen" were sure to make the constable, whose duty it was to report this violation of the deer law, a present of a fine fishing rod or some other article which might be a ten or twenty dollar bill. Now, under these conditions it was next to impossible to get any one who knew anything about the transaction to make a complaint, or even be a witness against those transgressors of the deer or hounding law. But in time the law was made sufficiently stringent as to virtually put a stop to this most cruel practice of deer hunting. But now another bad thing came into vogue. Non-residents were allowed to go into the woods where they would camp from the first day of the open season for deer until the close and often some days after. Now, "the horse has been stolen." The deer in this state are virtually gone. "The door has been strongly locked, but it is now too late." This game rule applies to the game fish of the state and unless there are laws enacted which will apply more closely to the preservation of the game birds, than a closed season and a bounty or scalp law, the game birds will soon go the way of the deer and the game fish too. I wish to say a word to our friends on the Pacific Coast as to the slaughter of game and especially that of deer. I saw a slaughter of deer in nearly all of the states west of the Rocky Mountains that was cruel. In California, in 1904, I saw men kill deer seemingly for no other purpose than the desire to kill, or as I put it, the desire to murder. I saw deer killed when the slayer positively knew that there could not be any use made of the carcass. I saw deer killed when only a fry would be taken from the ham, the remainder of the carcass left to lay without even the pretense of dressing. It was a common occurrence to kill deer for no other purpose than to feed dogs. One day I was standing by a man on a sand bar on the bank of a river when we noticed a doe a few rods away looking at us. The man drew his gun to his shoulder in the act of shooting and I exclaimed, "My God, man, you are not going to shoot that deer, are you?" My words were not out of my mouth when the gun cracked. The deer was mortally wounded and ran directly towards us, making desperate efforts to keep its feet. It fell dead within ten feet of where we were standing. I walked away. The slayer of the innocent creature stood and gazed at it a moment and then with his foot he pushed it off the bar into the river. I hope I may never see another such sight. It was June and the doe was heavy with fawn and this man knew that he could make no use of this deer whatever. I saw much wasteful slaughter of deer but none quite so inhuman as the one mentioned. The game laws of the Pacific Coast were not enforced. When well back in the mountains it was a rare thing to hear the game laws spoken of, not even by the game wardens. Now I think that all who are lovers of the woods and fields should join in a general move to protect this wasteful slaughter of all game and game birds, no matter whether we are the so-called "pot hunter" or the "gentleman sportsman," but none will regret this unreasonable waste of game more than those who are living back in the mountains, where game is most plentiful, when it is gone. Nor none will get more benefit and pleasure from the very fact that they are living in a game section, yet these are the ones who do not seem to care how great the slaughter, apparently never taking it into consideration that the present rate of slaughter will soon leave their game laden section as bare of game as that of the older settled countries. Comrades, let us all join in the preservation of what game and fish there is left, whether we may be called pot hunters or gentlemen sportsmen. I would be the last one to wish to deprive any trapper or camper from making good use of game at any time when in camp, but let us be careful about the waste of it. * * * Comrades of the trap line, you of course are aware that a trapper is considered of small account by those who make or cause to be made, the game laws of this state (Pennsylvania), and brother trapper, are we not as much to blame as the ones who concoct the game laws to their own liking? The accompanying picture will show a part of the confiscation from the writer by the game laws of Pennsylvania and this same confiscation applies to every trapper in the state to a more or less extent. Had we presented our side of this question to our respective representatives in a clear and reasonable light would we not get a square deal? If not, then why not? We are aware that the man with the dollar has a great influence in comparison with the poor trapper, but are there not ten of the poor trappers to one of the dollar men and have we not the just and reasonable side of the question? Do not our representatives know that the raw fur industry of the state is of greater importance, financially, than the wheat crop of the state, for which the legislature does all it can in the way of appropriations to help the farmer to increase the yield of wheat? Had this been shown to the assembly, would it not have passed laws to protect the fur-bearers of the state, instead of bounty laws to exterminate the fur-bearer, and this act at the expense of the public? Every dollar that is appropriated by the House of Representatives in the way of bounty on so-called noxious animals, must come from the pockets of the taxpayers, and is not a dollar saved in the way of protecting the fur-bearers of the state equivalent to a dollar produced from a bushel of wheat? Now, the dollar man will tell us that the fox and mink are very destructive to game and game birds. This, to a great extent, is a mere bugaboo, or an excuse to knock out the trapper. There is little doubt but that a fox occasionally kills a grouse or partridge or a rabbit. Admitting this to be the case, is not a good fox or mink skin worth ten times as much to the trapper as a partridge or rabbit is to the dollar man? But that is not all, if it is the pleasure of an individual to amuse himself with the traps, why should he be deprived of that pleasure? It is certain that the trap will not cause any more harm in the way of damage or in a cruel manner, than a dog will. While the dollar man makes a plea in defense of game, it is generally known that his plea is in reality in defense of his manner of sporting, regardless of any desires that the poor trapper may have and there are certainly but few trappers but wish to see the game and game birds preserved as well as the dollar man does. I doubt if there is a man in the State of Pennsylvania who has worked longer, or done more according to his ability, to protect and preserve game than the writer has, and as to the dog, he has no greater friend than the writer. As to the preservation of game and game birds, I believe in preserving it in a substantial way and not in a mythical manner, under the pretext of a bounty on noxious animals and then pass laws that do away with the trap, the most effective implement there is in taking that noxious animal. As the game and bounty laws of Pennsylvania stand today, it reminds one of the old lady who told the boy that he could go in swimming, but he must not go near the water. Now, I believe in a bounty on wildcats, hawks and weasel, sufficient to induce the poor man to spend the time necessary to exterminate these animals when an opportunity comes to him, for the dollar man will not take the trouble to do so. But the only effective bounty law must be placed on the game man, in the way of cutting his bag limit of birds for a single day and the season in two, and placing a closed season of five years on deer. There is much said as to the rapid decrease of game. Now, so far as this applies to deer, and my observation extends over four counties of the state, at the present decrease (1913) of the deer, there will not be a deer left in these four counties at the end of five years and the deer law is being continually violated. In order to enforce the game laws of the state, the laws should be as near equal as possible, in giving each man his way of enjoying his manner of out-door sport, either in fishing, hunting or trapping. We are aware that there must be a limit to man's idea of sport. There are plenty of men, for instance, who enjoy the use of dynamite in fishing, in killing all the fish in the stream, small fish along with the large ones, also all kinds of fish that happen to be in the pool where the dynamite is used. It may be the pleasure of other sportsmen to kill birds of all kinds and also deer at any and all times of the year. This kind of work can not be allowed. In order to enforce the game laws, the laws must be in harmony with the greatest number of people possible, and not enact game laws that deprives a goodly portion of the people (I refer to the trapper) of their pleasure simply to gratify a certain class of sportsmen. The game wardens will then find it hard enough to enforce the law. Say, comrades, I wish to call your attention to an article in the December number of H-T-T, 1912, by Mr. J. R. Bachelder. Mr. Bachelder is an old and respected man and one of the rural mail carriers of Cameron County. Mr. Bachelder describes how the trap law of Pennsylvania has deprived him of the only pleasure that he was able to enjoy in the open, that of tending a few traps. And comrades, we of the trap line and trail, who are not blessed with the dollar and the automobile, will soon find that our pleasures in the open, like Mr. Bachelder's, are laid by for all time. If the club man, through his leasing policies and the trespass law that he has before the House of Representatives, becomes a law, we can go away back and sit down. But, comrades, I consider that we are to blame to a large extent for these "one man" game laws. Had we come out at the right time and fought for our rights in the open instead of slinking back in the dark, whining, I believe that the law, as applied to the trap, would be different and I should not violate the game laws after passed, no matter if they are not wholly to my liking. The professional sportsman makes a great talk about the amount of birds that the fox destroys. Now, the facts are, one weasel or snake will destroy more rabbits or birds and birds' eggs than a dozen foxes. The fox gets the greater part of his food from the field mouse. This fact any close observer knows. * * * Brother trappers, you are aware that the nations--the United States, Great Britain, Japan and Russia, have taken the fur seal under their protection, and will protect the seal and sell their skins. I wish to ask you, brother trapper, if your wife, daughter or sweetheart wears furs made of the seal skin. No? Well, your wife, daughter or sweetheart does wear furs made from the fur bearer that runs on the hillside back of your house. Then, why do you stand for a bounty on these animals from which the furs are made for your wife, daughter or sweetheart to wear, to hasten the extinction of these fur-bearers, while the millionaire gives the word to the government, and the fur-bearer of the millionaire is protected at the expense of the people? Say, you wives, daughters or sweethearts of the trapper, do you stand for this kind of a deal? A few words in regard to the protection of the game and game birds: I think that every lover of outdoor life should be willing to have a reasonable number to the bag limit of either game birds or game animals, and lend a hand in protecting the game to the amount of the bag limit. Oh, you find fault with the game laws--you say that