The Peril of the Traps
AT breakfast next morning the Boy had quite recovered his good humour,
and was making merry at Jabe's expense. The latter, who was, of
course, defenceless and abashed, was anxious to give him something new
to think of.
"Say," he exclaimed suddenly, after the Boy had prodded him with a
searching jibe. "If ye'll let up on that snore, now, I'll take a day
off from my cruisin', and show ye somethin' myself."
"Good!" said the Boy. "It's a bargain. What will you show me?"
"I'll take ye over to one of _my_ ponds, in next valley, an' show ye
all the different ways of _trappin'_ beaver."
The Boy's face fell.
"But what do _I_ care about _trapping_ beaver?" he cried. "You know I
wouldn't trap anything. If I had to kill anything, I'd _shoot_ it,
and put it out of misery as quick as I could!"
"I know all that," responded Jabe. "But trappin' is somethin' ye want
to _understand_, all the same. Ye can't be an all-round woodsman 'less
ye _understand_ trappin'. An' moreover, there's some things ye learn
about wild critters in tryin' to git the better of 'em that ye can't
learn no other way."
"I guess you're right, Jabe!" answered the Boy, slowly. Knowledge he
would have, whether he liked the means of getting it or not. But the
woodsman's next words relieved him.
"I'll just show ye _how_, that's all!" said Jabe. "It's a leetle too
airly in the season yit fur actual trappin'. An' moreover, it's agin
the law. Agin the law, an' agin common sense, too, fer the fur ain't
no good, so to speak, fer a month yit. When the law an' common sense
stand together, then I'm fer the law. Come on!"
Picking up his axe, he struck straight back into the woods, in a
direction at right angles to the brook. To uninitiated eyes there was
no trail; but to Jabe, and to the Boy no less, the path was like a
trodden highway. The pace set by the backwoodsman, with his long,
slouching, loose-jointed, flat-footed stride, was a stiff one, but
the Boy, who was lean and hard, and used his feet straight-toed like
an Indian, had no fault to find with it. Neither spoke a word, as they
swung along single file through the high-arched and ancient forest,
whose shadows, so sombre all through summer, were now shot here and
there with sharp flashes of scarlet or pale gleams of aerial gold.
Once, rounding a great rock of white granite stained with faint
pinkish and yellowish reflections from the bright leaves glowing over
it, they came face to face with a tall bull moose, black and
formidable-looking as some antediluvian monster. The monster, however,
had no desire to hold the way against them. He eyed them doubtfully
for a second, and then went crashing off through the brush in frank,
undignified alarm.
For a good three miles the travellers swung onward, up a slow long
slope, and down a longer, slower one into the next valley. The Boy
noted that the region was one of numberless small brooks flowing
through a comparatively level land, with old, long-deserted
beaver-meadows interspersed among wooded knolls. Yet for a time there
were no signs of the actual living beavers. He asked the reason, and
Jabe said:
"It's been all trapped over an' over, years back, when beaver
pelts was high,--an' by Injuns, likely, who just cleaned out
everythin',--an' broke down the dams,--an' dug out the houses. But
the little critters is comin' back. Furder up the valley there's some
good ponds now!"
"And now they'll be cleaned out again!" exclaimed the Boy, with a rush
of indignant pity.
"Not on yer life!" answered Jabe. "We don't do things that way now. We
don't play low-down tricks on 'em an' clean out a whole family, but
jest take so many out of each beaver house, an' then leave 'em alone
two er three years to kinder recooperate!"
As Jabe finished they came in sight of a long, rather low dam, with a
pond spread out beyond it that was almost worthy to be called a lake.
It was of comparatively recent creation, as the Boy's observant eye
decided at once from the dead trees still rising here and there from
the water.
"Gee!" he exclaimed, under his breath. "That's a great pond, Jabe!"
"There's no less'n four beaver houses in that pond!" said the
woodsman, with an air of proud possession. "That makes, accordin' to
my reckonin', anywheres from thirty to thirty-six beaver. Bye and bye,
when the time comes, I'll kinder thin 'em out a bit, that's all!"
