The more expert the hunter, the more pride he takes in his work.

Before leaving a trap, he will examine its surroundings carefully and

decide from which angle he wishes the animal to approach; then by

arranging cut brush in a natural way in the snow he will block all

other approaches, and thus compel the unsuspecting fox to carry out his

wishes.

When a fox springs a trap without being caught, he rarely pauses to eat

the bait, but leaps away in fright. The hunter, however, knowing that

the fox will soon return, not only leaves the trap as the fox left it,

but sets another trap, or even two more, without bait, close to the

first, where he thinks the fox will tread when he makes his second

visit. If that fails, he will trace the fox's trail to where it passes

between thick brush and there he will set a trap in the usual way, but

without bait, right in the fox's track. Then he will cut brush and

shore up the natural bushes in such a way that, no other opening being

left, the fox must return by his own track, and run the chance of being

caught. Should that method also fail, the hunter will set another trap

in the trail close to the first, in the hope that if one trap does not

catch the fox, the next will.

Another device is to break a bit of glass into tiny slivers which the

hunter mixes with grease and forms into little tablets that he leaves

on the snow. If the fox scents them, the chances are that he will

swallow each tablet at a single gulp. Presently he will feel a pain in

his stomach. At first this will cause him to leap about, but as his

sufferings will only increase, he will lie down for an hour or so.

When he finally rises to move away, he will feel the pain again. Once

more he will lie down, and the chances are that he will remain there

until found either dead or alive by the hunter.

FASHIONABLE FOOLS

If my readers, especially my women readers, should feel regret at the

great suffering resulting from fur-hunting, they should recall to mind

its chief contributory cause--those devotees of fashionable

civilization who mince around during the sweltering days of July and

August in furs. The mere thought of them once so filled with wrath a

former acting Prime Minister of Canada--Sir George Foster--that he lost

his usual flow of suave and classic oratory, and rearing up, roared out

in the House of Parliament: "Such women get my goat!"

Truly, there is much suffering in the wilderness, especially on account

of civilization; but if my readers will be patient enough to wade

through these few paragraphs of pain, they may later on find enough

novelty, beauty, and charm in the forest to reward them for reading on

to the end.

But to return to foxes--they are much given to playing dead. Once,

while travelling in Athabasca with Caspar Whitney, the noted American

writer on Sport and Travel, we came upon a black fox caught in a steel

trap. One of our dog-drivers stunned it and covered it with a mound of

snow in order to protect its pelt from other animals, so that when the

unknown trapper came along he would find his prize in good order.

Three days later, when I passed that way, the fox was sitting upon the

mound of snow, and was as alive as when first seen. This time,

however, my half-breed made sure by first hitting the fox on the snout

to stun it, and then gently pressing his moccasined foot over its heart

until it was dead--the proper way of killing small fur-bearing animals

without either injuring the fur or inflicting unnecessary pain.

Colin Campbell, a half-breed at York Factory, once had a different

experience. He had been on a visit to an Indian camp with his

dog-train and on his way back found a white fox in one of his traps.

He stunned it in the usual way and pressed his foot over its heart; and

when he was sure it was dead, placed it inside his sled-wrapper and

drove home. On arriving at the Fort he unhitched his sled from the

dogs, and leaving them harnessed, pulled his sled, still containing its

load, into the trading room; where, upon opening the wrapper to remove

the load, the fox leaped out and, as the door was closed, bolted in

fright straight through the window, carrying the glass with it, and

escaped before the dogs could be released from their harness.

There are, however, other ways of catching the fox. One is to chop a

hole in the ice on a river or lake, fill the hole with water and place

in it a "hung" white-fish, in such a position that, when the water

freezes, about one third of the fish will protrude above the ice. Then

in the usual way, but without bait or sign, set one or two traps near

the fish. When the fox arrives, he may succeed in eating the fish's

head, but when he tries to dig the rest of the fish out of the ice, he

will become too interested to remain cautious, and in shifting his

place of stance will soon be taken prisoner. But sometimes a knowing

old fox will first dig about in the snow, and on finding the trap, will

thereafter be able to eat the fish in safety.

Mention of the fish bait recalls what strange things occasionally

happen in relation to hunting. A half-breed hunter, named Pierre

Geraud, living near Fort Isle a la Crosse, in laying out his trapping

trail one winter, had set one of his mink deadfalls in a swamp close to

the water-line; and on visiting the trap after the spring flood, found

a large pike caught in it. All the signs showed that when the flood

had been at its height the fish had been swimming about, and on

discovering the bait set for mink had seized it, and in trying to make

away with it had set off the trap, the heavy drop-log falling and

killing the fish.

When I expressed surprise that an animal should have intelligence

enough not only to find a buried trap, but to dig it up and then spring

it without being caught, Oo-koo-hoo explained that it was not so much a

matter of animal intelligence as of man's stupidity; for whenever that

happened it did not prove to the animal's credit, but to man's

discredit; the careless hunter having simply left enough man-smell on

the trap to form a guide that told the animal exactly where the trap

lay. Then, the overwhelming curiosity of the fox had compelled it to

investigate the mystery by digging it up, and when found, the fox in

its usual way would play with the strange object; just as a domestic

kitten would do, and so the fox would set off the trap.

THE LAST RESORT

On my first trips into the forest, whenever I questioned an Indian

hunter as to the cause of this or that, the completeness of his graphic

explanation always puzzled me; for I could not understand how it was

that when he was not an eye-witness, he knew all the details of the

affair as well as though the dead animal itself had told him the full

story. But when I, too, began to study Nature's book on woodcraft, it

amazed me no longer; for then I realized that to those who had studied

enough it was easy to read the drama of the forest; especially in the

winter, for then Nature never fails to record it, and every story is

always published just where it happens. Even to those who have not

taken the Indian degree in woodcraft, it is not difficult to read in

winter time the annals of animal life in the forest, for then Nature

describes with ample detail many an interesting story. In winter time,

too, even a blind Indian can follow a trail of which a town-bred man

with normal sight could see no trace.

If his steel traps fail, the Indian may resort to still another

method--the gun trap--regardless of the fact that this may lessen the

value of the animal's pelt. A gun, first carefully cleaned and loaded

with the exception of the cap, is placed in a nearly horizontal

position about two feet above the snow and lashed securely to two

posts; the barrel slanting downward to a point about a foot in height

and eight feet away. At that precise spot the bait stick is so fixed

that when the fox seizes the bait, its head will be directly in line

with the gun-barrel. Fastened to the bait by one end will be a thong,

the other end of which will be attached to the trigger, and will

discharge the gun when the bait is seized. When all is in readiness,

the cap is put on the nipple, and a birch-bark shelter arranged to keep

the gun-lock free from falling snow. Brush is then placed in the snow

in such a way that it will cause the fox to approach from only one

direction, and that the one the hunter desires. It is not a good trap,

being very uncertain, as whiskey-jacks, ermine, mice, or rabbits may

meddle with it, and set it off. It is seldom used except for wolverine.

Frequently the value an Indian places upon a certain pelt is determined

not according to its quality, but according to the trouble the animal

caused him in securing it, and for that reason he will sometimes expect

more for a red fox pelt than for the skin of a beautiful black fox.

Then, in order to retain the Indian's goodwill, the experienced trader

will humour him by giving the price asked, and count on making up his

loss in another way.

In hunting fur-bearers poison should never be used, since it bleaches

the fur and thus reduces its value. Moreover, it is apt to kill in an

almost endless chain many forest creatures besides the animal sought,

as they may feed on the first victim to the deadly drug.

The hunter's last resort in trapping the coloured fox is to set a snare

for him. In setting a snare the Chipewyan and northern Indians always

use a tossing-pole, while most of the southern and eastern Indians use

a spring-pole; the difference being that a tossing-pole is usually made

by bending down a small tree--the size of the tree being determined by

the size of the game--to the top of which is fastened the snare; or the

tossing-pole may be made by cutting a pole for that purpose. The

result, however, being that the moment the snare is sprung the

tossing-pole flies free, and hauling the game into the air, holds it

there out of reach of other animals that might rob the hunter of his

prize. A spring-pole is made by setting a springy pole in such a

position that when the snare is sprung, the tension is released, and

the pole, springing up, hauls the animal against a stationary bar set

horizontally above the loop of the snare, and holds the quarry there.

Many kinds of animals are caught with snares, and in size they run all

the way from rabbits to bears and even to the great bull-moose.

HUNTER CAUGHT IN SNARE

Snares, steel traps, and deadfalls that are set for large game are

dangerous even for man to approach carelessly, and sometimes even the

trapper himself has the misfortune to be caught in the very trap he has

set for some other animal. Early one winter, in fact, just after the

first heavy snowfall, and while some bears were still roaming about,

before turning in for their long winter sleep, an Indian hunter--I have

forgotten his name--assisted by his son, had just set a powerful snare

for bears. Soon after starting for home, the hunter, discovering that

he had left his pipe by the trap, told his son to go on to camp, and he

would return to recover his treasure. On arriving at the snare, he saw

his pipe lying just beyond his reach at the back of the loop, but

instead of walking round the brush fence and picking it up from behind,

as he should have done, he foolishly put his leg through the snare in

order to reach and dislodge his pipe. By some evil chance his foot

caught upon the loop; and instantly he was violently jerked, heels over

head, into the air, and there hung head downward struggling for his

life. He had made the tossing-pole from a strong tree, up which his

son had climbed with a line, and by their combined weight they had

forced the tree top over and down until they could secure it by setting

the snare. The tossing-pole, when the snare went off, sprung up with

such force that it not only dislocated the hunter's right leg at the

knee, but it threw his knife out of its sheath, and, consequently, he

had no means by which he could cut the line, nor could he unfasten it

or even climb up--for he was hanging clear of the tree. Presently,

however, he began to bleed from the nose and ears; and in his violent

effort to struggle free, he noticed that he was swinging from side to

side; then it dawned upon him that if he could only increase the radius

of his swing he might manage to reach and seize hold of the tree, climb

up to slacken the line, unfasten the snare, and set himself free.