the laws are not just to all alike. Well, in one sense of the word this is true. The state law confiscated your traps, then placed a bounty on noxious animals, and then fines you heavily if you set a trap in a way so as to be able to catch one of these noxious animals (queer laws); but, nevertheless, we should try to protect our game if we are to have any left. At the rate the game is being slaughtered at the present time, there will not be a deer left in the State of Pennsylvania, and but very little game of any kind. You say that it is a hard matter to protect the game--that is true; for it is hard to get local game wardens that are of much account. A man of much principle and business qualifications will not accept the position, as he does not like to arrest a neighbor for fear of hurting his regular line of business. The State Game Wardens are not acquainted with the different game localities, and with the people who have but little or no regard for the game laws of the state. I will give an instance which came under my observation the past season: The game laws of Pennsylvania prohibit the use of buckshot in deer hunting, and the law also prohibits the killing of does. Now, a man who was hunting deer with a shotgun loaded with buckshot, was looking at another hunter's gun, which was a .32 Special Winchester; the shotgun man noticed the small caliber of the Winchester, asked the party who had the rifle (knowing nothing of the shooting power of the Winchester), if he expected to kill anything with that little thing, and at the same time stating that good buckshot gun was the thing to hunt deer with. When asked if he did not know that the law forbade the use of buckshot in deer hunting, he replied, "Oh to ---- with the law!" They knocked me out of my bear traps, and the next thing they will do is to pass a law to prohibit hunting with a gun that costs less than $500.00. At the same time, and in this same place, a party killed a large doe that had its tail entirely shot away and several buckshot were found in its body. I will tell a little joke that was got off on one of the State Game Wardens as told by himself in the hotel at this place, which is a fact, and took place in these same woods: The Warden was telling a crowd at the hotel how his attention had been called to a doe that some one had killed and hung up in a certain place in the woods. The Warden said he went and found the deer and watched for ten days, but no one came for the deer. A party standing by said to the Warden, "Oh, that is a way we have of fixing you fellows--we kill a doe, hang it up on the outskirts of the deer hunting grounds, then give you notice of it, and while you are watching the dead deer, we are killing the live ones." The Warden, after listening to the man's story, remarked, "Well by Jonathan! that is one on me--come on." The above joke was actually got off here at the hotel in this town. The number of bears killed in this part, fall of 1911, notwithstanding that the use of steel traps is prohibited, was larger than has been in years. A party of thirteen from this place went into the woods on the Trout River, and during the ten or twelve days they were there, they killed seven bears--five in one day. And there were several deer killed. Now comrades, while we can't all agree on the justification of the game laws, we should all join hands and try to protect what little game we have left by getting the bag limit materially cut down, and give fifteen days more time to the hunter. Then stand by the law, or soon the game will all be gone with the exception of a few cotton-tails and what game is on private reserves, and posted lands. CHAPTER XXX. Southern Experiences on the Trap Line. Comrades of the trap line, I am not able to report a large catch of furs the past season, 1910. I did not catch much fur, but say, boys, I had a good deal of experience nevertheless. I will try to tell of conditions as I found them in North Carolina. I first stopped in Lee County, where I met Mr. A. L. Lawrence, one of the _Hunter-Trader-Trapper's_ most ardent friends. After stopping here a few days and seeing some of the sights in Lee and Moore Counties, Mr. Lawrence, now my friend and partner, a gentleman whom I had never known before, started for Bladen Co., N. C., where we expected to be kept up a good portion of the night in order to keep up with the skinning and stretching of the numerous furbearing animals caught during the day. Well boys, I will say that we were not troubled in this matter at least. While there is more fur in that section than in the north, there are also more disadvantages to be met with, than we have here. The majority of people that one meets with in the South are very kind and obliging. Nevertheless you will find it somewhat difficult to find suitable grounds to set your camp, providing the parties are aware that your intentions are to put out a line of traps. Remember that nearly every farmer has a drove of hogs that run in the woods, and the feeding grounds of the razorback is in the bottoms along the creeks and rivers. Naturally the farmer is a little fearful of his pigs being caught, so he says that the better way is to keep "shet" of the trappers, especially those that are strangers to the neighborhood. This is not the only way that the razorback gets in his work, and a good bit of work they get in too. The razorback is a powerful hunter, and it does not require a powerful animal scent to draw the razorback to the trap. To avoid the porker the trap must be set three inches below the water or six feet above the ground. As foxes are not given to tree climbing as a usual thing the trapper is sorely tried to devise schemes to take the fox in a section where the razorback is getting in his work. He is found in most places in the South, although there are some counties and even townships that have a stock law. The great difficulty with a non-resident or a stranger in getting a site to camp on, is that he must be where he can use the water from some one's well, as springs are not very plenty. The water in the branches, small streams or rivers are not such that a trapper should use; there is such a heavy drainage from swamps that are full of decayed vegetation, so that the trapper would soon be looking for a doctor rather than for opossum and coon. On South River near Parkersburg, we got a good place to camp, and the people were very kind and neighborly. Mr. Green, the postmaster at Parkersburg, and his family, with whom we stopped a short time before going into camp, were very kind and generous. The young ladies, daughters of Mr. Green, gave us some fine music on the piano, accompanied with singing during the evenings. About eighteen or twenty miles from Parkersburg on Turnbull Creek where we expected to do the greater part of our trapping, and where mink and coon were quite plentiful with considerable otter signs, we were unable to get a place to camp. The people objected to outside trappers infringing on what they apparently looked upon as their individual right. At the junction of Cape Fear and Black Rivers in Bladen and Pender counties, there is a section of low swampy country, which is a wild country where there is deer and bear as well as furbearers such as otter, mink, muskrats and coon. The latter are quite numerous. There is also wild turkey, quail and ducks on the river. Now this section of the country had a colony of mixed whites and colored people (Mulatto) who lived in these swamps, other people rarely going into that locality. We were informed that there was a good deal of illicit or Blockade Whiskey as the natives call it, made in these swamps. It is said that it is not safe for strangers to be caught in their domain too often. I found that one needs nearly double the number of traps to trap in the swamps or bays, as these swamps are called by the natives. There is so much ground that is covered with water so near alike that the animal has no regular place to travel, as is the case along the open streams. Instead the animals have vast areas of ground to travel over that is partially covered with water, so that the mink or raccoon travels anywhere and everywhere, as it is all alike to the mink and coon. Consequently the trapper needs more traps in order to make the same number of catches as would be possible in a locality where the streams did not spread over such a large scope of land. While the trapper in the South has but little snow or ice to contend with, he will not find it all milk and honey, for the swamps are not a paradise with the gall berry brush, the bamboo briers, saffron sprouts and holly brush. As for game birds, they are not so plentiful, but quail in places are found in good numbers. Wild turkeys are found in small lots scattered all over the country, but by no means plenty: doves are quite plentiful. As for fur bearers there are quite a number of opossum. Coons are not found late in the season to any great extent only in the swamps where they are quite plentiful. Grey foxes are plenty. There are many hunters in the South who hunt with dogs, and they do not take kindly to any other way of taking the furbearers. Otter signs are seen on nearly all of the streams but by no means are they plenty, and every slide is closely watched by trappers living nearby. The ever present razorback is an obstacle in the way of otter trapping, for the trap must be set under the water, and this is not always practical in otter trapping. We must not close this short letter without stating that our friend and partner, Mr. A. L. Lawrence, who was a native of Randolph County, N. C, was an expert trapper, and especially on mink. Mr. Lawrence was a good cook as well as a good trapper. Mr. Lawrence was hard to beat on baking opossum and bread making, but when it came to boiling water without burning it, your humble servant could hold him a close second. Say boys, I forgot to say that you will find Billy the Sneakum just as numerous in Dixie as he is in Pennsylvania. * * * Comrades of the trap line, I am not in condition to write much at this time owing to my health, but, later I hope to be able to give a fuller account of my trapping experiences of 1912 in Alabama, northern Georgia, northwestern North Carolina and southeastern Tennessee. And Comrades, right here I wish to say that through the above mentioned sections of the south, I found nearly every trapper a reader and lover of the _Hunter-Trader-Trapper,_ and many of these readers seemed like old neighbors to the writer, when he met them. Well boys, during all of last year, my health was such that I never again expected to hit the trap line, but as the frost began to turn the leaves of the timber on the hillsides, the trap fever became so high that I was compelled to take a half dozen traps and take to the brush. The first night I got two foxes, the second night I got another fox, three skunk and wife's pet cat. The catching of Timy (the cat) caused wife to put up such a fight, that I was compelled to pull the traps, pack my outfit and start for Alabama. Now boys, I am not going to tell you entirely of my own experience, but of the experiences of other trappers and hunters as told me by them. One trapper told of the killing of a bear in the thick cane brakes in the swamps of the Mississippi. It was against the game laws of Mississippi to kill bear at that time of the year, and as these hunters could not resist the taking of this bear, they put up a job on the bear. There were four of the hunters going through the thick cane brake, when they saw the