"It must be a trap, such as I have heard my great-grandmother tell of," said Binney, trembling; "and I dare say the strange track I saw was that of a man. What shall we do?"
"If you would gnaw this little thing off I could get my paw out," said the wood-beaver.
Binney gnawed with all his might, but in vain. He could not make even the least little mark on the iron of the trap.
"There, it is all of no use," said the wood-beaver, despairingly. "You had better run right home, and leave me to my fate, Binney! It serves me right for leading you astray in the first place. Keep on up the stream till you come to the dam, and be sure you tell every beaver you meet that there is a trapper about. Make haste, or he will come back and catch you."
"I cannot go, and leave you in this scrape," said Binney, crying bitterly. "It was as much my fault as yours. I would bite my own paw off rather than be caught. Beavers do so sometimes. Grandmamma told us so."
"I cannot get at it," replied his friend. "Run, Binney, I hear him coming!"
But before Binney could make up his mind what to do, two men burst through the bushes with guns in their bands. One of them gave the wood-beaver a knock on the head which killed him, while the other seized upon Binney, who, in his fright, did not know which way to run, and so stood still. O how he did kick and bite; but all was of no use. He could not get away.
"What is that? A young one?" asked one of the men.
"Yes, just what we want," replied the other. "Come, let us take him to the camp."
Binney gave himself up for lost, and expected every moment to be killed.