This, after much violent effort, he finally accomplished; but even when

he reached the ground, everything seemed utterly hopeless, for on

account of his dislocated leg, he could not walk. So there he lay all

night long. During twilight, as fate ordained, the wounded man had a

visitor; it was a bear, and no doubt the very bear for which he had set

his snare. But the bear, in approaching, did not notice the man until

it was almost on top of him, and then it became so frightened that it

tore up into a neighbouring tree and there remained for hours. By

midnight, however, it came down, and then it was the suffering hunter's

turn to become alarmed, for the big brute passed very close to him

before it finally walked away. A little after sunrise the hunter's son

arrived, but not being able to carry his father, and fearing lest the

bear might return before he could secure help, he decided to leave his

father there, while he went in search of the bear. Tracking it, he

soon came upon it and shot it dead. Back he hastened to camp and, with

his mother, returned with a sled and hauled the wounded man home.

THE FOX AT HOME

The "coloured" foxes, including the red, the cross, the silver, and the

black--the latter three being merely colour phases of the former and

not separate species, as has frequently been proved, but all four

having been found in the same litter--mate in February and March. They

pair and remain faithful partners. The father also helps in feeding

and caring for the young which are born about fifty days after the

mating season. The litter contains from three to ten, and when a few

weeks old the young are as playful and as interesting as domestic

kittens. The den in which they are born may be a hollow tree, a hollow

log, or more often an underground tunnel with several entrances and a

storeroom besides the living chamber. The nest is never lined, but

left quite bare and is kept clean. Their principal food is derived

from mice, birds, fowl, and rabbits; and the parents frequently cache

food for both their young and themselves. No wonder they are good

providers, for what with their keen sense of scent and their great

speed they seldom fail in their hunts. They are fond of open country

and have an individual range of very few miles, perhaps ten at the

most. In winter they run singly until the mating season; seldom are

the tracks of more than two foxes seen together, and their principal

enemies are men, wolves, lynxes, and dogs.

As the district through which we were passing was rich in fox-signs,

Oo-koo-hoo set a number of traps. Such work takes time, and when we

reached a well-wooded grove of second-growth birch, poplars, and--along

a little creek--willows, we began to think of where we should camp for

the night. Besides, the old hunter deemed it an ideal spot in which to

set lynx and rabbit snares. So while the boys cut wood for the fire

and brush for our beds, and then turned to the cooking of supper,

Oo-koo-hoo cut a great mass of birch, poplar, and willow branches and

tops, and threw them into piles, not only to attract the rabbits

thither, but to afford them a prolonged feast for many weeks, and thus

fatten them for his own use; moreover, the gathering of the rabbits

would prove a strong attraction for the lynxes of the region.

Sometimes, at such a spot, hundreds of rabbits will feed, and in winter

time the place may become such a network of runways that if it happens

to be a fairly open hillside one can see from half a mile away the

shadows of the endless tracks that mark the glistening snow in all

directions.

During the years of great plenty--which the Indians and traders assert

come about every seventh year--the number of rabbits in some sections

of the northern forest is almost beyond belief. Then a plague suddenly

overtakes them, almost wiping them out of existence, and several years

elapse before the disease disappears and they begin to increase again.

The plague, of course, is the rabbit's greatest enemy, then follows the

lynx, the fox, the wolf, and many other animals and even birds such as

the owl and the hawk; but somewhere among that destructive group man

plays a prominent part.

THE RABBIT AND THE HUNTER

The rabbit, or more properly the varying-hare, of the northern forest

is also called the snowshoe rabbit, from the fact that nature has

provided it with remarkable feet that allow it to run with ease over

the deepest and softest snow. It wears a coat that changes colour with

the changing seasons: brown in summer and white in winter. Its food is

derived principally from the bark of the poplar, the willow, and the

birch. In winter time rabbits are found to be fattest when the moon is

full, and that is accounted for by the fact that they feed at night,

and feed most when the moon is giving light. Besides, on stormy

nights, especially between moons, they remain more under cover and feel

less inclined to venture out even to secure their needed food. In all

the north woods there is no animal that is of more use to man, beast,

or bird, than the rabbit, nor is there any animal that is so friendly

to all alike; yet no other creature of the wilderness is so preyed upon

as the rabbit. But in winter its safety lies not so much in the great

speed it possesses as in its snowshoe feet and in its skill in dodging.

Rabbits mate in March and April, the usual litter of three or four

being born about a month later. The nest is usually on the ground in

some sheltered place under brushwood that forms a good protection, and

the nest is lined with leaves, grass, or their own cast-off fur.

A rabbit snare is made of fine babiche, sinew, cord, or wire, and the

loop is hung over a rabbit runway just high enough to catch it round

the neck. In its struggles it sets off the spring or tossing-pole,

thus usually ending its sufferings. When thus caught the flesh is

tender and sweet; but when caught by a leg the flesh is flabby and

tasteless, the reason being that when caught by the neck the rabbit is

killed almost instantly; but when snared by a leg it hangs struggling

in pain for hours before it finally bleeds at the nose and dies, or is

frozen to death. When the latter happens, however, the rabbit is

usually thrown to a dog or used for trap bait. The reason Oo-koo-hoo

set the rabbit snares was not so much for present needs as to provide

meals for the hunter while on his future rounds; also to keep on hand a

goodly supply of trap bait.

Expert hunters, when they have time, prefer to hunt rabbits by calling

them. In the rutting season they imitate the love-call of the female,

and in other seasons they mimic the cries of the young; in either case,

the unsuspecting animals come loping from all directions, and the

hunter bowls them over with fine shot. Calling takes much practice,

but when the hunter has become an adept, it is the easiest and the

quickest way of catching them.

In relation to setting snares for rabbits, Mrs. Wm. Cornwallis King,

the wife of a well-known Hudson's Bay Company's chief trader, once had

an unusual experience. She had set for rabbits a number of snares made

of piano wire, and when visiting them one morning she was astonished

and delighted, too, to find caught in one of her snares a beautiful

silver fox; stranger still, the fox was caught by its tongue. As

usual, after investigation, the snow told the whole story in a graphic

way. It showed that the fox had been pursuing a rabbit, both going on

the full run, and the latter always dodging in the effort to escape

from its enemy. Finally, the rabbit had bolted past the snare, and the

panting fox, with its tongue hanging out, following close behind,

accidentally had touched its wet tongue against the wire, and the frost

of many degrees below zero had instantly frozen it there. Then the

fox, struggling to get free, had set off the snare, which closing on

its tongue had hauled it into the air, where it had hung with just the

tip of its tail and its hind toes resting on the snow. When Mrs. King

found it, it was dead.

That evening, when the fire sank low and we turned in, a pack of timber

wolves for fully an hour sang us a most interesting lullaby; such a

one, indeed, that it made the goose-flesh run up and down our backs--or

rather my back--just as really fine music always does; and to tell the

truth, I enjoyed it more than many a human concert I have heard.

HUNTING THE LYNX

It was cool next morning and cloudy and threatening snow. Five rabbits

had been caught during the night, and after breakfast we turned to

setting lynx snares. The steel trap is set for the lynx much in the

same way as it is for the fox; but for the lynx, a snare is preferable.

It is set with or without a tossing-pole, at the entrance of a

brush-lodge, the base of which is about five feet wide. The bait used

is made by rubbing beaver castorum on a bit of rabbit skin placed in a

split stick set vertically in the centre of the lodge. A surer way,

however, is to also set a steel trap in front of the lodge door, so

that if the lynx does not enter, he may be caught while looking in.

The Indians often hunt them with dogs, for, when pursued, the lynx soon

takes to a tree and then is easily shot. But the most proficient

hunters like to hunt them by calling. They imitate its screech and

also its whistle, for the lynx whistles somewhat like a jack-rabbit,

though the sound is coarser and louder. Some Indians are very

successful in this mode of hunting.

Besides being able to whistle, the lynx far surpasses the domestic cat

in the range and volume of his evening song; and during the rutting

season, at sunrise and sunset, he has a peculiar habit of beating or

drumming with his forepaws on the hard snow or earth. No doubt it is a

form of challenge, used much in the same way as the drumming of

cock-grouse; martens and rabbits do the same. The lynx is a wonderful

swimmer and is dangerous to tackle in the water, for he can turn with

remarkable agility, and board a canoe in a moment. Of all northern

animals he is perhaps the most silent walker, for in the night a band

of five or six lynxes may pass close beside one's tent and never be

heard, though a single rabbit, passing at the same distance, may make

enough noise to awaken a sound sleeper. Though he often behaves like a

coward, hunters approach him with care when he is caught in a steel

trap, as he can make a great spring and when he chooses, can fight

desperately. While in summer he is a poor runner, in winter he is

greatly aided by his big feet, which act as snowshoes and help him over

the soft snow and the deep drifts. Few animals succeed in killing him,

for what with his unusual speed in water and the fact that he can climb

a tree with almost the ease of a monkey, his chances of escape are

always good.

[Illustration: The lynx is a wonderful swimmer and is dangerous to

tackle in the water, for he can turn with remarkable agility, and board

a canoe in a moment. Of all northern animals he is perhaps the most

silent walker. Though he often behaves like a coward, hunters approach

him with care when he is caught in a steel trap, as he can make a great

spring and when he chooses, can . . . See Chapter III.]

Lynxes mate in March, the young being born about three months later,

the litter consisting of from one to five. The father assists in the

support of the kittens, which are much like those of the domestic cat.

The lynx's coat is gray mottled with brown, but in winter it turns a

lighter colour; in weight he runs from thirty-five to forty-five

pounds. His principal food is derived from rabbits and any other

animals he can kill, from beaver down, as well as grouse, ptarmigan,

and other birds and fowl; occasionally he will tackle the young of

deer, but he never dares to molest man. When his catch is more than

sufficient for his present need, he caches the remainder in snow or

earth for future use. He is as cleanly as a house cat, and his flesh

when cooked resembles a cross between rabbit and veal.

MARTEN TRAPPING

After setting a number of snares for lynxes we resumed our march, and

on rounding the end of a little lake, saw two fresh moose-tracks.

Following them up, we finally came to a park-like region, where was

very little underbrush, and where most of the trees were pine and

spruce--an ideal spot for marten. So Oo-koo-hoo, forgetting all about

his moose-tracks, made ready to set some marten traps.