bear coming toward them. The head man pulled his hunting knife, and told the other hunters to lie down, he dropping to his knees, knife in hand. When the bear was close up to him he sprang up and shouted "boo". The bear raised up on its hind feet and the hunter seized the bear and plunged the knife into it. The other hunters sprang to their feet, gun in hand and shot the bear. The party who told me this bear story, said it was a put up job, so as to make it appear that the bear was killed in self defense. [Illustration: A PARTY OF VISITORS AT E. N. WOODCOCK'S CAMP ON THE BANKS OF THE ETAWAH RIVER AT DIKES CREEK, GA.] I know of many excuses to avoid game laws, but this one beats them all. I have had a good deal of experience in game hunting, but never had the luck to have a bear run on to me in this manner. I will tell a panther story, which a man told me that happened some year ago, in North Carolina, near the Tennessee line. The man was in a small shack, and he often heard panthers screaming about the shack, and finally one night when he had some fresh deer meat in the shack, the man was awakened by some animal trying to pull up a roof board. The roof of the shack was not more than six or eight feet from the ground floor, and soon the panther raised up a board sufficient to run a foot down through the crack. The man stood watching the game, and when the foot came through the crack, the man seized the panther by the foot, and a terrible fight began. The hunter finally cut a foot of the panther off, and stabbed it with his knife until he killed it. The hunter had a rug made of the skin of this panther, which he intends to keep in the family for all time to come. I think that this hunter is doing the right thing in so doing. I will now give a little of my own experience, but it is not in the way of an adventure with either a bear or panther, but, no doubt, I was just as nervous for a time as those who had the reported adventure with the bear and the panther. The last days of December, 1912, I went into camp about twelve or fourteen miles from Crandel, near the Tennessee line. Early the next morning after going into camp, a man came to the camp and asked many questions as to what I was doing. How long I was going to be there? Where I was from? Also many other similar questions, and then went away. That evening four or five men came to my tent, and asked about the same questions that the man in the morning had asked. When I stepped outside of the tent next morning, there were three or four bunches of hickory withes standing against the guy ropes of the tent. I did not know what those hickory withes meant, but surmised that some jealous trapper had put them there as a warning for me to get out. But it was not long after daylight, when a man came to camp, and said that I was suspicioned of being a spy in search of blockaders. I told this man that there could be nothing farther from it, that that would be the last thing I would mix up in, even if I knew of any such business, that I was simply a trapper and had no other business there. The man, said that he knew that as soon as he heard my name for he had known of me for the past four years, ever since he had been a reader of the _H-T-T._ This gentleman told me not to worry, but to stay in my tent a day or two before going out to set my traps, and everything would be all right. I hardly knew what to do, but as it was raining I could not well break camp that night. Five or six men came to camp. Some were those who had been there before, and questioned me as to my business there. But now they were acting entirely different. Now these gentlemen rushed in with hands extended to shake hands and welcome me and offer me any assistance that they were able to give, and nearly all of them offered me a drachm of corn juice. I stayed a few days longer in camp there, and each day friends grew more numerous and corn juice more plentiful. I stayed a day or two and saw that friends were going to be so numerous that it would be next to impossible for me to get out on the trap line for some days at least, so broke camp and pulled for Pennsylvania. CHAPTER XXXI. On the Trap and Trot Line in the South--Fall of 1912. Well, comrades of the trap line, as I see so many interesting letters from trappers in the H-T-T, the best of all sporting magazines, I will relate some of my experiences in the South, season of 1912. During the latter part of the winter and the greater part of the summer, my health was so poor that I never again expected to be able to enjoy the pleasures of the trap line. But as time passed and I was able to get out into the fields and wander about, I became stronger from day to day until in the last days of October, when the frost began to crisp the air and the leaves on the trees on the hillsides became a golden hue, it drove the trapping fever into me to such a degree that I was unable to resist the temptation any longer. I took six or eight traps and went to the brush within sight of the house. I was obliged to use a good, strong staff to climb the hill with and could only take a few steps at a time, without stopping to take my breath. But, boys, I found this sort of exercise better for me than the doctor's medicine that I was taking. My first night's catch was two fox. Many of the readers of the H-T-T will remember of seeing my picture with the two fox in the December, 1912, number. The next two nights I got another fox and three skunk and wife's pet cat. The cat business put it up to me and I was compelled to lift my traps and take for other fields. Had I been able to traverse the hills and woods of old Potter County, I could have done far better than I did in the South. My trapping fever had now reached such a high mark that I could no longer stave it off and not being able to travel the hills and streams of this section, hit my feet for Alabama, where I could do the greater part of my work from a boat. After reaching Tryanna, I made a trip up Indian Creek every day by boat to a fish trap dam, which I was unable to get the boat over so was compelled to leave it at the dam and hoof it up the creek to the end of the line. On the way back down the creek each day I would gather up a boat load of drift wood to last for the day. The water being at a very low stage, it caused several rapids, which made it tight nipping to paddle the boat over. I had occasion to stop paddling often as I was continually making sets for mink, rats, coon and opossum, first on one side of the stream and then on the other, so that I had abundance of time to rest. But, comrades of the trap line, this kind of work is much better for an old played-out trapper than pills. While I found trapping conditions here in Alabama different than they were a year ago, I nevertheless got a mink, rat, 'possum or coon nearly every day, but two mink at a single round of traps was the best that I did at any time. There was no otter or beaver in this part of Alabama and but very few fox or skunk, and I found far more trappers than there were a year ago. Many of the trappers were from other states, and last season I did not see or hear of a colored man trapping, but this fall I heard of the dark man and his works daily. One of the worst and most foolish things that the trappers did was their early trapping before furs were any where near in a prime condition. This unwise work was indulged in by the white trappers as well as the negroes. I was unable to get out into the swamps or sloughs to any great extent and it is in the swamps that the coon are found more plentifully. The mink does not take to the swamps as readily as the coon, nevertheless he is found in the swamps as well as along the rivers and smaller streams. If we could only keep down the trapping fever and the desire to get that mink before the other fellow did, it would help us out in a financial way. We saw many mink that were offered for sale here that were over three feet from tip to tip, from 75 cents to $2.00, and the skins went a-begging at that price. Now, comrades, just think of the difference in what those skins would have brought when in a prime condition. The price then would have been from $3.00 to $7.00, and this same rule applied to the coon and muskrats and other fur bearers, and you are aware that the fur bearers throughout the country are rapidly becoming scarcer each year. While I found more mink, coon and muskrats here in Alabama than I did in either Georgia or North Carolina, yet I did not see mink, coon or rat signs in comparison to what they were a year ago, and I do not believe that there was one-third as many mink, coon or muskrats as there was last season. Opossum seem to hold their own fairly well. Well, comrades, the picture here shows the greater part of our Alabama catch of furs. I trapped in Alabama about three weeks when I went to Georgia, where I expected, from what I was told, to find far better trapping than was to be had here in Alabama, but I was sadly disappointed. * * * Leaving Tryanna, Alabama, by wagon, I went to Farley, eighteen miles. There I took a train to Huntsville, then by the Southern R. R. by the way of Chattanooga to Dikes Creek, Georgia, where I went into camp. I camped at this place about two weeks, building two boats, one a good large boat, sufficient to move my whole outfit from point to point, as I moved down the Etowah River, then the Coosa River. The other boat was much smaller, being suited to the trap and trot line. Boys, you who have trapped on the rivers and large streams of the South, know that the traps and the trot line go hand in hand and with only two or three trot lines, to one who is onto the job, you will find them quite profitable as well as a pleasure. In most places you will find ready sale for the fish you catch at 10 to 12 cents a pound. If one runs his trot lines two or three times a day and takes in from 20 to 100 pounds of fish, it is a little item along the financial trail. But, boys, there is a knack in running a trot line in a successful manner as well as a trap line. Where the trot line is run in connection with the trap line, it makes quite an addition to the trapper's job, for he will be out as late as 9 or 10 o'clock before going to bed to run the trot lines, take off the fish and rebait the lines. It is also necessary to put in any spare time that happens your way in digging wigglers, hunting crawfish and other bait. [Illustration: E.N. WOODCOCK AND SOME OF HIS 1912 CATCH OF ALABAMA FURS.] The boat is an absolute necessity in trapping in the South, as the most of the fur-bearers are found along the rivers and large streams. It is next to an impossibility to make a successful set for mink and coon along the soft, slippery and sloping banks without the boat. And boys, the conditions on the trap line in the South are altogether different from what it is in the North on the clear, gravelly and rocky streams of the North and East sections. It requires a trap one size larger in the South in successful trapping than it does in the North and East. This is owing to the soft, muddy, clay banks and streams. Another thing that is a necessity along the rivers and streams of the South is the trap stake, while on most streams of the North the clog or drag is far better than a stake. I did not find the fur-bearers in Georgia as plentiful as I expected, from what I had been told and trappers were numerous, many of them in house boats. I expected to find some beaver on Pumpkin Vine Creek, a branch of the Etowah River, but they failed to show up on investigation. There is but