“Well, Scotty,” Dr. Barnes called to him one morning, “suppose we paddle down to the beaver dam on the west arm and reconnoiter a little? I want to look over the situation there and see if there is an opportunity to stay down there some night and watch them work—for I believe they work at night.”
“Very well, sir,” Scott replied, “I am free today, and shall be delighted to go wherever you suggest.”
“I suggest,” said the doctor, “that we take lunch, explore the place thoroughly, and, if we find it practicable, go back after supper to spend the night.”
They were soon ready to start, and armed with a camera and two axes they paddled swiftly down the west arm. Two deer, standing knee deep in the water, half hidden by the reeds, watched them curiously as they paddled past, but they were bent on rarer game, too intent to turn aside.
“They say the dam is up that little creek; it’s a cedar swamp,” Scott said, “but I don’t know how wet it is.”
“Well, let’s land on that high point just this side of the swamp and we can work in from there. The dam must touch that dry land somewhere.”
“There. The canoe is safe. Shall we take our lunches?” Scott asked.
“Certainly,” the doctor replied emphatically, “one of the first rules of the woods; never get separated from your lunch.”
They climbed the steep bank to a bench which marked a former level of the lake. It had been covered by a good stand of popple, but most of it was now down, apparently thrown by a windstorm. Suddenly Dr. Barnes spied a stump.
“Can it be—” he began excitedly running over to examine the stump. “Yes, sir, that one, that one, that one, everyone of them gnawed down by the beaver.”