For one marten an Indian catches in a steel trap he catches a dozen in

wooden deadfalls; but with the white trapper it is different--he relies

chiefly on the steel traps. Steel traps are set either in the open or

in the tracks of the marten in exactly the same way as for foxes, and

either with or without tossing-poles. The largest and best deadfalls

used by the Indians are those they set for bears. The city-dwelling

author, or illustrator, who has not lived in the wilderness, would

never think of depicting an Indian trapper with a big hand-auger

hanging from his belt, perhaps no more than he would depict a pirate

armed with a big Bible; yet, nevertheless, it is a fact that the Indian

trapper nowadays carries an auger much as the old buccaneer carried his

cutlass--thrust through his belt. Somehow or other, I never could

associate Oo-koo-hoo's big wooden-handled auger with his gun and

powder-horn, and all the while I was curious as to what use he was

going to make of it. Now I was to have my curiosity satisfied.

First he selected an evergreen tree about a foot in diameter--this time

it was a pine--and with his axe cut a horizontal notch one to two

inches deep; then he blazed the tree six or eight inches down to the

notch, in order to form a smooth, flat surface; then he took his big

auger and bored down into the tree, at an incline of about twenty

degrees, a hole of two inches' diameter and nine inches deep. Allowing

at that spot for two feet of snow, he had bored the hole about thirty

inches above ground. Then taking two inch-and-a-quarter, thin,

sharp-pointed nails he drove them obliquely into the tree just above

the hole, so that about three quarters of each protruded into the hole.

He did the same with two other nails below the hole, but this time

drove them upward until they, too, protruded into the hole. Both sets

of nails were driven in about an inch and a quarter apart. The bait

used was a duck's head placed at the bottom of the hole. The idea was

that when the marten scented the bait, he would crawl into the hole to

secure it; but when he tried to withdraw, he would find himself

entrapped by the four sharp-pointed nails that, though they allowed him

to slip in, now prevented him from backing out as they ran into his

flesh, and held him until the hunter, placing two fingers of each hand

over the four nail-points, seizing with his teeth the animal's tail,

and throwing back his head, would draw his victim out. But such work

is rather risky, as the hunter may be bitten before he has a chance to

kill the marten.

Though it is a very recent mode of trapping--only about thirty-five

years old--it is now considered the best of all ways for taking marten,

as the traps not only remain set all winter, but they last for years.

Later I learned from a chief factor that it was invented by a Saulteaux

Indian named Ke-now-keoose, who was at one time employed as a servant

of the Hudson's Bay Company, where he learned the use of carpenter's

tools--later, when he left the service, he hunted and trapped along the

Athabasca, the Slave, and the Mackenzie rivers. Sometimes twenty-five

to thirty such traps are set by a hunter in a single day. Mink and

ermine are often caught in them, and on one occasion even a wolverine

was taken. The wolverine, having scented the bait, followed it up, and

while endeavouring to secure the dainty duck's head, thrust his forepaw

into the hole and was thus taken prisoner.

Oo-koo-hoo took pains to teach the boys everything in relation to

trapping, and as soon as he was sure they had mastered the details of

setting such traps, he went ahead with his axe to blaze the right

trees, while the boys followed with the auger, and in the work of

boring the holes and driving the nails took turn and turn about. But

after all, the old-fashioned deadfall is more humane than any other way

of trapping, as it often ends the animal's suffering at once by killing

it outright, instead of holding it a prisoner till it starves or is

frozen to death, before the hunter arrives on his usual weekly round of

that particular trapping path.

Martens mate in February or March, the young being born about three

months later, either in a hole in the ground or in a hollow tree; the

nest being lined with moss, grass, or leaves, and the litter numbering

usually from two to four. The marten is a wonderfully energetic little

animal, even more tireless than the squirrel and as great a climber.

It is an expert hunter and its food includes birds, fish, chipmunks,

birds' eggs, mice, fruit, and rabbits; and it stores its surplus food

by burying it.

MINK ON THE FUR TRAIL

By the time Oo-koo-hoo and his grandsons had set twelve or fifteen

traps it was nearing noon, so we had lunch before starting off in

search of another rich game region. While on our way that afternoon

the old hunter again discovered signs of wolverines and it worried him,

for it meant not only the destruction of many of his traps, but also

the ruining of the pelts of some of the animals he might catch.

Continuing, we soon entered an ideal valley for mink, where two

turbulent little crystal streams roared at one another as they sprang

together among the rocks and then fell down into dark, eddying pools

where, no doubt, trout leaped after flies in due season.

The mink is a small animal, about two feet long, including his tail.

In colour he is of a dark, rich brown. Though he is not a swift runner

and is rather a poor climber, he is an excellent swimmer and is a

desperate fighter of great strength. Minks mate in February and March;

the female burrowing in a bank, a rocky crevice, or beneath a log or a

stump, or perhaps in a hollow tree; the nest is lined with moss,

feathers, or grass, and the young are born about forty days after the

mating season. The minks' food may be flesh, fish, or fowl and, if

overstocked, it is stored for future use.

On land, the mink is caught exactly as the fox, the fisher, or the

marten is caught, except, of course, that there is a difference in the

size of the traps. In water, the steel trap is set just below the

surface and rests on the muddy or sandy bottom, where it is half

covered with soil as it lies in readiness close to the bank where the

mink is in the habit of passing in and out of the stream. Mixed bait

is placed on the branches of the near-by bushes. In order, however, to

better his chances of catching the mink, the hunter may build a

deadfall near the trap, where the animal is in the habit of entering

the bush. Then extra bait of rancid fish or duck is used. This mode

of water-trapping applies, also, to muskrat, otter, and beaver. The

mink, however, is a stupid creature, and it does not require great

skill to trap him; but the hunter, nevertheless, must take care when

removing him from the trap, for the little brute has the heart of a

lion and will tackle anything, regardless of size.

We camped that night on the hillside overlooking "Mink Creek" as

Oo-koo-hoo called it, and next morning we again set out on our circular

way, for on leaving our lodges, we first headed almost due west for

about three miles, then we turned south for two more, and gradually

working round, we were soon facing east; that course we followed for a

day, then on the morrow we worked round toward the north, and finally

to the west again, as we neared home. Thus the trapping path was laid

in an elliptic form, somewhat suggesting the letter C, with the home

camp between the two ends of the letter. Many times during the winter

circumstances proved the wisdom of Oo-koo-hoo's plan, especially when

the sled became over-loaded with game, and a short cut to camp became

desirable. Though no part of his fur path lay more than five miles

from the lodges, yet to make the full circuit on showshoes, to examine

the traps, and to set some of them, it required a long day, as the path

must have covered in a zig-zagging way more than twenty miles. Later

on he and Amik laid out two more such trapping paths: one to the north

and the other to the east of Bear Lake. The one to the northward was

to be especially for bears and wolves as it was a good region for both

those animals. At supper time a snow flurry overtook us and whitened

the forest. As we sat around the fire that evening, the last evening

of our trip, Oo-koo-hoo again began worrying about the presence of

wolverines, recalling many of his experiences with those destructive

animals. But none of his stories equalled the following, told once by

Chief Factor Thompson.

MEGUIR AND THE WOLVERINE

It happened years ago when an old Dog-rib Indian, called Meguir, was

living and hunting in the vicinity of Fort Rae on Great Slave Lake.

The Dog-rib and his family of five had been hunting Barren Ground

Caribou, and after killing, skinning, and cutting up a number of deer,

had built a stage upon which they placed the venison. Moving on and

encountering another herd of caribou, they killed again, and cutting up

the game, stored it this time in a log cache. Again setting out on the

hunt--for they were laying in their supply of deer meat for the

winter--they again met with success; but as it was in a district devoid

of trees, they simply covered the meat with brush; and while Meguir and

his wife set off to haul the first lot of meat to camp, the three

grandchildren set to work to haul in the last. On continuing their

work the next day the children brought in word that a wolverine, or

carcajou, had visited the log cache; so Meguir set off at once to

investigate the story.

When he arrived, he found the cache torn asunder, and the meat gone.

Wolverine tracks were plentiful and mottled the snow in many

directions, but on circling, Meguir found a trail that led away, and on

following it up, he came upon a quarter of deer. He circled again,

trailed another track, found more meat, and after a few hours' work he

had recovered most of the venison; but on smelling it, he found that

the wolverine, in its usual loathsome way, had defiled the meat. Then,

on going to his stage, Meguir found that it, too, had been visited by

the wolverine, as the stage had been torn down and the meat defiled.

Indignant at the outrage, the old Dog-rib determined to hunt the

carcajou and destroy it. But before doing so, he made sure that all

his deer meat was hauled to camp and safely stored upon the stages

beside his lodge. That night, however, his old wife woke up with a

start and hearing the dogs growling, looked out, and discovered a

strange animal scrambling down from one of the stages. At once she

screamed to her old man to get his gun as fast as The Master of Life

would let him, as the wolverine was robbing them again.

Half-awake, and that half all excitement, the old man rushed out into

the snow with his muzzle-loading flintlock and let drive. Instantly

one of his dogs fell over. Roaring with rage, the old Indian re-loaded

with all speed, and catching another glimpse of the wolverine in the

faint light of the Aurora Borealis, let drive again; but as ill-luck

would have it, the gun went off just as another of his dogs made a

gallant charge, and once more a dog fell dead--and the wolverine got

away!

Nothing would now do but that the old man must seek his revenge at the

earliest possible moment, so when dawn broke he was already following

the trail of the malicious raider. All day he trailed it through the

snow, and just before dusk the tracks told him that he was very near

his quarry; but rather than run the risk of firing in a poor light, he

decided not to despatch the brute until daylight came.

According to the northern custom, when he camped that night, he stood

his gun and snowshoes in the snow far enough away to prevent their

being affected by the heat of the fire. In the morning his snowshoes

were gone. Tracks, however, showed that the wolverine had taken them.

Again the old man trailed the thief; but without snowshoes, the going

was extra hard, and it was afternoon before he stumbled upon one of his

snowshoes lying in the snow, and quite near his former camp, as the

"Great Mischief Maker" had simply made a big circuit and come back

again. But of what use was one snowshoe? So the old hunter continued

his search, and late that day found the other--damaged beyond repair.