very few otter in northern and central Georgia and in Georgia, as in Alabama, many trappers began trapping in September. The best catch in one night at our camp was while we were camping at Coosa, on the Coosa River, but it was nothing in comparison to what we did in Alabama last season in a single night's catch. The catch at Coosa in one night was two mink, three coon, three rats and two opossum. This was done with about 20 traps. It was raining at this time, so we kept this bunch of furs three days and until there had been several more pieces added to the bunch. We wanted to get a picture of this bunch of furs and the camp at this place but it continued to rain and we were compelled to skin the animals and let the pictures go. The steamboats are a serious drawback to the trappers on the river in the South. The average trapper plans to get out on his line and fix up as many of his traps as he can after the steamboat passes. On most rivers there is not more than one or two boats passing daily and on some of the rivers, boats do not make more than one or two trips a week. It was the intention of the writer when going to Georgia, to work the trap line all winter, going nearly the entire length of the Alabama River, to the Mississippi line, but met with unexpected conditions that I was unable to endure and was compelled to give up the greater part of the trip, which was a sad disappointment. But comrades, you know that there are but few trappers but what meet with disappointments at times. The game laws of Georgia are a little hard on the trapper and fisherman. The non-resident trapper has to pay a license of fifteen dollars and the local trapper a license of three dollars. (This alludes to the laws of 1912.) That is not the worst part of it. In fact, the license fund, if justly used in the protection of game and game birds and the propagation of game and birds, I would not object to the license. The hard part of the game law of Georgia is the trespass part of it. The trapper must have a written permission from the land owner to trap or fish on any man's land and where the river is the dividing line between different parties owning the land, the trapper or fisherman must have the written permit from both land owners, even though he does not leave his boat to set a trap or place a trot line. Now it is a very difficult thing for a stranger to learn who owns the land and often the owner of the land lives in some city of the North, or elsewhere. Now here is where the shoe pinches the hardest. The fine for trespassing on a man's land is $40.00 and it is the duty of the game warden to arrest any one he finds hunting, trapping or fishing on any man's land without a written permit. Here is the worst of all. The game warden must make the arrest without any notice from the land owner and if the game warden fails to make the arrest, he is liable to the same fine as the one who is doing the trespassing. This is a law that the average land owner never asked for. I had men come to me every day and offer me the privilege of trapping or hunting on their land without any request on my part. I found the majority of the people of Georgia very kind in regard to this trespass matter as well as other matters. It was only a few sporting "Nabobs" that concocted this stringent part in the trespass law, contained in the game laws of Georgia. Most other states of the south have as trespass laws, that the land owner must order the arrest. The laws of Alabama allow or at least can not stop the trapper or fisherman from trapping or fishing so long as he keeps within the boundary limits of the river, which is sufficient to give the trapper or fisherman ample ground to camp on. After leaving the Coosa River I went into the extreme northern part of Georgia where I camped for about three weeks and never met a more friendly class of people than within the vicinity of Oakman and Ranger. After leaving this section, I went into camp near Crandel, Ga. From there I went into the Fog Mountains, where I found game fairly plentiful but owing to bad weather and the condition of my health, did not hit the trap line very heavy. CHAPTER XXXII. Trapping in Alabama. Well, comrades of the trap line, as I am getting well up to the seventy notch, and as the chills of zero weather chases one after the other up and down my spinal column, like a dog after a rabbit in a briar patch, and as I am unable to shake off that desire for the trap line, I concluded to go south again to trap. I began an inquiry in several different sections, in states of the South, and finally decided upon Alabama, where a gentleman and a brother trapper by the name of Ford had invited me to come. On the last days of October, 1911, I arrived in Alabama where I met Mr. Ford, whom I found to be a gentleman in all respects, and a member of the M. E. Church. My first day's outing after reaching Mr. Ford's place was on the Tennessee River, raising fish nets, and putting out a few mink traps to ascertain what the complexion of the inner side of a mink's coat was. I got a mink the first night, which I found to be of fairly light color, but not quite light enough to my liking. The setting of more traps was delayed for a few days and we spent the time in tending the fish nets. I have whipped the streams and drowned earthworms for brook trout and other fish, from my childhood days to the present time. I had never done any fishing in large rivers with nets, so you can imagine my feelings when one net after another was raised which contained many fish of different kinds, such as yellow cat, channel cat, buffalo, pickerel, pike, carp, suckers, black bass (called trout in the South) and many other kinds. These fish ran in weight all the way from one-fourth pound up to twenty pounds each, and occasionally a buffalo or yellow catfish much larger. Mr. Ford informed me that often on trot lines they got sturgeon, weighing more than one hundred pounds. We intended to put out a trot line and catch a sturgeon that I might get some oil. It is said that the oil from a sturgeon is a sure cure for rheumatism in the joints, but it rained so much, keeping us busy adjusting our traps, that we did not get any time to get the bait and put out the trot line. So I did not get to see one of those large fellows. Mr. Ford pointed out corn and cotton fields where the corn and cotton was still ungathered and told me that he had trot lines set out all through these fields last spring and caught hundreds of pounds of fish--it hardly seemed possible as the water was then fifteen of twenty feet below the banks of these fields. But in December when it began raining nearly every day, and the water rose so suddenly that I was obliged to leave many of my traps where I had set them around ponds and banks of streams and in the swamps, I could then readily see that it was perfectly possible for the fish to get out into the corn and cotton fields to feed. The rainy season set in nearly a month earlier this season than usual, causing the rivers and streams to rise so as to flood the whole bottoms (it is called the tide by the people in Alabama). I will not give my views of the country and conditions in northern Alabama--it would not look well; it is sufficient to say that the greater part of the land is owned in large tracts by a few men and leased out at from $3.00 to $4.00 per acre. Corn and Cotton are the main crops. Any land lying above the overflowing sections requires heavy fertilizing in order to make a crop. The fertilizer is the commercial sort, and all the crop will sell for is put onto the land in the way of fertilizers. These lands are mostly leased to colored people--in fact, I was told that the landlords did not care to lease to white men. The poor white man in northern Alabama is worse off than the colored man, for he is looked upon as neither white nor black. In this section the population is largely of the colored class. All of the landlords have a store, so as to furnish their tenants with goods of an inferior quality at exorbitant prices. There is no good water to be found in that part of Alabama. The water that the people use is something fearful--of course the wealthy class have cisterns. The soil is mostly red clay, and terrible to get about in when the least damp. The roads are only names for roads. South of the Tennessee River is what is called the Sand Mountains; the soil is of a sandy nature, freestone water, and the people are all white--in fact, it is said that they will not allow a colored man to live there. I heard it stated that they would not even allow a negro to stop over night in that section. The Sand Mountain region is a piney country with a sandy soil. The land is not as fertile as the bottom lands along the Tennessee River, but they produce a finer grade of cotton, which brings a cent or two a pound more than that of the bottom lands. As to game in north Alabama, there is but little large game to be found. In the extreme northern part of Madison county, well up to the Tennessee line, there are a few deer and wild hogs; it was said that there were some bear, also plenty of wild turkeys. There were plenty of ducks, and a good many quail. There is still some lumbering being done, mostly in oak of different kinds, though a good part is white oak. The logs are cut and hauled to the Tennessee River and taken by steamboat to Decatur in Limestone County, and worked up into lumber and manufactured articles. There is still quite large bodies of cugalo gum left in the swamps, though this timber is not yet used to any great extent. I wish to say that if the trapper expects to ship his camp outfit by freight to any part of the South, he should start it from four to six weeks in advance of the time that he will arrive at the place where he will use it. The trapper, as a usual thing, is too shallow in the region of the pocket book to afford to ship an outfit of camp stove, cooking utensils, tent and a hundred traps or more of various sizes, by express. Of course, he can take his bed blanket and extra clothing as baggage in his trunk. Now to make this matter plainer, I will give my experience of the last two seasons. In 1910 I trapped here in Pennsylvania the first two weeks of November before going south. So shipped my camp chest by express to Cameron, N. C, started it four days before I started so as to be sure that it would be there by the time I arrived. But when I got to Cameron there was no express matter for Woodcock. Five days later while I was standing on the depot platform at Cameron waiting for the eleven o'clock express train, along came a freight train, stopped and put off my camp chest. Now, the express charges on this chest was something over ten dollars on 180 pounds. The next season I concluded that I would not give the express company another rake-off, so started my camp outfit by freight for Madison, Alabama, four weeks before I started, so as to again be sure that it would be there when I arrived. Mr. Ford met me at the station nine miles from his place with a conveyance to take baggage and camp outfit to his place. And boys, imagine my feelings when I was again told by the station agent that there was nothing there for Woodcock. About a week later, I got the goods. So boys, take the hint and start the outfit well ahead if you wish to get it on time. I have had other similar experiences. On our way back to Mr. Ford's place the day he met me at the station, he called my attention to several different places along the road to mink tracks in the ditches and in the road. I thought that