From the crest of the dam all four houses--one far out and three close
to shore--were visible to the Boy's initiated eye; though strangers
might have taken them to be mere casual accumulations of sticks
deposited by some whimsical freshet. It troubled him to think how many
of the architects of these cunningly devised dwellings would soon have
to yield up their harmless and interesting lives; but he felt no
mission to attempt a reform of humanity's taste for furs, so he did
not allow himself to become sentimental on the subject. Beavers, like
men, must take fate as it comes; and he turned an attentive ear to
Jabe's lesson.
"Ye know, of course," said the woodsman, "the steel trap we use. We
ain't got no use fer the tricks of the Injuns, though I'm goin' to
tell ye all _them_, in good time. An' we ain't much on new-fangled
notions, neether. But the old, smooth-jawed steel-trap, what kin
_hold_ when it gits a grip, an' not tear the fur, is good enough for
us."
"Yes, I know all your traps, of all the sizes you use, from muskrat up
to bear!" interrupted the Boy. "What size do you use for the beaver?"
"Number four," answered Jabe. "Jaw's got a spread of six and one-half
inches or thereabouts. But it's all in the where an' the how ye set
yer trap!"
"And that's what I want to know about!" said the Boy. "But why don't
you _shoot_ the poor little beggars? That's quicker for both, and just
as easy for you, ain't it?"
"T'ain't no use _shootin'_ a beaver, leastways not in the water! He
just sinks like a stone. No, ye've _got_ to trap him, to _git_ him.
Now, supposin' you was goin' to trap, where would ye set the traps?"
"I'd anchor them just in the entrances to their houses," answered the
Boy promptly. "Or along their canals, when they've got canals. Or
round their brush piles an' storage heaps. And when I found a tree
they'd just partly cut down, I'd set a couple of traps, covered up in
leaves, each side of the trunk, where they'd have to step on the pan
when they stood up to gnaw."
"Good for you!" said Jabe, with cordial approbation. "Ye'd make a
first-class trapper, 'cause ye've got the right notion. Every one of
them things is done, one time or another, by the old trapper. But
here's one or two wrinkles more killin' yet. An' moreover, if ye trap
a beaver on land ye're like to lose him one way or another. He's got
so much _purchase_, on land, with things to git hold on to; he's jest
as like as not to twist his leg clean off, an' git away. If it's one
of his fore legs, which is small an' slight, ye know, he's most sure
to twist it off. An' sometimes he'll do the trick even with a hind
leg. I've caught lots of beaver as had lost a fore leg, an' didn't
seem none the worse. The fur'd growed over it, an' they was slick an'
hearty. An' I've caught them as had lost a hind leg, an' they was in
good condition. A beaver'll stand a lot, I tell you. But then,
supposin' you git yer beaver, caught so fast he ain't no chance
whatever to git clear. Then, like as not, some lynx, or wildcat, or
fisher, or fox, or even maybe a bear, 'll come along an' help himself
to Mr. Beaver without so much as a by yer leave. No, ye want to git
him in the water; an' as he's just as anxious to git thar as you are
to git him thar, that suits all parties to a T."
[Illustration: "'OR EVEN MAYBE A BEAR.'"]
"Good!" said the Boy,--not that it really seemed to him good, but to
show that he was attending.
"But," continued Jabe, "what would ye say would most upset the beaver
and make 'em careless?"
The Boy thought for a moment.
"Breaking their dam!" he answered tentatively.
"_Eg_zactly!" answered the woodsman. "Well, now, to ketch beaver sure,
make two or three breaks in their dam, an' set the traps jest a leetle
ways above the break, on the upper slope, where they're sure to step
into 'em when hustlin' round to mend the damage. That gits 'em, every
time. Ye chain each trap to a stake, driven into three or four foot of
water; an' ye drive another stake about a foot an' a half away from
the first. When the beaver finds himself caught, he dives straight for
deep water,--his way of gittin' clear of most of his troubles. But
this time he finds it don't work. The trap keeps a holt, bitin' hard.