That night, filled with rage and despondency, he returned to his old

camp, and as usual placed his gun upright in the snow away from the

heat of the fire. In the morning it was gone. New tracks marked the

snow and showed where the carcajou had dragged it away. Several hours

later the old man found it with its case torn to ribbons, the butt

gnawed, and the trigger broken.

Tired, hungry, dejected, and enraged, old Meguir sought his last

night's camp to make a fire and to rest awhile; but when he got there

he found he had lost his fire bag containing his flint and steel--his

wherewithal for making fire. Again he went in search, but

fresh-falling snow had so obliterated the trail and so hindered his

progress, that it was late before he recovered his treasure, and

regained his dead fireplace. Yet still the wolverine was at large.

But instead of thinking of wreaking his rage upon the wolverine, the

poor old Indian was so completely intimidated by the wily brute, so

discouraged and so despondent, that he imagined that the whole

transaction was the work of some evil spirit. As a result, he not only

gave up hunting the wolverine, but he gave up hunting altogether, and

he and his family would have starved had not friends come to their

rescue and rendered them assistance until his grandsons were old enough

to take charge.

PREPARING FOR WINTER

After our return to the home-camp we experienced several weeks of

perfect Indian summer, and its passing was marked by one of the most

beautiful natural phenomena I have ever seen. It happened when the

deciduous trees were at their height of autumnal glory, and when--as

though to add still more to the wonderful scene--three inches of

clinging snow having fallen during the night, glittered under the

brilliant morning sun. Truly it was a glory to behold--a perfect

panorama of rioting greens, yellows, browns, blues, reds, grays,

crimsons, purples, in fact, every colour which an artist's palette

could carry; and through it all was ever woven a mass of lace-like

brilliant white that dazzled the eyes of the beholder. Only once in

fifty years have I beheld a scene so enchanting.

Next day, however, a strong wind blew wild-looking leaden clouds over

the forest, and Autumn, taking fright, threw aside her gorgeous

rustling mantle and fled away; while the loons on the lake fairly

shrieked with laughter.

Meanwhile, the work in preparation for the coming of winter had made

good progress. Already the women and children had laid out their own

little trapping paths--principally for ermine, rabbits, partridges,

muskrats, and skunks, the game found nearest camp; and many another

thing had the women attended to. Though they still possessed the

sticking-plaster and the painkiller supplied by the trader, they

refused to rely on the white man's trivial cure-alls, as they could

gather better remedies from their own woods. Their chief reason for

buying "painkiller" was that they, like other Indians, relished it as a

cocktail on festival occasions; and many a time have I seen a group of

Indians--like civilized society people--topping off cocktails (of

painkiller) before sitting down to dinner.

In case of illness, however, the Indians resort much to bleeding, and

this is the mode of operation: a sharp flint is fastened to the split

end of a stick, a U-shaped piece of wood is laid over the intended

spot, and the thickness of the wood determines the depth of the

incision. The flint end of the stick is raised while the other end is

held down in such a way as to bend the stick; on releasing the end

containing the flint, the stick strikes downward and drives the flint

into the flesh to the required depth and no more. The bowl of a pipe

is then applied to the cut, and the blood is drawn off through the

stem. Young birch roots boiled in a second water make a tea which they

sweeten with sugar and use as a laxative. Yellow water-lily roots are

boiled until a black sediment forms--somewhat similar to iodine in

appearance--and with a feather dipped in this liquid wounds are painted

in order to consume proud flesh and to prevent mortification. The

upper tips--about four inches long--of juniper trees having been

boiled, and the outer bark removed, the inner bark is scraped off and

mashed up for poultices. The liquor in which the juniper has been

boiled is employed for washing wounds, as it causes the rapid formation

of a healing cicatrix. To cure colic, the dried root of the "rat root"

is chewed, and the juice swallowed.

Among other work that was well under way was the making of the

moccasins, known as the "mitten moccasin"--by far the best for

snowshoeing, as the seam runs round only the outer side of the foot and

leaves no puckering above the toes to cause blistering. True, the

mitten moccasin is not of the Ojibway style, but Mrs. Oo-koo-hoo had

learned to make it when she and her husband formerly sojourned among

the Wood-Crees on the upper Athabasca.

Supplying the family with socks was a very easy affair, as these

articles were simply rectangular shapes, 12 x 18 inches (for adults)

cut from duffle--a woollen material resembling an extra closely woven

H.B.C. blanket--and worn wrapped about the foot. Such socks have an

advantage over the ordinary kind as they are more easily dried, and

they wear much longer, as the sock can be shifted about every time the

wearer puts it on, thus warding off the evil day when holes appear.

Amik, during the summer, had made a number of snowshoe frames, and now

the women were lacing them. They used fine caribou thongs, especially

fine for the heel and toe. I have seen snowshoes that white men have

strung with cord; but cord is of little use, for cord, or rope, shrinks

when wet and stretches when dry, whereas deerskin stretches when wet

and shrinks when drying. Of all deerskin, however, that of caribou

stretches less when wet than any other; besides, it is much stronger

and that is why it makes the best mesh for snowshoes. In lacing a

shoe, a wooden needle is used, but the eye, instead of being at one

end, is in the centre. Amik had also started work on several hunting

sleds of the toboggan type--the only kind used by the natives of the

Great Northern Forest. They are made of birch wood and not of birch

bark, as a noted American author asserted in one of his books on

northern life.

A hunting sled is made of two thin boards, split from a birch log by

using wooden wedges, and the boards are shaved flat and smooth, first

with the aid of a very sharp axe and then with a crooked knife. A

hunting sled is ten to twelve inches wide, and commonly eight feet

long. The widest part of the sled is at the first cross-bar, then it

tapers both ways, an inch less at the tail, and four or five inches

less at the end of its gracefully curved prow. That is done to prevent

jamming among trees. The two boards are fastened to four cross-bars

with deerskin thongs, never with pegs or nails, and the ground-lashing

is made fast to the cross-bars. A wrapper of deerskin is provided in

which to lash the load. The lashing thong is eighteen to twenty feet

in length. Dog-sleds are made much longer, and up to about sixteen

inches in width, and are provided with an extra line that trails out

behind, by which the driver holds back the sled when going down hill,

in order to prevent it from over-running the dogs. A hunting-sled,

however, is usually hauled by man by means of a looped strap, or

tump-line, with a broad centre which goes over the hunter's shoulders

or head, and has its two ends fastened to the first cross-bar below the

prow.

During the next few days Oo-koo-hoo and Amik had also finished setting

their traps, snares, and deadfalls for all the furred creatures of the

woods, including wolves and bears. Already the camp had taken on a

business-like air, for the big stretching frames for the skins of

moose, bear, and caribou had been erected near the lodges; and as the

hunters had secured both moose and caribou, the frames were already in

use. Trapping had begun in earnest, and though fairly successful--a

number of fine skins having been already taken--the hunters were still

worried over the wolverines. On one path alone they had found nothing

but a fox's foot, and the tails of four martens; besides, several of

their traps were missing. In another place, where they had dressed a

caribou killed by Oo-koo-hoo, and had left the meat overnight for the

women and boys to haul in next day, wolverines had found it and defiled

it in their usual way.

The women, too, had had their troubles as owls had visited their

snares, and robbed them of many a pelt. Worse in some respects than

the wolverine is the owl, for while the wolverine leaves a track that

one can trail, and either find what is left of the game, or overtake

and punish the marauder, the owl leaves no trail at all, and though he

frequently eats only the brain or eyes of the game, he has a habit of

carrying the game away and dropping it in the distant woods where it is

seldom found. So the women took to setting steel traps on the ends of

upright poles upon which they judged the owls would alight, as these

birds are much given to resting upon the tips of "ram-pikes," and in

that way they had caught several.

One evening early in November, after a hard day's travel through a big

storm of wet, clinging snow, we sat by the fire in Oo-koo-hoo's lodge,

and happily commented on the fact that we had got everything in good

shape for the coming of winter. Next morning, when we went outside, we

found that everything was covered with a heavy blanket of clinging

snow, and the streams and the lake beginning to freeze over. We found,

also, to our amazement that a big bull-moose had been standing on the

bank of Muskrat Creek and watching the smoke rising from our lodges as

the fires were lighted at sunrise--just as I have shown in my painting.

[Illustration: Next morning we found that everything was covered with a

heavy blanket of clinging snow, and the streams and the lake beginning

to freeze over. We found, also to our amazement that a big bull-moose

had been standing on the bank of Muskrat Creek and watching the smoke

rising from our lodges as the fires were lighted at sunrise. After a

hurried breakfast, we set out in pursuit of the moose, which we . . .

See Chapter III.]

After a hurried breakfast, we three men set out in pursuit of the moose

which we overtook within a mile, and then there was meat to haul on

sleds to our camp. That day the temperature fell rapidly, and by night

the little streams were strongly frozen, and around the lake the ice

stretched far out from the shore. So we gathered up the canoes and

stored them for the winter upside down upon stages made for the

purpose; and that night before we turned in we saw, for the first time

that season, _Akwutinoowe_--"The Freezing Moon."

IV

OO-KOO-HOO PLAYS THE GAME

TRAILING THE BEAR

"My son, a good hunter is never long in doubt; for when he discovers a

bear track and follows it for a few hundred paces, he knows whether the

track was made by day or by night, whether the bear was large or small,

old or young, male or female; whether its coat was in condition or not;

whether the beast was merely wandering or travelling with a purpose in

view; whether it was frightened or undisturbed; whether going fast or

slow; and whether seeking friends or food. Also, the hunter knows

which way the wind was blowing when the track was made, he knows

whether the bear felt tired or active, and, furthermore, whether or not

it wanted to go to bed."

I laughed aloud.

Instantly the old man's kindly face was clouded with a frown and he

exclaimed:

"My son . . . that was the laugh of a _monias_ (greenhorn)", and

glaring at me, he added: "At first, I thought better of you, but now I

am sure that all white men are fools!"

Realizing my mistake, I sobered, and suggested that if he would explain

I would have a chance to learn the ways of a great hunter.

