“You are not proposing to desert this lovely camp so soon?” I said to the Colonel, as we stood in the tent door gazing out on the lake some days later. “It seems a pity after spending so much labor about the camp to leave at once.”
“Well, we cannot tarry long; we little know what is before us if the water courses remain dry; our birch canoes will not endure the strain much longer,” was the Colonel’s reply. And so we bade farewell to this charming spot.
At night we reached Logan Pond. Before our tents were in position we were overtaken by a drenching rain storm, which we fought through with philosophical patience, hoping it would increase the water along the route. It takes true grit to endure without complaint a rain-storm in the woods, and one must have an abundance of cheerfulness to keep from murmuring.
“You had better set those beaver traps to-night,” said the Colonel to the Indian, as he stood drying himself before the fire, and turning about from one side to the other like a roasting turkey.
“Yes, me think so, too,” replied Nichols; and suiting the action to the word, he soon started off down the hill with the iron traps over his shoulder, I following him, bent upon investigating all the mysteries of wood-craft.
“You see beaver house over there?” whispered the guide, as we reached a mud dam at the outlet of the lake, at the same time pointing out to me a cone-shaped knob of mud and sticks about ten feet high and six feet in diameter. “One, two, three beaver live there, and me set traps to catch one to-night. Beaver build house with door; then build dam and raise water to cover door to house.”
Slipping into the woods the Indian soon returned with a cedar pole ten feet in length and four inches in diameter at the butt. With his axe he split this, and slipping over it the chain ring of the trap, secured it in position by a wedge. The trap was then opened and lowered carefully into the water, and after driving the pole into the mud, the upper end was made fast with twisted grasses to a neighboring tree.
What was our joy on arising the next morning to see Nichols returning from the pond lugging a fine beaver of over forty pounds’ weight, held in position on his shoulders by a withe of cedar bark encircling his forehead.
“Me lost another beaver,” said the Indian, as he dropped the heavy animal before the tent door for our examination, and wiped the perspiration from his dusky forehead. “Beaver cut pole in pieces and run with trap. Me hunt pond all over, but no find him;” and he displayed as much sorrow over the loss as if it had been a small fortune.
The fur of the animal was in excellent condition. He was three feet in length, with tail 5 × 12 inches, half an inch in thickness, and covered with black, shining scales of leather-like toughness.