it would be no trick at all to take three or four mink each night, but I was not reckoning on the disadvantages I had to contend with. This section of the country is very thickly settled with colored people, and each family keeps from one to three dogs, which are out searching for food all the time. These people never think of feeding their dogs. Nearly every night these colored people are out hunting in droves of five or six, and with six or eight dogs. They think it no more of a crime to steal a trap, and anything found in the trap, than they would consider it a crime to eat a baked 'possum. A trapper must keep a good lookout when setting his traps to see that there is no "dark object" anywhere in sight. If there is, you may expect that that particular trap will be missing the next time you come that way. In setting a trap, the first thing to do is to select a place where the trap is to be set, then look carefully around to see that no "dark object" is in sight; then go into the bush and get the trap, stake and everything that you will use in making the set. Then you will again look carefully for that "dark object," and will proceed to make the set, provided that yourself is the only human being in sight, stopping your work often to look about you. Do not think that this caution is not necessary, for it sure is. The writer had nine traps taken at one time within an hour after he had been over the line. We went into our first camp, I think, on the 5th of November, at a place called Blackwell's Pond or Blackwell's bottom, I am not sure which. The first day after we got to camp, Mr. Ford went out and put out a few traps, while I stayed in camp and fixed up things. The next morning we went out to look over the ground a little while. Mr. Ford went to the opposite side of the pond to set a few more traps, and see parties who owned land along the pond, for we found that the land had been posted "No Trespassing." When Mr. Ford came in that evening I think he brought in five rats. We set nine traps that day and went south along the pond to look over the grounds. The next morning we had one mink and one coon in the nine traps. I think Mr. Ford brought in four rats and had one coon foot. That evening Mr. Ford went home to raise his nets, and when he came back he brought in two mink; I got two coon. Mr. Ford went home again and made arrangements for a team to come in and move us out to "pastures new." He also brought another mink, and I believe that we got two or three coons that night. I think we got nine rats, four mink and eight coons in the three nights with about twenty traps. The land about this pond had been leased by Mr. Edmon Toney, a wealthy young man living near the place. While Mr. Toney is wealthy, he insists in indulging in the meek and lowly occupation of the trapper. We know Mr. Toney to be a successful trapper, for he caught, while we were in camp at that place, one of the wealthiest and most beautiful young ladies in that section. Mr. Toney is a reader of the H-T-T. Our next camp was on Little Indian creek, at the edge of a large cugalo swamp not the pleasantest place that one could wish for a camp. [Illustration: E. N. WOODCOCK AND SOME OF HIS ALABAMA FURS.] The next day after we went into Camp No. 2. I set a few traps near camp. Mr. Ford went down the creek toward his place and set a few traps, and went home to look after his fish nets, returning to camp that evening. Mr. Ford had warned me that the mink in that section would foot themselves equally as bad as muskrats, but as I had never been bothered with mink footing themselves, I paid no attention to his warning. The next morning Mr. Ford stepped outside of the tent--it was about five o'clock and called to me, asking where I had set my first trap on the creek, and being told, he replied, "Well, you have caught a mink." When asked how he knew, he said, "Come out and hear him squall." I ate breakfast and hastened down to release the mink, but my haste was unnecessary for the mink did not propose to wait for me, I found only the mink's foot--the mink had gone. I had never had a mink foot itself in this way before and did not think that the mink did, although here in Alabama, we had two mink to foot themselves in one night. Had I heeded Mr. Ford's warning, I would have been several mink pelts ahead. While there was considerable fur to be found in the vicinity of Camp No. 2, it was a hard place to camp, owing to the scarcity of camp wood and the inconvenience of getting water, so we moved on to Beaver Dam creek, in Limestone county, where we were in hopes of finding a few beaver and quite a plenty of mink and coon. But we were sadly disappointed; we found but little to trap, but found trappers and trap-lifters in abundance, so made haste to get out of that country while we had our boats left. Our catch was only two mink, twelve rats, five coon and one or two 'possum. We moved from this place back into Madison County and pitched our camp at a point known as the Sinks, where we did a better business. But the rainy season soon set in, so we were compelled to break camp and get out, leaving a good part of our traps where we had set them, now under several feet of water. We shall never see them again. Well boys, you will excuse me from telling just how many coon we got in an hour and seven minutes. I can only state that during the five weeks that Mr. Ford and the writer were in camp that we got twenty-six mink. I do not remember the number of coons, opossums and rats caught. CHAPTER XXXIII. Some Early Experiences. Comrades of the trap line and trail, as I have gotten too old, March 1913, and too nigh played out to longer get far out into the tall timber, I will, with the consent of the editor of the H-T-T, relate some of my experiences on the trap line and trail of some years ago. A young man by the name of Frank Wright was hunting and trapping on the Crossfork waters of Kettle Creek. Frank was a young man barely out of his teens, and had been in the woods but little, but Frank was a hustler and was not afraid of the screech of the owl; the days were altogether too short for him. We went into camp early in October as we had to do a good deal of repairing on the camp as the cabin had not been used in two or three years, and the porcupines got in their work in good shape. The cabin was built of logs and the "porces" had gnawed nearly all of the chinking out from between the logs and the mud was all gone from around the chinking. Some of the shakes were gone from the roof and the door which was made of split shakes. First, we split out shakes and repaired the roof and the door. We then split chinking block out of a basswood tree to renew the chinkings that had been gnawed and eaten up by the porcupines. After the chinking was all replaced and fastened in place by making wedges and driving them into the logs, one at each end of each chinking block, we gathered moss from old logs and calked every crack, pressing the moss into the cracks with a wedge-shape stick made for the purpose. The calking was all done from the inside. After the chinking and calking was done, we dug into a clay bank and got clay, which we mixed with ashes taken from the fire then added sufficient water to make a rather stiff mortar. We filled the spaces between the logs, going over every crack on the outside of the shack. Now and again Frank would notice a mink or coon track along the creek, while he was gathering moss from the old logs. These tracks would drive Frank nearly wild, and he would double his energy so as to get the shack finished so we could hit the trap line. After we got the shack in good shape, we went to work getting up a good supply of wood, sufficient to last through the season. We had an open fireplace, so we cut the wood about three feet long. The wood was now up near the camp door, ranked up in good snug piles. We then cut crotched stakes and drove them in the ground on each side of the ranks, and laid poles in, then placed cross poles on and covered with hemlock boughs. Frank was so anxious to get to work on the trap line, that he at first objected to putting in so much time in getting up the wood, saying that we could get the wood at odd times. But when told that there are no odd times on the trap line, he then worked the harder to get the supply of wood, including a good supply of dry pine for kindling fires, which we got by cutting a dry pine stub. The camp now being in good shape, we hit the trap line and began building deadfalls for marten. We went onto the ridges into the thick heavy timber, where the marten were most likely to be found. We would select a low hemlock to build the deadfalls under, so the trap would be protected from heavy falls of snow, as much as possible. Some of the traps we would drive crotched stakes and lay poles in them and then cover with hemlock boughs to keep the snow off. After we had several lines of marten traps built, we went onto the stream and branches and built deadfalls for mink and coon. Nearly every day we saw deer, but the weather was still too warm to keep venison any length of time, so we did not carry our guns with us. When Frank would see a deer he would make grave threats that he would carry his gun the next day. We were about two miles from the stage road. The stage made only one trip a week, so there was no way of disposing of a deer as long as the weather was so warm. It took but little persuasion to convince Frank that it would be poor policy to kill deer as long as we could make use of but a small part of a single deer. After we had gotten out a good line of deadfalls for marten, mink and coon, and as it was now about the first of November and time to bait up the deadfalls, and set out what steel traps we had for fox, I told Frank that we would carry our guns with us and try to kill a deer for bait and camp use. Frank could hardly sleep that night; he was so delighted to think that the time had come to quit the monkey business, as he called it, and begin business. We climbed the ridge where we knew there were some deer, following down the ridge, one on each side, along the brow of the hill. We put in the entire day without getting a shot at a deer. That night it snowed about an inch, so that in the wooded timber, one could see the trail of the deer in the snow; but in hemlock timber there was not enough snow on the ground, so a track could be followed. We had killed a squirrel or two, and had a little prepared bait, so we concluded to bait a few traps until we struck a deer trail. We did not succeed in finding the tracks of any deer until well along in the afternoon. It so happened that I got a shot at a deer that was nearly hidden from sight behind a large tree. I shot the deer through, just forward of the hips. We followed it only a short distance when we found the bed of the deer, and there was blood in it, so it was plain to be seen in what manner the deer was wounded. All still-hunters (excuse the word still-hunt; the word stalking does not sound good to a backwoodsman) of deer know that when a deer is shot well back through the small intestines, that if conditions will allow, the right thing to do is to leave the trail for a time and the deer will lie down. If left alone for an hour or two the hunter will have but little trouble in getting his deer. So in this case, as we were not far from camp and it was nearly sundown, I told Frank that we had better let the deer go until morning, when we would have more daylight ahead of us, and we would get the deer with less trouble. We started for camp