"My son, it is a simple matter to read a track--that is, when one has

learned the game. For then one has but to look, remember, and reason,

and then the whole story unfolds before your eyes; just as when you

open and read what you white men call a book. And some day, my son, if

you try hard to learn, you, too, may be able to read the tales of the

Strong Woods Country. Now listen to your grandfather and he will

explain: under ordinary conditions a deep, clear track implies action;

a faint, shallow one, inaction; the length of the stride indicates the

speed; if, when travelling slow, hair is found upon the underwood, the

animal passed at night, for in daylight a bear is as careful as a lynx

to avoid striking things; if the bear is young or middle aged, the claw

marks are sharp and clean cut; if it is old, they are blunt and

blurred. The tracks of the male, though larger, are not so round as

those of the female, and the male's toes are not only longer and spread

farther apart, but the underside of his foot is not so hairy as that of

his mate. Then, too, as you know, there are other signs by which a

tracker tells the sex of his quarry. Now if the bear was travelling

with a definite purpose in mind, he would travel straight, or as nearly

straight as he could through the woods, and in order to save time, he

might even occasionally climb a tree to spy out the lay of the land--as

he frequently does. Then, again, if he were feeding, the ground and

growth beside his trail would show it; if suddenly startled, he would

leave the familiar sign that all large animals usually leave when

frightened; and, moreover, it would be left within fifty paces of the

place where he took fright. Furthermore, if he were tired and wanted

to rest, he would begin circling down wind, so that he could come about

close to his back trail, and then lie down, facing down wind, in such a

position that he could see anything he could not scent, and scent

anything he could not see. Thus if an enemy approached, his eyes would

guard his front while his scent would guard his rear. And now, my son,

as a bear usually travels up wind, even a _monias_ of a white man could

surmise which way the wind was blowing when the track was made. And

always remember, my son, that only fools laugh at common sense. But

don't get discouraged, keep on trying hard to learn, and then perhaps

some day, if you live long enough, you may become almost as wise as an

ordinary Indian."

The perfect season for hunting the black bear, and in fact all other

fur-bearing animals, is between the coming of the snow in late autumn

and the going of the snow in early spring, for during that intervening

season the coat is in its prime; but as the bear spends much of the

winter in hibernation, the hunter must make the best of his two short

opportunities; that is, unless he already knows where the bear will

"den up," and is counting on killing him in his _o-wazhe_--or as the

white hunters and traders call it "wash"--his den. His wash may

consist of a hollow tree or a hollow log, a cave, or any suitable

shelter formed by an uprooted tree.

The finest wash I ever saw was in the woods of Quebec, where, many

years ago, three birch saplings had taken root in a huge, hollow pine

stump, and where, as time passed, the stump, gradually decaying, had

allowed the roots of the fast-growing birches to penetrate through the

cracks in the stump to the ground. The roots eventually formed the

rafters of a moss- and rotten-wood chinked, water-tight roof to the

little cavern in which the old pine stump had once stood and where two

winters ago slept a bear. There was but a single entrance between two

of the now massive birch roots, and it must have proved a tight squeeze

when its tenant last entered. The den was shown to me by a hunter who

the spring before had happened that way. While pausing to listen to

some distant sound, he had heard a stranger one within ten feet of

where he stood. He had heard deep breathing and turning to look down

at the roots of the birches, he had discovered a full-grown black bear

lying there with its head protruding out of the den. The head was

turned toward him and the eyes were fixed upon him with a friendly

expression. Without moving a single step the hunter raised his rifle

and fired, instantly killing the bear that lay motionless scarcely

beyond the muzzle of his gun.

THE TRUTH ABOUT BEARS

The black bear's coat is all of a glossy black, save just the muzzle,

which is light brown. In weight the black bear runs from two hundred

to five hundred pounds. Though he is found throughout the Great

Northern Forest, he is a comparative stay-at-home, for he seldom roams,

even in summer time, more than ten miles from his den, where, if

undisturbed, he goes into the same winter quarters, year after year.

Consequently, his paths are often clearly defined and well-beaten, for

he has the habit of treading repeatedly in his old tracks, and

occasionally he blazes his trail by clawing and biting, as high as he

can reach, a neighbouring tree. There, too, he frequently leaves other

signs--as a dog does at a post. Dog-like, also, other bears that

happen along manifest pleasure or rage according to whether the sign

has been left by friend or foe. The mating season is in June, though

the female rarely bears young except every second year. The young are

born in January while the mother is hibernating; and the cubs, usually

two in number, are at birth very small, weighing only about ten ounces.

The she-bear makes a good mother, for though she shows great affection

for her babies, she nevertheless reprimands them, and cuffs them as

well, whenever they misbehave or fail to comply with her wishes. The

cubs are easily tamed, and being natural little romps, they soon become

proficient wrestlers and boxers, and in latter years, show so much

agility in the manly art that they strike and parry with amazing power,

speed, and skill. When hurt, however, the cubs whimper and cry just

like children, and if the little tots are badly wounded, the distress

of the mother is pitiful to see, for she moans and sheds tears just as

any tender-hearted human mother would. Bear-cubs are droll little

mischiefs. Not only do they, when tamed, frequently get into trouble

through the pranks they play, but they like to imitate at any risk to

themselves the doings of others. As the following example shows:

Years ago, near Fort Pelly, on the Assiniboine River, an old Indian

killed a she-bear that was followed by two cubs. Though he skinned and

cut up the carcass of the mother, he did not touch the whimpering

babes, and on going to camp, he sent his wife out with a horse to bring

in the meat. When the Indian woman arrived at the spot, she found the

two cubs cuddled up against the dressed meat of their mother, and

crying as if their poor hearts would break. Their affectionate

behaviour so touched the motherly heart of the old woman that, after

loading the meat aboard the _travois_--a framework of poles stretched

out behind the horse--she picked up the sobbing children and, wrapping

them in a blanket to keep them from falling off the _travois_, bestrode

her horse, and brought them whimpering into camp.

For some time she kept them tethered beside her lodge where she took

good care of them, but when they grew larger and seemed well behaved,

she released them and allowed them to run and play with the dogs around

camp. In the fall it was her habit to take a hand-net and go down to

the river to fish. Standing upon a rock and every once in a while

casting in her net, she would land a fish on the bank. For several

days the cubs watched her with interest, and then one day, it seems,

they decided they ought to try and help their foster-mother; so wading

in on their hind legs till the water covered their little round

tummies, they would stand perfectly still until a fish would swim near.

Then they would make a violent lunge for it, and striking

lightning-like blows with their paws, they, too, would land a fish upon

the bank. Over and over they repeated the manoeuvre, with evident

excitement and pleasure. At last, every time the old woman picked up

her net to go fishing, these two went along and helped her with her

work. So fond of the sport did they become that, presently, they

didn't even wait for her to accompany them, but scurried down to the

river by themselves and would often have a day's fishing caught and

ready for her before she had put in her appearance.

But a few months later, when the cubs had grown still larger and

stronger, they became so boisterous and mischievous that they not only

handled the dogs too roughly, but when the old Indian and his wife left

camp at any time, they went on the rampage: chasing the dogs about,

ransacking the larder, turning the camp topsy-turvy, and scattering

everything in confusion. So the old couple decided that it was now

high time to put their skins upon the skin-stretcher in readiness to

sell to the fur-trader.

The black bear is a good swimmer and an excellent tree climber, and the

speed with which he can rush up a hillside is surprising. His diet is

a varied one, for he is always ready to eat vegetables, roots, berries,

insects, nuts, fish, eggs, meat, fruit, and of course sugar or honey;

furthermore, he is a killer of small game--when he is extra-hungry.

The black bear has been given so bad a name by uninformed writers and

dishonest story-tellers that most people dread to meet him in the

woods; whereas, in truth he is usually more frightened at meeting human

beings than they are of meeting him--for man is always his greatest and

most dangerous enemy. Though I have seen many bears in the

bush--seventeen on one trip--they never caused me any anxiety, and at

once took flight. But on one of two rare occasions they did not run,

perhaps because they were three in number and all full-grown.

It happened up on the borderline of Alaska. I was walking alone

through the mountains on my way to Stewart, and wishing to cross the

Marmot River, I took advantage of a great, permanent snowslide that had

been annually added to by avalanches from the snow-capped glaciers.

The snowslide not only completely blocked the cañon, but on either side

it reached many hundreds of feet up the almost perpendicular mountains,

yet in the middle, where it bridged the river, it was no more than two

hundred feet high, though it was about two thousand feet in width.

Year in and year out that great snow-bridge spanned the little river,

and now when I wanted to make use of it, I had no sooner started over

than I discovered three bears with the same intention. They, too, had

just come out of the woods, and were only forty paces from me--as I

afterward measured. We were all going in the same direction, and

though we were exactly opposite one another and all walking in a

parallel line, no one ran, and for two thousand feet or more, without

stick or stone between us, we had a good opportunity to study each

other. As usual, I was armed--as I always take care to be--with a

penknife and a pocket handkerchief.

Occasionally one reads in the daily press shocking stories of the

ferocity of bears. What a pity that the truth of these stories cannot

always be run to earth! Billy Le Heup, a prospector and guide of

northern Ontario, once having occasion to call for his mail in a little

backwoods settlement, opened a newspaper and was shocked to learn that

a most harrowing affliction had befallen an old friend of his, by

name--But I'm sorry I have forgotten it, so let us call him Jones. The

paper reported that while several of Jones's children were out

berry-picking, a great, black bear had attacked them, and killing the

youngest, a little girl, had devoured her entirely, save only one tiny

fragment; for when the rescue party went in search of the poor little

child they found nothing but her blood-stained right hand. Le Heup was

so overcome with sorrow and so filled with indignation that he then and

there determined to get together a few trapper friends of his and at

once start by canoe for the scene of the tragedy, only a few miles

away; there to condole with the poor father, trail the huge brute and

wreak vengeance upon the child-eating monster. So Bill, with several

of the best bear-hunters in that region, all well armed, set out in

haste for the Jones's clearing. When they arrived, Jones was splitting

wood outside his shack. The sorrowing trappers, with downcast eyes,

moved slowly toward the bereaved father, and Le Heup, appointed

spokesman, offered their condolences on the terrible death of his

favourite child. Jones was completely dumbfounded. When it was

explained to him what a dreadful thing had happened to his child, he

swore he had no idea a bear had ever eaten any one of his children; but

he was willing to put their story to the proof, so as he had a lot of

children, he called them all out of the house to check them over. To

the joyful surprise of the visitors, there among them was little

Eva--supposed to be eaten, and she even retained her right hand. Thus

another newspaper libel upon the poor old black bear--the buffoon of

the forest--was shown to be devoid of truth; yet that story was

published in the Toronto papers, and, no doubt, was copied all over the

United States.

