“Can anybody trap them?”
“Oh no, sir; that wouldn’t do at all; a person has to own the land, or have the right to trap. The land isn’t worth much, though—only about a dollar an acre.”
“The Indian name of muskrat is said to be musksquash?”
“I don’t know how that is; but I have heard people call them so. There are a good many in the marsh, and we sometimes make three or four hundred dollars a year from them.”
“But, as the swamp fills up and the land makes, won’t they disappear?”
“No, sir; the swamp isn’t filling up; but the land is sinking, or the water rising—either one or the other; for the swamp is growing larger. The trees on the island are being killed by the water—some are dead already; and every year more high land becomes meadow, and the meadow turns into swamp.”
“I thought the Western lakes were growing shallow, and receding yearly.”
“Not here, sir. Why, that long spit of reeds beyond Grassy Point was dry land once, so that you could drive a team clear over to Squaw Island; there were large trees on it, but they are all dead, and the channel between it and the island is six feet deep.”
“All the better for us sportsmen. Have you any other valuable animals besides the rats?”
“A few otter; but not many. No, sir; the ducks are the most valuable things we have.”