and had gone only a short distance when Frank said he would work along the ridge a little and see if he could not kill a partridge. [Illustration: FOOT OF TREE SET.] I went on to camp and when dark came I couldn't see nor hear anything of Frank. I ate my supper, and as I could get no word from Frank either by shouting or firing my gun, I climbed to the top of the ridge so I could be heard for a greater distance, but still I could get no answer. It had turned warmer and what little snow was on the ground had melted. I could not follow his trail in the dark, so went back to camp and built a good big fire outside of the camp in case Frank should come in sight, he might see the light and come in. At intervals of half an hour, I would call as loud as I could. I kept this up until midnight, when I lay down to get a little sleep, knowing that I could not help matters by staying up. At daylight the next morning I was on the ridge at the place where I last saw Frank, and by close watch managed to follow his trail while he was in the hardwood timber, where there was a heavy fall of leaves; but when he struck into the heavy hemlock timber, I could no longer track him. However, I had tracked him sufficiently far enough to see that he had gone back to look for the wounded deer. I made tracks in the direction I expected the wounded deer would be likely to lie down. After some searching I found the bed of the deer, also tracks of a man, which I knew to be Frank. But I could only follow the trail a short distance from where he had driven the deer out of its bed. There were plenty of deer tracks all around, but knowing that the wounded deer would naturally work down the draw, I worked my way along the hollow, keeping a close lookout for any signs of the wounded deer that I might chance to cross. At different times, I found a few drops of blood, but no signs of Frank. I had worked down the hollow some ways, when I ran onto the wounded deer; it staggered to its feet, but was too near gone to keep its feet. I finished it by shooting it in its head. I removed the entrails as quickly as I could, bent down a sapling and hung the deer up, and then made tracks down the stream the best I could shouting and occasionally firing off my gun. We were in a big wilderness. No roads or inhabitants west of us for many miles, and this was the course I feared Frank was most likely to take. I now began to think that I had a serious job on hands. I kept up the search all day without getting the least trace of Frank and returned to camp late that night. Starting early the next morning, and taking a good lunch with me, I crossed the head of Winfall Run and over the divide onto the waters of the Hamersley, continuing to shout and occasionally firing my gun. I had worked down the run some six or eight miles, when I heard some one hollow two or three times in quick succession. I was quite positive it was Frank. It was miles from any inhabitants in a dense wilderness, and hunters were not common on those parts in those days. I immediately answered the call, and soon I could hear Frank coming down the hill at breakneck speed, giving tongue at every jump. We at once started for camp, Frank eating the lunch I had brought in my knapsack, and telling of his trials, as we made tracks the best we were able to for camp. Frank, in telling his story, would cry like a baby, and then laugh like a boy with a pair of new boots. But he cut no more boy tricks. We finished the season's hunt, catching a goodly bunch of fox, marten, mink and coon, as well as killing a good bunch of deer. Had fur and venison brought as much in those days, as at the present time, we would have bought an automobile, and put an end to this hoofing it. CHAPTER XXXIV. The White Deer. I do not remember whether I have told the boys of the H-T-T the story of the white deer, which I had the good luck to get, and the picture of which was shown in one of the sporting magazines a few years ago. The picture was sent to the magazine by Mrs. Prudence Boyington, Roulett, Pa., who was the owner of the deer at the time, and I believe a daughter of Mrs. Boyington still has the deer. It was in the spring of 1878 or 1879 that a doe and a white fawn were seen on the hill just south of Lymansville. The fawn and its mother were seen almost daily in some of the fields near the village, and often were seen in some one of the pastures with the cows. The fawn would run and play about like a lamb. It was plain to be seen from week to week that the fawn was rapidly growing, and as the open season for hunting of deer drew near it was generally understood that the white fawn and its mother should not be killed. When the winter came on, the fawn and its mother were all at once missing. The general supposition was that they had been killed, but when spring came the doe and the white fawn (now a yearling deer) again appeared on its old haunts of the year before. They had merely gone back into the more dense woods to winter. Along in June it was noticed that there were three deer instead of two. Another fawn had appeared on the scene, this time an ordinary spotted fawn. They were again daily seen during the summer the same as they were the year before. Now it had been strongly urged by the people all about the country that these deer should not be killed, and there was none that was more strongly in favor of this than I was. The deer were regularly seen again all summer and up to the last days of October, when they again disappeared and all were anxious for spring to come to see if they would return as usual. When spring came the deer came back as before, but in June "the whole bunch came up missing," and it was generally thought that they had changed their haunts or they had been killed. The latter was strongly suspected. I had taken a scout through the woods on the hills back of the locality where these deer had been frequenting and had seen signs that convinced me that the white deer, at least, was still alive, although it had not been seen for a number of weeks. Here I wish to explain that Coudersport is two miles from Lymansville and it is on the hill between the two places that the white deer had been seen most, and it was in the former place that the loudest cry for the protection of this white deer came from. Now about this time I had killed a deer in the big woods where several of us had been on a fishing trip and I took a piece of this venison to a friend in town. It so happened that one of the side judges of our court (Stebens by name) was at the house of my friend. A few days later I was in a store belonging to a brother of the Judge, when the Judge came in and accused me of killing the white deer. Of course I denied, and told the Judge that I would wager two dollars that the white deer was still living. The Judge said "Very well," and at the same time handed a two dollar bill to a man standing by, by the name of Abison, who was listening to our conversation, which was quite heated. I told the Judge at the very first opportunity I would kill the white deer. The white deer was not seen in the woods any more, and I was charged with killing it. I said nothing in regard to the charge, for I had now made up my mind to kill it if I could. One day three or four weeks after I had made the wager, Mr. Abison came to me and handed me two dollars and said that the Judge had got his money and told him to give me my money back as he (the Judge) did not want to take the money, that I had killed the white deer all right. Now I was quite positive that the Judge had learned that the white deer was still alive. I had heard that the white deer had again been seen in a field near town. Now this made me all the more determined to kill the white deer. I will explain that I had learned that several of the sportsmen of Coudersport, the Judge included, had had dogs after the white deer several times the previous fall, but it so happened that there were no watchers at the place where the deer came to the creek. That fall as soon as the first snow fell I went after the deer. I did not strike the trail until quite late in the afternoon, and as the deer left the woods where it had been accustomed to staying and went into the big woods farther south, I left the trail for that day. I would have got a shot at the deer if my attention had not been called in the wrong direction by the chirping of several blue jays which I thought were excited over the presence of the white deer. I was working the trail to the best of my ability and knew that I was close to the game, when my attention was drawn by the chirping of those blue jays which were down the side of a hill. I was working the trail so as to be on vantage ground and could see from where I was standing that the trail had turned slightly down the hill along the side of a fallen tree and in the direction of the chirping of the jays. This led me to think that the jays were scolding the deer, so I cautiously advanced a few steps down the hill, expecting every moment to see the deer. While I was watching down the hill, I heard a slight noise to my right and partly behind me. I looked in the direction in which the noise came from and was surprised to catch a glimpse of the deer jumping the log near where I had last seen the trail. The log hid the deer from my sight so that I was unable to get a shot at it. The deer had lain down close to the log, and had I taken a few more steps in the direction I was going instead of giving attention to the jays I would have seen the deer and made my word good the first time. It was too late in the day to follow the trail farther at this time, knowing that the deer would run a long distance before stopping. As I had a team engaged to take me to my camp and I was anxious to get there on the first tracking snow, I concluded to give the white deer a rest a few days until I returned from camp in the big woods. I was in camp only a few days when the snow went off, so I came home. I had only been home a day or two when a man by the name of Hill came to my house in great haste. He had been cutting logs en a hill, and looking across onto a hill opposite where he was working, saw the white deer, so came to tell we what he had seen. I at once took my gun and started after the deer. I went up the hill in the direction that Mr. Hill had seen the deer until I was quite sure that I was well above the deer, then cautiously worked my way down the side of that hill. There being no snow on the ground and the deer being white, I soon discovered it lying in its bed. I cautiously crept up within shooting distance and fired, killing the deer instantly. I will explain how it happened that these deer disappeared so suddenly at the time Judge Stebens accused me of killing the white deer and the wager was made between the Judge and your humble servant. A man by the name of Frank Williams had shot the deer breaking a foreleg at the knee joint, and this caused the deer to remain hidden away until it recovered from the wound. The leg or joint was stiff when the deer was killed and the force of the bullet was so spent that it lay against the skin after shattering the knee joint and I still have the ball which I took from the knee. I had the deer mounted and Mrs. Boyington took it as she was collecting freaks and curios of this country. CHAPTER XXXV. A Day of Luck. Every hunter of long experience could tell of the ups and downs along the trail consisting of good, bad and indifferent luck and as usual tell of our hits and let others tell of our misses, I will tell of a day of