But though the black bear is a shy, playful brute, usually ready for

flight if danger approaches, the tyro should remember that if wounded

or cornered he will readily fight. Furthermore, if one is unlucky

enough to get between a bear cub and its mother, and if the cub should

cry out as though you were giving it pain, the mother will attack you

as readily as any mother would--be she chicken, moose, or woman.

THE WAYS OF THE BEAVER

A few days later Oo-koo-hoo and Amik set out to hunt beavers--those

wonderful amphibious animals of the Northland that display more

intelligence, perseverance, prudence, and morality than many a highly

civilized human being.

In appearance the beaver somewhat resembles a greatly magnified

muskrat, save that the beaver's hairless, scaly tail is very broad and

flat. The coat of the beaver is brown, and the darker the colour the

higher the price it brings. An adult beaver may measure from

thirty-five to forty-five inches in length, and weigh anywhere from

thirty to sixty pounds. The beaver's home is usually in the form of an

island house, built in the waters of a small lake or slowly running

stream, to afford protection from prowling enemies, much in the same

way that the old feudal lords surrounded the ramparts of their castles

with broad moats and flooded the intervening space with a deep canal of

water, in order to check the advance of enemy raiders. The surrounding

shores of the beaver's castle are nearly always wooded with poplars, as

it is upon the bark of that tree that the beaver depends most for his

food; though at times, other hardwoods contribute to his feast as well

as water-lily roots and other vegetation.

The beaver's island-like lodge is a dome-shaped structure that rises

from four to seven feet above the water, and measures from ten to

thirty feet in diameter on the water-line. It is composed mostly of

barkless sticks and poles from one to four inches in diameter, although

at times much heavier material is used; and it is tightly chinked with

stones and mud and matted vegetation. Frequently, I have watched the

building of their lodges. A foundation of water-logged poles and

sticks is laid upon the lake or river bottom, next mud and stones are

added, then another lot of branches, thus the structure rises in a

fairly solid mound until its dome-like top reaches the desired height

above the water-line. Then the beavers tunnel their two runways into

the centre of the mass from an underwater level on the outside to an

over-water level on the inside of the mound. Next, by gnawing away the

inside sticks and excavating the inner mass, the inside chamber is

formed, measuring anywhere from four to fourteen feet in width, and a

little over two feet in height, with its walls finished fairly smooth.

Furthermore, the chamber is provided with two floors each of which

covers about half the room. While the lower floor rises from three to

six inches above the water level, the upper floor rises from four to

eight inches above the lower floor. The tunnels open in the lower

floor and it is the lower floor or level that is used as a drying place

and a dining room. The upper level, covered with a mattress of

shredded wood, grass, or moss, forms the living and sleeping half of

the chamber. Though in winter time most of their meals are eaten in

the house, the green, bark-covered sticks being brought into the

chamber through the straightest tunnel, the house is kept quite clean

and free of all rubbish or filth. In fact, beavers are better

housekeepers than some human beings I have known.

A certain amount of ventilation is derived from a few little chinks in

the apex of the roof. During the first freezing nights of late fall

the beavers plaster the above-water dome of their house with mud which

they carry up between their forelegs and chin from the lake bottom, and

placing it upon the roof of their house, spread it about in a thick

coating, not with their tails, but with their forefeet, where it soon

freezes into so solid a mass that it protects the inmates from the

attacks of both the severest winter weather and the most savage of

four-footed enemies. So strong indeed does the roof then become that

even a moose could stand upon it without it giving way. While some

writers doubt that beavers plaster the outside of their house with mud,

I wish to add that I have not only examined their houses before and

after the plastering was done, but on several moonlight nights I have

actually sat within forty feet of them and watched them do it.

The winter supply of food, being mostly poplar bark, is derived from

the branches of green trees which the beavers cut down in the autumn

for that very purpose. While engaged in gnawing down trees the beavers

usually work in pairs--one cutting while the other rests and also acts

as a sentinel to give warning in case an enemy approaches. While

cutting down trees they stand or sit in an upright position upon their

hind legs and are firmly supported by the tripod formed by the

spreading out of their hind feet and tail. They generally choose trees

nearest the water on an inclined bank, and usually leaning toward the

stream; and while they show no particular skill in felling trees in a

certain position, they do display great perseverance, for if it

happens, as it sometimes does, that a tree in its descent is checked

and eventually held up by its neighbours, the beavers will cut the

trunk for the second time, and in some cases even for the third time,

in order to bring it down.

At night I have frequently sat by the hour at a time, with the

brush-screened bow of my canoe within ten feet of a party of beavers,

while they were busily engaged in cutting the branches off a tree that

they had felled into the water the previous evening. They work

quickly, too, for some mornings I have paddled past a big tree lying in

the water, which they had dropped the night before and--on returning

next day--have found all the branches removed, though some of them

would have measured five inches in diameter. But watching beavers work

at night is not only interesting, it is easy to do, and I have

frequently taken both women and children to share in the sport.

Sometimes, right in the heart of the wilderness, I have placed children

within fifteen feet of beavers while they were engaged in cutting up a

tree.

When branches measure from one to three inches in diameter they are

usually cut in lengths of from five to ten feet, and the thicker the

branch the shorter they cut the lengths. If the cutting is done on

land, the butt of the long thinner length is seized by the beaver's

teeth and with the weight resting upon the animal's back, is dragged

along the ground--over a specially cleared road--and eventually

deposited in the water. The shorter lengths, sometimes no longer than

a couple of feet, but measuring perhaps six or eight inches in

diameter, are rolled along the ground by the beaver pushing the log

with the forefeet or shoulder. When the wood is placed in the water,

the beaver propels it to its under-water storage place near its lodge,

where--the wood being green and heavy--it is easily secured from

floating up and away, by placing a little mud over one end or by

interlocking the stick with the rest of the pile. The green wood,

however, soon becomes waterlogged and gives no further trouble. Thus,

when the lake or river is frozen over, the beaver--for it does not

hibernate--may live in comfort all winter long in its weather-proof

lodge with plenty of food stored beneath the ice and just beyond the

watery doorway of its home.

HUNTING THE BEAVER

The hunters, arriving at a small lake that lay about three miles to the

northwest of Rear Lake, crossed it, and turning up a winding creek,

followed the little river until they came to a beaver dam which caused

the stream to expand into another little lake that flooded far beyond

its old water-line. In it was to be seen three beaver lodges.

Oo-koo-hoo said the scene was somewhat altered since he had visited it

four years before, as the dam had been increased both in height and

length, and the pond, increasing, too, had reached out close to many a

tree that formerly stood some distance from the water. It was a

beautiful little mere containing a few spruce-crowned islands, and

surrounded by thickly wooded hills whose bases were well fringed with

poplars, birches, willows, and alders--an ideal home for beaver. Among

the little islands stood three snow-capped beaver lodges. Here and

there wide-spreading, wind-packed carpets of snow covered the ice,

while in between big stretches of clear, glassy ice, acting as

skylights, lit up the beavers' submarine gardens around their

ice-locked homes.

The hunters were accompanied by three of their dogs, and before they

had time to decide where they should first begin work, the dogs began

barking at a point between the west lodge and the bank; so they went

over to investigate. Evidently the dogs had spied a beaver, for now,

though none was in sight, the canines were rushing back and forth in

great excitement over a fairly deep submarine runway or clear

passageway, through the shallow, rush-matted water under the ice.

Chopping a hole through the ice with his axe, Oo-koo-hoo drove down a

couple of crossed poles to block the passageway, and Amik, finding

other runways, did likewise at other places. Several of the

passageways led to the bank, where, Oo-koo-hoo said, they had what is

called "bank lodges"--natural cavities in the river bank to which the

beavers had counted on resorting in case their house was raided. In

other places, where the snow obscured the view, the Indians knocked on

the ice with the backs of their axes, to find and follow the

hollow-sounding ice that told of runways below, that other stakes might

be driven down. The rapping sound, however, instead of driving the

beavers out of their lodge, had a tendency to make them remain at home,

for as Oo-koo-hoo explained, cutting ice and working around their homes

does not always frighten the beavers.

Securing two stouter poles, the hunters now chopped the butts into

wedge-shaped chisels, with which they proposed to break open the

beavers' lodge. Work was begun about a foot above the level of the

snow on the south side, as they explained that the lodge would not only

be thinner on that side, but that the sun would make it slightly

softer, too--and before much headway was made the dogs, all alert,

discovered that several of the beavers had rushed out of their house,

but finding the passageways blocked had returned home.

Now, strange to say, as soon as the side of the house was broken open

and daylight let in, the beavers, becoming curious over the inflowing

light that dazzled their eyes, actually came toward the newly made hole

to investigate. Then Oo-koo-hoo, with the aid of a crooked stick,

suddenly jerked one of the unsuspecting animals out of the hole and

Amik knocked it on the head. Thus they secured four large ones, but

left a number of smaller ones unharmed, as Oo-koo-hoo never made a

practice of taking a whole family.

In that house the portion of the chamber used for sleeping quarters was

covered with a thick mattress of dry "snake-grass," and the whole

interior was remarkably clean. After blocking and patching up the hole

and covering the place with snow, the hunters threw water over it until

it froze into a solid mass, then they removed the stakes from the

runways and left the rest of the beavers in peace. Loading their catch

upon their toboggans, all set out for home.

