Then he drew their attention to what looked like grains of pepper shaken over the snow. The boys were astounded when told that these minute black specks were tiny insects which woodsmen called “snow-fleas.” Bill said they lived in the moss, and could be seen with the naked eye only when they hopped about over a white background.
Farther along they came upon the tracks of a moose which, Bill declared, had gone by that very morning. George proposed that they follow after it, but the trapper refused for two reasons; first, because the law was on, and secondly, because it was a cow moose. The boys asked him how he knew it was a cow, and he proceeded to explain the difference between the track of the cow and that of the bull. Bill said that, like the buck deer, the bull moose usually left a larger, less pointed track than his mate. And he explained further that the “dew-claws” of the bull were set wider apart, and so registered in the snow.
The trapper declared that when the marks showed close together, as they did in the present instance, it was safe to presume that the tracks were those of a cow. Not wishing to break any game laws, the boys turned willingly from the tracks and continued on the trail to the traps.
They came at length to the spring-hole where Bill had been trying for so long to catch the mink. Once more he was doomed to disappointment, and, springing the trap, he hung it on a near-by sapling, until he might return, and started on.
Several times they crossed fox trails, which the lads had learned to distinguish at sight. Then they came upon a track that was entirely new to them. Bill laughed when they asked him to name it, and said it had been made by a skunk. The trail consisted of two continuous rows of footprints, one beside the other, and each print close up to the one before it. The trapper explained that this animal did not often venture forth in winter, except on warm, balmy days.
At one of the sets Bill captured another lynx; but, as it was not a particularly large one, he despatched it with his hickory club.
While they were eating their midday lunch a flock of sociable little chickadees gathered in the branches above, and, cocking their black-capped heads sideways, peered inquisitively down at them. The diners threw some crumbs and shreds of meat on the snow. Instantly the fearless chickadees accepted the invitation and dropped down to the feast. After a time, as the birds became bolder, the boys offered scraps of meat held between their fingers. They thrilled with pleasure when the confiding chickadees alighted trustfully on the outstretched hands and pecked energetically at the morsels offered them.
Having finished their meal, the three trappers rose and continued the circuit of their traps. Everywhere the forest shone forth resplendent in its mantle of glistening white, where, on the telltale surface, was scrawled and dotted a complete record of woodland happenings. Helped and encouraged by Bill, the lads were soon able to read and decipher these code-writings of nature. The tread of a cautious paw, the sweep of a fluttering wing, or the mark of the passing wind was instantly noted and recognized.
Thus the day wore on, and, though their toll of fur was not heavy, they had a goodly number of pelts by the time the shadows commenced to gather. There were still a number of traps to be examined, and in one of them Bill had hopes of finding the highest prize in the trapper’s lottery—a silver fox!
He had seen one in the vicinity several times during the summer, and again early in the autumn before he set his traps. As the fur of the beautiful creature was comparatively valueless at such times, Bill had wisely refrained from destroying it. With the coming of cold weather and the trapping season, however, he had set skilfully concealed traps about the locality of its wanderings. Several of them had been deftly sprung and robbed of their bait. Bill, of course, blamed the silver fox, and each time he reset them with greater care, hopeful that he would eventually capture the idol of his dreams.