good luck. It was in November and there was no snow on the ground. I was camping on the Holman branch of Pine Creek in Pennsylvania and one night, just at dark, a party of several men came to my camp and asked to stay over night. They stated that they were going to camp on the opposite side of the ridge on the Sinnamahoning waters. My camp was small but I made room for the hunters the best I could. This party was going into a section of country where I had several bear traps as well as a good number of smaller traps set for fox, mink, marten and other fur animals. As I wished to look these traps over the next day before this party got scattered about the woods where my traps were, I got up early the next morning, ate a hasty breakfast and put a lunch into my knapsack and was ready to start out before the party of hunters was up. I cautioned the hunters to see that the fire was safe when they left camp and then started on my day's hunt without the slightest idea that I was starting on one of the luckiest days I ever had. I had to climb a high ridge, then my route was for some distance on a long ridge, which I would follow for a distance of a mile and a half, when I dropped off the right hand side of the ridge into a ravine where I had a bear trap set. This ridge was a clean open one of beech and maple timber. I knew it would keep me busy the entire day to get over the trap line, the best that I could do, so had no intention of spending any time looking after deer. When I got to this open ridge, I took a dog trot along the ridge. I was making good time when on looking ahead along the ridge I saw a good-sized buck come from the left hand side of the ridge. He would take a jump or two then drop his head to the ground and then take another hop or two and again drop his head to the ground. I knew that he was on the trail of other deer. I had hardly time to bring my gun to my shoulder when the buck wheeled and disappeared back over the ridge from where he had come. I started on a run to where the deer had gone out of sight, thinking that possibly I might catch him before he got out of range down the side of the hill. Imagine my surprise when just as I reached the top of the hill, where I saw the deer disappear from my sight, I almost ran against the buck. He had turned back to cross the ridge when I met him. He whirled down the hill but I was too close onto him and I caught him before he could get out of reach. I took out the deer's entrails and bent down a sapling and hung the deer up, then I crossed the ridge and started down the ravine to look after the bear traps. I was hurrying down the hill near a jam of fallen timber, when all at once out jumped five or six deer from this timber. In an instant the whole bunch was out of sight behind the jam with the exception of one large doe. I could see, one of her hips standing out from behind a large hemlock tree. Without hesitating a moment, I fired at what I could see of the deer and it dropped out of sight as the gun cracked. I hurried through the jam of timber to where I saw the deer and there the doe lay, trying to get on her feet. I soon ended her misery by shooting her in the head. I soon had her entrails out and hung up as I had the buck. It was the trail of this bunch of deer that the buck was on when he ran into me. After I had hung up the deer I hustled on down the ravine to the bear trap. When I got to the place where the trap was set it was gone. The trail led down the ravine and was easy to follow as I hurried along and I soon found a small bear tangled up in a thicket of small brush. It was only the work of a moment to fix bruin in shape to skin. After I had the hide off, I cut the bear up into quarters and hung the meat up in the trees. I toted the trap back up to where it was set and reset it then I went back down the hollow to where I had left the bear skin and took it on my shoulder and made tracks down the hollow to the main creek where I had a string of deadfalls set for mink and coon. The bear skin was about all the load I cared to tote, but I had not gone far down the creek before I had the skins of two good sized coon and one mink tied to my load. The coon and mink skins I could get in my knapsack so they did not bother much. After following the creek a distance of about one mile I left the creek and went up a long narrow sawtooth point to cross the divide to the Cross Fork waters where I had some bear, fox and marten traps set. When I was about two-thirds of the way up this point I stopped at the side of a large rock which would shelter me from the cold wind. The point was covered with low laurel. I had been watching down the side of the hill to see if I could not catch sight of some animal on the move, but I had not got a glimpse of even a squirrel. I had about finished my lunch, when I saw the motion of something move in the laurel, forty or fifty yards below me. I picked up my gun and stood watching, when I again caught sight of the animal and in a moment I saw the horns of a deer. I could get the outline of the deer's body so I said, "Now or never," and let go the best I could at the bunch, but when the smoke from the gun was gone, I could neither see nor hear anything but stood ready with my gun to my shoulder. I again saw a part of a deer move in an open space in the laurel. I again fired at the bunch with the remark that I guessed that I could drive him out of there after a while. I left the bear skin and knapsack at the rock, knowing that the rock would be a good landmark to find them by and went down through the laurel to see what effect my shot had. When I got to where the deer were, when I shot, I readily saw plenty of blood on the green laurel leaves and I only had a few steps to go when I saw the buck lying dead. I cut his throat and stood waiting for the blood to stop flowing and saw a trail that was fresh. I could readily tell by the way the leaves and ground were torn up that the trail was of some animal that was having a hard time to keep on its feet. You can imagine my joy and surprise to get two deer so unexpectedly. I had only a few rods to go when I found a good big doe dead. Well, you may guess that I lost no time in getting the entrails out of these two deer and swinging them up as I had the other two for it was getting well past noon. I would be a good five miles from camp when I got to my first marten trap. After I got to the top of the divide, I made the best time that was in me. I looked at several fox and marten traps but none had been disturbed. When I got to the first bear trap on the divide I had an occasion to scold and scold hard, but all to no purpose. I found the limb of a tree jammed in between the jaws of the trap. Of course, I thought some hunter had done me the favor and having as hard a stunt ahead of me, you can guess that the trick was not pleasing to me. Well, here I learned how foolish it was to fly off the handle before you know what has been doing. Now, after a little investigation, I found that the limb had been broken from the tree by the wind and it so happened that it fell right onto the pan of the trap and sprang it. Setting the trap, I hurried on to the next bear trap and here I had another chance to be disgusted, even more than in the first case. This time it was a porcupine in the trap but there was nothing to be done, only reset the trap and hurry on again. None of the other traps were disturbed, neither the small traps nor the bear trap until I came to the last marten trap which had a marten in it. It was now too dark to see to skin it so I was obliged to dump the carcass into the knapsack and tote it along with the coons and mink pelts. I had about one mile to go to reach the road, then four miles to camp and I often thought what a hunter and a trapper would endure and call it sport. It must have been nearly nine o'clock when I got to camp, where I still found the hunting party. They had taken a part of their outfit to their camp grounds and had worked on their camp until nearly night when they returned to my camp to stay for the night and get the balance of their outfit. Well, I was pleased to find them still in camp for they volunteered to go with me the next day and help me get the deer and bear out to the road in return for venison and bear meat. This ended one of the luckiest and hardest day's work that I ever did on the trail or trap line. CHAPTER XXXVI. A Mixed Bag. I promised some of my old trapper friends back East, that I would let them, who were fortunate enough to be subscribers to the H-T-T, hear from me. I will say that this is a mountain region of the first magnitude. A man that cannot mount a donkey and ride over a trail where the river is hundreds of feet below, or as it looks to be nearly under him, and the trail not more than twelve inches wide, hewn out of the solid rock, he had best remain in the East. This is a sportsman's paradise, and the trapper will find here prey in the way of bear, both black and brown, fisher, mink, raccoon, fox, otter, panther, or as the natives call them, mountain lion, wildcat, skunk, civet cat and many other fur bearing animals and all quite numerous. Deer seem to be very abundant. I counted thirteen in a lick this morning, and it is not an uncommon thing to see from ten to twenty in the licks at one time. The fishing is said to be the best in the spring and fall. It is not an uncommon thing to catch salmon, weighing from six to thirty-five pounds, and as it is only thirty-five miles to the Pacific Ocean, they are of the very best quality. Mountain trout are plentiful. Another animal that is plenty is the mountain goat. Bear, mountain lion, and other signs are as numerous as those of rabbits in the East. I am not prepared at this time, to say how shrewd these animals are to trap, but if they take bait as readily as they are reported to, they must not be very hard to catch. There is a bounty of $4.00 on wolves and the writer has seen numerous signs of them. Will say to my friends in the East that while on my way from the coast to the ranch, a distance of only fifty miles, and the most of the way over mountain trails, I stopped often to watch the deer feeding along the side of the trail. When they saw you they would trot off a short distance and begin feeding again. Only last evening, Mrs. Evie Newell, shot and killed a large mountain lion that started into the yard after a pig. It seems to me panthers are thicker here than wildcats in Pennsylvania. * * * I have experimented with scents for years and have found scents of no particular benefit for trapping the fox. I have tried the skunk and muskrat scent, the matrix of the female fox taken at the proper time. I have had a female fox and have lead her to my trapping place, and I have tried many so-called fox scents and all to no purpose. Fox urine may, in some particular places, be used to some slight advantage. It is not so with other animals in regard to scents, for they do not use the same acute instinct that the fox does. I do not wish to insinuate upon those that do use scent, but for me, I would not give a cent for a barrel of so-called fox decoy. I boil my traps in soft maple bark, hemlock boughs or something of that nature. I do not do this because the fox can be any more readily got into the trap, but because it forms a glazing on the trap and thereby prevents them from rusting and the trap will then spring more readily. It makes no difference how rusty the trap is, so far as catching the fox is concerned. No boys, no scent for me, the fox soon learns to associate the