BEAVER DAMS AND CANALS

Besides erecting their remarkably strong houses there are two other

ways in which the beavers display wonderful skill: in the building of

their dams and in the excavating of their canals. Their dams are built

for the purpose of retarding, raising, and storing water, in order--in

summer time--to circumvent their enemies by placing a well-watered moat

between their foe and their castle; also to flood a wider area so that

the far-reaching waters of their pond may lap close to the roots of

many otherwise inaccessible trees and thus enable them to fell and

float them to their lodge; and--in winter time--to raise the water high

enough to secure their pond from freezing solid and imprisoning them in

their lodges where they would starve to death, or if they gnawed their

way to freedom, the intense cold of mid-winter would freeze their

hairless tails and cause their death; furthermore, should they escape

from the weather, they would be at the mercy of all their enemies and

would not long survive.

A dam, in the beginning, is usually erected in a small way, just to

raise and expand the waters of some small creek or even those of a

spring; then, as the years go by, it is constantly added to, to

increase the depth and expansion of the pond, and thus the dam grows

from a small one of a few yards in length to a big one of several

hundred feet--sometimes to even four or five hundred feet in

length--that may bank up the water four or five feet above the stream

just outside the dam, and turn the pond into a great reservoir covering

hundreds of acres of land.

The dam is more often built of branches laid parallel to the current

with their butts pointing up stream, and weighted down with mud and

stones; thus layer after layer is added until the structure rises to

the desired height and strength. Some dams contain hundreds of tons of

material. They are usually built upon a solid bottom, not of

rock--though big, stationary boulders often are included in the

construction for the extra support they furnish. When thus used,

boulders often cause the beavers to divert the line of the dam out of

its usual graceful and scientific curve that well withstands the

pressure from even a large body of water.

The beavers excavate canals--sometimes hundreds of feet in length--to

enable them to reach more easily and float home the wood they have cut

from freshly felled trees lying far beyond the reaches of their pond.

The canals measure from two to three feet in width and a foot to a foot

and a half in depth, and are not only surprisingly clean-cut and

straight but occasionally they are even provided with locks, or rather

little dams, to raise the water from one level to another--generally

about a foot at a time--to offset the disadvantage of the wood lying on

higher and more distant ground than is reached by the waters of the

residential pond. Sometimes their canals are fed by springs, but more

often by the drainage of rainwater. The building of many of their dams

and canals displays remarkable skill and a fine sense of engineering,

together with a spirit of perseverance that is astounding. Is it any

wonder that the Indians say that the beavers were once human beings,

whom, for the punishment of some misconduct The Master of Life

condemned to get down and grovel upon the ground as four-footed animals

for the rest of their days.

"Yes, my son," replied Oo-koo-hoo, when we were discussing beavers,

"they are a very clever and a very wise people, and it would be better

for us if we emulated them more than we do, for as you know, they

believe in not talking but in working and making good use of the brains

The Master of Life has given them, and that is the only way to be

really happy in this world. Besides, he is always true to his wife--a

fine example to men--furthermore, he is a good provider who looks after

his children, and is a decent, clean-living fellow who never goes out

of his way to quarrel with any one, but just minds his own business and

cuts wood."

Could any nation choose a creature more fit for a national emblem? I

believe not. For would any wise man compare a useless, screeching

eagle, or a useless, roaring lion--each a creature of prey--to a

silent, hard-working, and useful beaver who remains true to his wife

all his life, who builds a comfortable home for his children, provides

them well with food and teaches them . . . not how to kill other

creatures . . . but how to work, . . . how to construct strong,

comfortable houses, how to build dams to protect, not only their

children, but their homes, too, how to chop down trees for food, how to

dig canals to float the food home, how to store it for the winter, how

to keep the home clean and in good order, how to mind their own

business and never seek a quarrel, and, at the same time, how to defend

themselves desperately if an enemy attacks them.

For his size, the beaver is powerful, so powerful, indeed, that

Oo-koo-hoo said: "Remember, my son, the beaver is a very strong animal,

he can drag a man after him, and the only way for a hunter to hold

him--if he is caught in a trap--is to lift him off his feet."

Notwithstanding his great strength, however, he is a peace-loving chap,

but when a just occasion arises, you ought to see him fight!

BEAVER FIGHTS WOLVERINE

One spring while hunting along a river, some years ago, Oo-koo-hoo

discovered a beaver at work upon the bank, and wishing to observe him

for a while, kept perfectly still. The beaver was cutting poplar

sticks to take them through a hole in the ice to the under-water

entrance of his near-by home for his family to feed upon. But

presently Oo-koo-hoo discovered another moving object; it was a

wolverine, and it was stalking the beaver. When it drew near enough to

the unsuspecting worker, it made a sudden spring and landed upon his

back. A desperate fight ensued. The wolverine was trying to cut the

spinal cord at the back of the beaver's neck; but the short, stout neck

caused trouble, and before the wolverine had managed it, the beaver,

realizing that the only chance for life was to make for the water-hole,

lunged toward it, and with the wolverine still on his back, dived in.

On being submerged, the wolverine let go and swam around and around in

an effort to get out; but the beaver, now in his element, took

advantage of the fact, and rising beneath the foe, leaped at it, and

with one bite of his powerful, chisel-like teeth, gripped it by the

throat, then let go and sank to watch it bleed to death. A little

later, the beaver had the satisfaction of seeing old Oo-koo-hoo walk

off with the wolverine's skin.

No . . . beavers do not believe in divorce . . . and on their wedding

day--usually in February--they promise to be true to each other for the

rest of their lives, and, moreover, unlike many human beings, they keep

their promise. About three months later the husband, seeing his wife

is getting ready to welcome new relations, leaves his comfortable home

just to be out of the way, and takes up new quarters in a hole in the

river bank. While he is there the children--any number from one to

six--arrive, and then can be heard much gentle whimpering, just as

though human babies were now living in the old homestead.

When the beaver children grow older they romp in the water much as

puppies do on land. If danger approaches, the first beaver to sense it

slaps the surface of the water with his broad, powerful tail, making a

noise that resounds through the forest as though a strong man had

struck the water a violent blow with the broad side of a paddle blade.

Instantly the first beaver's nearest companion signals the danger to

others by doing the same; then a second later they plunge out of sight

in the water and leave behind nothing but a great sound--as though an

elephant had fallen in.

When married and settled down, the beaver is very domestic--a great

stay-at-home--but when seeking a mate, he travels far and wide, and

leaves here and there along the shore scent signals, in the hope of

more easily attracting and winning a bride. Beavers are full grown at

three years of age, and by that time they have learned how to erect

houses, build dams, dig canals, chop down trees, cut up wood, float it

home and store it for the winter, and by that time too, they have, no

doubt, learned that man is their worst enemy, though the wolverine,

wolf, otter, lynx, and fisher are ever ready to pounce upon them

whenever a chance offers.

USEFULNESS OP BEAVER

But I had almost forgotten that I owed the reader an explanation when I

said that the beaver was a very useful creature. I was not thinking of

the value of his fur, because that is as nothing compared to the great

service he has been rendering mankind, not only to-day, but for endless

generations. How? By the great work he has been doing during the past

hundreds and thousands of years. How? By going into rocky, useless

valleys and building the dams that checked the rushing rivers that were

constantly robbing much rich soil from the surrounding country and

carrying it down and out to sea. And his dams, moreover, not only held

up those treacherous highwaymen, but took the loot from them and let it

settle in the valleys, where, as years rolled on, it grew and grew into

endless great expansions of level meadow lands that now afford much of

the most fertile farming soil to be found in North America; and thus

the great industry of those silent workers, who lived ages and ages

ago, is even to-day benefiting mankind. And thus, too, that great work

is being steadily carried on by the living beavers of to-day. Could

any country in the world have chosen a more inspiring creature than

Canada has chosen for her national symbol?

When, on his fall and spring expeditions, Oo-koo-hoo was hunting

beavers with the waters free of ice, he placed steel traps in their

runways, either just below the surface of the water, or on the bank;

and the only bait he used in both cases was the rubbing of castorum on

near-by bushes. Also, he built deadfalls much like those he built for

bear, but of course much smaller; and again the bait was castorum, but

this time it was rubbed on a bit of rabbit skin which was then attached

to the bait stick of the deadfall. The deadfalls he built for beavers

were nearly always made of dead tamarack--never of green

poplar--otherwise the beavers would have pulled them to pieces for the

sake of the wood.

Further, Oo-koo-hoo told me that in the spring he sometimes broke open

beaver dams and set traps near the breaks in order to catch the beavers

when they came to repair the damage. Such a mode of trapping was, he

said, equally successful whether or not there was ice upon the water.

He also told me that he had seen other Indians catch beaver with a net

made of No. 10 twine, with a three-and-a-half-inch mesh, but that,

though the method worked rather well, he had never tried it. The way

of all others, that he liked best, was to hunt them by calling, and the

best time for that was during the mornings and evenings of the rutting

season.

Later in the year, when the ice is gone, and the beaver is swimming,

say a foot under water, the hunter can easily follow his course from

the appearance of the surface. The same applies to the muskrat, mink,

and otter. Muskrats and beavers swim much alike, as they are usually

going in search of roots, and, knowing exactly where to find them, they

swim straight; but minks and otters swim a zig-zag course for the

reason that they are always looking for fish and therefore are

constantly turning their heads about; and that rule applies whether

their heads are above or below the surface.

When a beaver--providing he has not slapped the water with his tail--or

an otter dives, an observant hunter can judge fairly well as to where

the animal is heading for, by simply noting the twist of the tail, a

point that helps the hunter to gauge the place where it may rise. The

same applies to whales when they sound, though I found--while whale

hunting--that few whalers realized it, and fewer still took advantage

of it, for much time was lost while waiting for the whale to rise

before the boat could be headed in the right direction. But then the

average Indian is much more observant than the average white man.

If a beaver is caught in a steel trap, he will do his utmost to plunge

into water and remain there even though he should drown, yet his house

may not be in that river or pond; but if he is wounded, he will either

try to reach his house or take to the woods.