An' in his struggle he gits the chain all tangled up 'round the two
stakes, an' drowns himself. There you have him safe, where no lynx nor
fox kin git at him."
"Then, when one of them dies so dreadfully, right there before their
eyes," said the Boy, "I suppose the others skin out and let the
broken dam go! They must be scared to death themselves!"
"Not on yer life, they don't!" responded Jabe. "The dam's the thing
they care about. They jest keep on hustlin' round; an' they mend up
that dam if it takes half the beaver in the pond to do it. Oh, they're
grit, all right, when it comes to standin' by the dam."
"Hardly seems fair to take them that way, does it?" mused the Boy
sympathetically.
"It's a good way," asserted Jabe positively, "quick an' sure! Then, in
winter there's another good an' sure way,--where ye don't want to
clean out the whole house, which is killin' the goose what lays the
golden egg, like the Injuns does! Ye cut a hole in the ice, near the
bank. Then ye git a good, big, green sapling of birch or willow, run
the little end 'way out into the pond under the ice, an' ram the big
end, sharpened, deep into the mud of the bank, so the beaver can't
pull it out. Right under this end you set yer trap. Swimmin' round
under the ice, beaver comes across this fresh-cut sapling an' thinks
as how he's got a good thing. He set right to work to gnaw it off,
close to the bank, to take it back to the house an' please the
family. First thing, he steps right into the trap. An' that's the end
of him. But other beaver'll come along an' take the sapling, all the
same!"
"You spoke of the ways the Indians had, of cleaning out the whole
family," suggested the Boy, when Jabe had come to a long pause, either
because he was tired of talking or because he had no more to say.
"Yes, the Injuns' methods was complete. They seemed to have the idee
there'd always be beaver a-plenty, no matter how many they killed. One
way they had was to mark down the bank holes, the burrows, an' then
break open the houses. This, ye must understand, 's in the winter,
when there's ice all over the pond. When they're drove from their
houses, in the winter, they take straight to their burrows in the
bank, where they kin be sure of gittin' their heads above water to
breathe. Then, the Injuns jest drive stakes down in front of the
holes,--an' there they have 'em, every one. They digs down into the
burrows, an' knocks Mr. Beaver an' all the family on the head."
"Simple and expeditious!" remarked the Boy, with sarcastic approval.
"But the nestest job the Injuns makes," continued Jabe, "is by
gittin' at the brush pile. Ye know, the beaver keeps his winter
supply of grub in a pile,--a pile of green poles an' saplings an'
branches,--a leetle ways off from the house. The Injun finds this
pile, under the ice. Then, cuttin' holes through the ice, he drives
down a stake fence all 'round it, so close nary a beaver kin git
through. Then he pulls up a stake, on the side next the beaver
house, an' sticks down a bit of a sliver in its place. Now ye kin
guess what happens. In the house, over beyant, the beavers gits
hungry. One on 'em goes to git a stick from the pile an' bring it
inter the house. He finds the pile all fenced off. But a stick he
must have. Where the sliver is, that's the only place he kin git
through. Injun, waitin' on the ice, sees the sliver move, an' knows
Mr. Beaver's gone in. He claps the stake down agin, in place of the
sliver. An' then, of course, there's nawthin' left fer Mr. Beaver to
do but drown. He drowns jest at the place where he come in an'
couldn't git out agin. That seems to knock him out, like, an' he
jest gives up right there. Injun fishes him out, dead, puts the
sliver back, an' waits for another beaver. He don't have to wait
long--an' nine times outer ten he gits 'em all. Ye see, they _must_
git to the brush pile!"
[Illustration: "HE DROWNS JEST AT THE PLACE WHERE HE COME IN."]
"I'm glad _you_ don't trap them that way, Jabe!" said the Boy. "But
tell me, why did you bring me away out here to _this_ pond, to tell me
all this, when you could have done it just as well at _my_ pond?"
"I jest wanted the excuse," answered Jabe, "fer takin' a day off from
cruisin'. Now, come on, an' I'll show ye some more likely ponds."