scent business with the man, then you are up against it. With me there is nothing mysterious about trapping. It is simply practical ways of setting the trap, learned from many years of experience. * * * I have had fifty years experience as a hunter and trapper. I have netted wild pigeons in the Adirondack Mountains, in New York, to the Indian Territory, so you know that the articles in H-T-T are very interesting to me. I would say that no young trapper should be without this journal, although I would advise them not to take too readily to scents and decoys. As to the discussions that have been in H-T-T, one writer says he has twenty ways to catch the fox; now I have just as many different ways as there are different conditions. I would say that no one can become a successful trapper until he learns to comply with the natural conditions, which will differ with almost every trap he sets when trapping fox, mink, etc. I will tell my brother trappers what I have been doing this fall (1902) along the line of trapping. In August I took a trip through portions of Montana, Idaho and Washington, to look up a site to do a little trapping this winter. There is much more game here than in the East, but nothing like you hear talked of. I found the mountains too steep and the underbrush too thick and from what I could learn, I was afraid the weather was too cold for one of my age and condition of health, but, oh boys, what trout fishing I found in the Clearwater; this is a branch of Snake River and empties into that river at Lewiston, Idaho. As I found things, I thought I would return to old Potter County, Pennsylvania, and have a little fun trapping the fox and skunk as that is about the only game there is in this section when we have no beechnuts, for that is the only mast we have here. We have no beechnuts this season and most of the fur bearing animals have migrated south of here where there are chestnuts, acorns and hickory nuts. Brothers, I will tell you where my camp is, and you will always find the latch-string out. My camp stands at the very head of the Allegheny River, 1700 feet above sea level. From the cabin door you could throw a stone over the divide to where the water flows into the west branch of the Susquehanna. In a half hour a person can, from my camp, catch trout from the waters of the Allegheny, and the Susquehanna. As we have no beechnuts we have no bears, so I have not set my bear traps. This will cut my sport considerably short. I have put out but about sixty small traps, so I spend my time about equally between camp and home. I will send a picture of myself and my old dog Mage, who I believe knows more about trapping than some families. But poor old Mage is 13 years old and is following the down trail very rapidly. He is quite deaf and gets around with difficulty. Poor fellow, he is nearly to the end of the trail. [Illustration: WOODCOCK AND HIS OLD TRAPPING DOG--MAGE. THE BEST TRAPPING DOG THAT EVER TROD THE EARTH.] The furs shown in the picture are my first four days' catch with forty traps: 9 fox, 2 coon, 1 mink and 7 skunk. My catch to date, November 25, in thirteen days is 14 fox, 27 skunk, 9 coon and 1 mink. * * * Brothers, I will give some reasons why I do not write more of my experience as a trapper. First, I am not much given to writing. Second, my experiences in trapping are so different from so many trappers who write, that I thought it best to say but little or nothing about trapping. I could call myself, "Old Honesty," and then write or cause it to be written and published in some of the sporting papers, that I had caught 300 fox this season, as I see one trapper did, but I would not feel good about it after I had done so. Fifty-seven fox are the most that I ever caught in one season. A brother was down to see me and I was pleased to meet him, I wish to say, brother trappers, that if you should have an opportunity to meet Brother Stearns, you will find him a gentleman in every respect. But, Brother Stearns and I could not agree on the scent question, and he did not like to believe that I handled my traps, bait and all pertaining to the setting of the trap, bare-handed. He went so far as to hint that I was cold-blooded, and even felt of my pulse to see if my circulation was all right. Hold on, I am mistaken, it was my hands that he felt of to see if they were not cold, but he pronounced them all right. He then related a story about an old uncle of his and a crow, but shook his head and said it did not do any harm to wear gloves if it did not do any good. That is all right, but we do not like to be carrying unnecessary weight. One word with Brother Chas. T. Wells. No, brother, I do not go much on scents. Perhaps you would have caught more than 15 fox, but I do not like to own that you could have done so. Now the first ten days that I was in the woods, there were hundreds of head of cattle in the woods, and the woods were full of men gathering them up, and one could do but little or nothing in the way of trapping. Neither did the 15 include the five that were stolen, nor the two that broke the chains and went off with the trap. By the way, Brother Stearns could tell you of a chase I had with one of those that carried off a trap, the worst jaunt I have had in many a day. No brother, the only scent I use is the urine of the fox and I only use that in certain places. No, I believe that one good method is much better than scents in trapping the fox. If one wishes to use scents, they will find none better than some of those advertised in the H-T-T. Now brothers, while I do not believe that any one man is so cute he cannot find his equal, I do not like to believe but that I can catch as many fox as the next one--all things being equal. For the last ten years I have not set traps over a scope of territory to exceed two or three miles square and if Brother Stearns had been on the ground that I trapped on, a few days before I began trapping, he would have seen but few fox signs. I usually trap on a different piece of ground each year. I know of some trappers here that begin trapping the first of September and they are good trappers too, but they are so greedy, they are willing to kill the "goose that lays the golden egg." * * * Several years ago, through the courtesy of Mr. John Shawl, one of the Tide Water Pipe Line Co's telegraph operators, I was allowed the use of one of their offices for camping purposes during the trapping season. Now, do not think that this office was located in a town, for it was not. On the contrary, it was located in the largest wooded section of this locality, and on the old Jersey Shore Turnpike. There was a path or sort of a woods road at the point where this office was located, leading from this road to another road, a distance of more than four miles and making a cut off for people who wished to go on to the waters of the Sinnamahoning or Kettel Creek in Northern Pennsylvania. It was customary for me to stay in camp for a week or ten days and then go home and stay two or three days. One day on returning from one of my trips home, I had rather better luck than coming, getting 5 fox, 3 coon and 1 wildcat. I usually hung my furs on the side of the building close up under the eaves until I went home, then I would take them home on the following morning of the day I had caught them. There was a rap at the door about five o'clock in the morning and on going to the door, I found two men with a lantern; one man of middle age, the other a young man. There had just been a fall of snow of about four inches, and the men were going onto the Cross Fork of Kettel Creek, deer hunting. They had stayed at a farm house on the other road and had started from this house between three and four o'clock in the morning. Seeing a light in the office, they thought they would come in and stay until daylight. The old gentleman inquired what I was doing there. I informed him that I was trying to trap a little. He said that he should not think it would pay me, but if I could catch a fox it would be different, as he had seen several tracks along the road by the light of the lantern. He also told me that he had a recipe for making fox scent, that was a dead sure thing, and as I lived so far from his place, I would not be liable to interfere with his trapping, he would knock off one-half his usual price and sell me a recipe for five dollars. I said I would see what luck I had while they were gone, and it might be possible that I would buy his recipe when he came back. He said, delays were dangerous, and that I was losing the greatest opportunity of my life, that he might not come back that way. I thanked him, but told him I would chance it. It was now daylight, and as the hunters stepped outside they noticed the carcass of a wildcat, and I told them if they would step to the corner of the building, they would see what I got yesterday. They did so, and gazed for one second at the pelts, then the older of the two said, "Come, Charley, let's be going," and they left without even bidding me good morning. Comrades you do not know how I enjoy your letters as given in this splendid magazine, especially so this winter (season of 1905-6) as I have not been able to trap. But I have no kick coming for this is only the third time in fifty years, but what I have been able to be out with the traps and gun. I know that the readers of the H-T-T would be pleased to read articles from old veterans. The H-T-T has about reached the height of perfection so far as the trapper is concerned. There is none of the high top boot, fashionable, corduroy suits and checkered cap business about the H-T-T. Success to all. * * * Boys, you know how we all like to gather around a camp fire and talk over our hunting and trapping experiences, of how we caught a certain mink, fox, coon or bear, or how we killed a certain deer. So while we are out fishing I thought I would like to have a chat with the trappers. And boys, all you who have not camped out for a week and had a good time fishing, do not know how much you have lost, especially those who need the care of a doctor. Yes, boys, take your camp outfit and go out into the woods among the hills, streams and lakes. There you will find one of the most competent doctors and nurses that ever treated the ills of human family. Do not forget to take a few copies of the HUNTER-TRADER-TRAPPER along and other sporting magazines, as well as some of the Harding Library, so while you are resting in camp you can visit with the trapper boys all over the Union. This is May 20, 1905, and the second time I have been out camping and fishing this spring. Trout are not as plentiful as they were forty years ago by a great deal, but we still get all we can use, and that is plenty. While you are out fishing do not forget to keep a lookout for signs of game you will be trapping next winter. You may see where there has been a litter of young mink, fox or coon reared. While these animals are of migratory nature, they will, nevertheless, visit their old homes frequently, so you will find these places a pretty sure place to make a catch next fall when you put our your traps. Do not forget that during the summer is just the time to fix some of your best sets for fox and other fur bearing animals. As I have had many years experience in camping, let me say to those who have never camped, and who expect to camp the coming season, that now is the time to hunt up a partner and get acquainted. I have camped many seasons in large woods both with and without partners. END OF FIFTY YEARS A HUNTER AND TRAPPER