When in pursuit of beavers it is advisable to watch for them on

moonlight nights about eight or nine o'clock, and it is best to be in a

canoe, as then there is less danger of the beaver sinking before he can

be removed from the water. The hunter, while waiting for a shot, makes

a noise with the handle of his knife against a stick in imitation of a

beaver cutting wood--a sound somewhat similar to that of the boring of

a large auger. It is astonishing how far, on a still night, beavers

will hear such a sound and come to help their friends at work. When

Oo-koo-hoo shot beaver he charged his gun with four slugs and fired for

the head, as he explained that ordinary shot was too fine and scattered

too much, while a single ball was too large.

OO-KOO-HOO SHOOTS A BEAR

The following morning Oo-koo-hoo and I set out to go the round of the

northern trapping trail which for some distance followed the valley of

Beaver River, upon the bank of which traps, snares, and deadfalls for

bears were set. Along that section of the river there were also traps

set for otters, beavers, and muskrats; but the hunting of these

amphibious animals was pursued with more diligence in the spring than

in the winter. Though we hauled a hunting toboggan, the snow was not

yet deep enough for snowshoes, but what a feast of reading the forest

afforded us! What tragedies were written in the snow! Here we

followed a mink's track as it skirted the river bank that wound in and

out among the trees, showing that the mink had leaped here, crouched

there, or had been scratching beyond in the snow. Evidently it was in

search of food. Presently we noticed another track, that of an ermine.

The two trails were converging. Now, apparently, the mink had seen its

enemy, and, therefore, in order to get past the ermine and escape

trouble, it had increased its speed. At this point the ermine had

spied it and had redoubled its speed. Now they had both bounded along

with all their might. But as ill-fate would have it, they had met. A

violent struggle had ensued. Blood was spattered upon the snow. From

the battle-ground only one trail led away. It was that of the ermine.

But though the snow was marked by the footprints of only one animal,

the trail of two tails plainly showed. It was evident that the ermine

had seized its victim by the throat and throwing it over its back, had

carried it away. Many other tracks of beasts and birds were printed

upon the snow and told in vivid detail stories of life in the winter

wilderness.

Beaver River was now frozen firmly enough to bear a man, except in a

few places where rapid water kept the ice thin or left the stream open;

and as we tramped along we examined a number of traps, from two of

which we took an otter and a beaver. But the bear and the wolf traps

remained undisturbed though we saw a number of wolf tracks near at

hand. Turning westward we ascended a slope and came suddenly upon the

fresh track of a bear. It was fairly large, and was travelling slowly;

merely sauntering along as though looking for a den in which to pass

the winter.

At once Oo-koo-hoo was all alert. Carefully re-charging his gun with

ball, and seeing that his knife and axe were at hand, he left the

toboggan behind, lest it make a noise among the trees and alarm the

quarry. In less than a quarter of a mile, however, we came upon a sign

that the bear had passed but a few minutes before. The hunter paused

to suggest that it would better his approach if I were to follow a

little farther in the rear; then he noiselessly continued his pursuit.

Slowly he moved forward, cautiously avoiding the snapping of a twig or

the scraping of underbrush. After peering through the shrubbery ahead

or halting a moment to reexamine the track, he would move on again, but

with scarcely any perceptible motion of the upper part of his body.

When in doubt, he would stand stock-still and try by sight or hearing

to get news of the bear. Luckily, there was no wind, so it made little

difference which way we turned in following the trail. But just then

there happened a disturbing and irritating thing, for a whiskey

jack--Canada Jay--took to following us, and chirping about it, too.

Crossing a rocky patch on the hillside, the bear came into view as it

circled a little in order to descend. Presently it left the shadow of

the forest and emerging into sunlight on a snow-covered ledge, turned

its head as though it had heard a sound in the rear. It was Oo-koo-hoo

speaking:

[Illustration: The bear circled a little in order to descend.

Presently it left the shadow of the forest and, emerging into sunlight

on a snow-covered ledge, turned its head as though it had heard a sound

in the rear. It was Oo-koo-hoo speaking: "Turn your head away, my

brother . . ." but the report of his gun cut short his sentence, and

the bear, leaping forward, disappeared among, . . . See Chapter IV.]

"Turn your head away, my brother . . ." but the report of his gun cut

short his sentence, and the bear, leaping forward, disappeared among

the growth below. Re-loading his gun, the hunter slowly followed, more

cautiously than ever, for he saw from the blood upon the snow that the

beast was wounded and, therefore, dangerous. As he went he covered

every likely place with his gun, lest the bear should be lurking there

and rush at him. At last I saw him pause much longer than usual, then

move forward again. Finally he turned, and in a satisfied tone

exclaimed: "It's dead!"

The ball had struck just behind the left shoulder and had entered the

heart; and the hunter explained that when he saw his best chance, he

spoke to the bear to make it pause in order to better his aim.

"And what did you say to him?"

"My son, I said: 'Turn your eyes away, my brother, for I am about to

kill you.' I never care to fire at a bear without first telling him

how sorry I am that I need his coat."

Then the skinning began, and by noon we had it finished. Loading the

head and part of the meat on the sled, I hauled it, while the hunter

rolled up the heavy pelt and packed it upon his back with the aid of a

tump-line. Taking our loads back to the river and caching them there,

we continued along the trapping trail.

A DEADFALL FOR BEAR

Soon we came to one of the best deadfalls I had ever seen. It was set

for bear, and was of the "log-house" kind, with walls nearly six feet

high, and a base that was eight feet long by five feet wide in front,

while only two feet in width in the rear. It was built in conjunction

with two standing trees that formed the two corner posts retaining the

huge drop-log. The front of the big trap was left quite open, save for

the drop-log that crossed it obliquely. While the thin end of the log

was staked to the ground, the thick end, loaded with a platform,

weighted with stones, projected beyond the far side of the trap at a

height of about five feet from the ground. It was ready to fall and

crush any unlucky creature that might venture in and touch the

bait-trigger. Whatever the drop-log might fall upon, it would hold as

though in a vise, and if the bear were not already dead when the hunter

should arrive, he would take care to shoot the animal in the head

before removing the drop-log.

Snares are also set for bears, and the best of them are made of twenty

strands of _babiche_ twisted into the form of a rope. The loop is set

about eighteen inches in diameter, and is attached to either a

spring-pole or a tossing-pole--or, more correctly speaking, a tree

sufficiently large to raise and support the weight of the bear.

Sometimes a guiding-pole is used in connection with a snare. One end

is planted in the ground in the centre of the path and the other,

slanting up toward the snare, is used as a guide toward the loop, since

a bear walking forward would straddle the pole. In a further effort to

getting the animal's head in the right place, the hunter smears the

upper end of the pole with syrup.

Another wooden trap is that of the stump and wedge. It is made by

chopping down a tree of not less than half a foot in diameter, so that

a stump is left about six feet high. The stump is then split, and a

long, tapering wedge, well greased, is driven in, and upon it is

smeared a coating of syrup or honey as a bait. The bear will not only

try to lick off the bait, but in his eagerness to pull out the wedge

and lick it, too, will spring the trap and find a paw caught between

the closing stump. Also, the Indians sometimes use a stage from the

top of which they shoot the bear at night while he passes on his

runway; and to attract the bear they imitate the cry of a cub in

distress. Steel traps, too, are set for bears. They are very strong

with big double springs and weigh about twenty pounds. They, too, are

set on the runway of the bears, and are carefully covered with leaves

or moss. No bait is used on the trap, but syrup or honey is spread

upon a near-by tree to induce the bear to step in the trap.

MARASTY AND THE BEAR

But all bear traps are dangerous to mankind and not infrequently a man

is caught in one. In 1899 a half-breed hunter by the name of Marasty,

who lived near Green Lake, about 150 miles north of Prince Albert, went

one late spring day to visit his traps, and in the course of his trip

came upon one of his deadfalls set for bear, from which he noticed the

bait had been removed, although the trap had not been sprung. Before

rebaiting it, however, he built a fire to boil his tea-pail, and sat

down to eat his lunch.

After refreshment, Marasty, being a lazy man, decided to enter the trap

from in front, instead of first opening up the rear and entering from

that quarter, as he should have done. He got along all right until he

started to back out, when in some way he jarred the trigger, and, just

as he was all free of the ground-log save his right arm, down came the

ponderous drop-log with its additional weight of platform and stones.

It caught him just above the elbow, crushed his arm flat, and held him

a prisoner in excruciating pain. The poor wretch nearly swooned.

Later, he thought of his knife. He would try to cut the log in two and

thus free himself. He knew that, handicapped as he was, though he

worked feverishly and incessantly, the task would demand many hours of

furious toil.

After a while the wind arose and re-kindled his dying fire into life.

The sparks flew up and the flames ran over the dry moss toward him.

Now there was added the dread of being burnt alive. But he worked his

feet violently and succeeded in roughening the ground sufficiently to

turn the fire so, that it passed on either side of him, and though it

continued beyond the wooden trap, eventually died down.

Then he went on with his cutting, but night came on before he had dug

into the log more than a few inches. Growing faint, he rested awhile,

and later fell asleep. When he awoke, he discovered a full-grown black

bear sitting upon its haunches watching him. He shouted to drive the

beast away, but, strange to say, the noise did not frighten the bear,

for several times it got up and attempted to reach the syrup on the

trap. When the captive renewed his shouting and kicking, the bear

merely stepped back, sat down, and persisted in maintaining its

fearsome watch all night. Nevertheless, the half-breed was afraid to

stop shouting, so he kept it up at intervals all night long. When,

however, dawn came, the bear went away.

At sunrise Marasty renewed his efforts to escape, and though his hand

was now blistered and sore, he worked for several hours. Then thirst

attacked him; and he dug in the ground, but without avail, in the hope

of finding moisture. Again he turned to the cutting of the log, but

soon exhaustion weakened his exertions. Night came on again and with

it came the bear; but this time he was glad to see the brute, for its

presence made him feel less lonely and drove away despair. This time,

too, the bear sat around in such a friendly way, that Marasty felt

relieved enough to sing some hymns and do a little praying; but when he

began to sing a second time, the big black beast lost patience, got up

and walked away, much to the regret of the imprisoned hunter.

In the morning the now almost lifeless Marasty heard in the distance

the voice of his brother calling his name; but though he shouted wildly

in answer, no response came, for the wind was blowing in the wrong

direction, and defeated his attempt to benefit by the help that was so

near. Later, the unhappy man swooned.