The bear recovered from the crack it had received on the head, thrived
in its new mode of life and became one of the curiosities of the park.
It became quite tame, permitted a favored few to scratch its head, and
only occasionally hurled itself at the wire with an ugly snarl when
strangers approached the cage. Different people tried a great variety of
food upon it, but nothing seemed to satisfy it so well as the
blueberries and fish; of these it never tired.
The capture of the bear had opened up a new field of interest to Scott.
He knew the geology of the country thoroughly—could trace the origin of
almost every type of pebble to be found in the glacial drift; his
dendrology and botany had brought him in touch with all the trees and
plants, but the great field of animal life he had completely overlooked.
The bear furnished a point of contact, and he grasped the new lead
eagerly. He undertook the responsibility of feeding the bear regularly
and enjoyed studying his diet and habits. There were many good books on
natural history in the library and he soon obtained a pretty good idea
of bruin in all his relations to man and beast. He was surprised to see
how many new points of interest this study brought out and still more
surprised to find how many traces of bear he could find in the woods now
that he knew enough to look for them.
Naturally to such an active mind as his, the study and observation of
one animal could not help but be an introduction to the other forms of
animal life. The deer, wolves, minks, lynx, wild cats, skunks, otter,
coons, porcupines, woodchucks, squirrels, chipmunks, frogs, fish, nutes,
salamanders, snakes, birds and a host of others he had never dreamed of
crowded upon his attention and filled the woods with a new interest. Now
that his eyes were opened he could not walk a hundred yards without
seeing something to attract his attention. He was beginning to realize
how the old woodsman with his knowledge of woods’ life could live for
months without human company and never feel lonely.
Greenleaf had long ago discovered this secret, and could help him
greatly in his observations. Almost every Sunday when the other fellows
were enjoying themselves with the girls at the Lodge these two were
canoeing around the lake or tramping through the woods investigating
some of the denizens.
As Greenleaf expressed it: “There’s plenty of time to rush the girls
when you are cooped up in town and can’t get at the other animals.”
It came about very happily that just at the time when Scott was
beginning to get interested in the animals a naturalist came to visit
the camp and a geologist came to give the boys some field work. Scott’s
thorough knowledge of geology let him out of the class work and enabled
him to put in a large part of his time with the naturalist. The trips he
made with this interesting man lent him an enthusiasm and gave him many
practical hints which carried him easily over the preliminary stage
which is apt to be rather discouraging to the uninitiated. It carried
him to a point from which he could easily go on alone.
This new friend, Dr. Barnes, was a man of deep reading and wide
observation, a Chautauqua lecturer, and a most interesting
conversationalist. He had camped all over the north woods studying the
habits and watching the antics of the woods creatures. He was as
delighted to find a fellow enthusiast no matter how green a beginner, as
Scott was to profit by his experience and they became great chums.
The special attraction which had brought Dr. Barnes to that particular
place at that time was an opportunity to study the beaver, of which
there were a great many in the park. Two pairs placed there ten years
before had increased until they populated dozens of lakes and had built
some dams of remarkable size. The evidence of their work was everywhere
but the beavers themselves seemed to possess a wonderful faculty for
keeping out of sight, and Scott was astonished when he tried to look
them up in the books to find how little seemed to be known about them.
“Well, Scotty,” Dr. Barnes called to him one morning, “suppose we paddle
down to the beaver dam on the west arm and reconnoiter a little? I want
to look over the situation there and see if there is an opportunity to
stay down there some night and watch them work—for I believe they work
at night.”
“Very well, sir,” Scott replied, “I am free today, and shall be
delighted to go wherever you suggest.”
“I suggest,” said the doctor, “that we take lunch, explore the place
thoroughly, and, if we find it practicable, go back after supper to
spend the night.”
They were soon ready to start, and armed with a camera and two axes they
paddled swiftly down the west arm. Two deer, standing knee deep in the
water, half hidden by the reeds, watched them curiously as they paddled
past, but they were bent on rarer game, too intent to turn aside.
“They say the dam is up that little creek; it’s a cedar swamp,” Scott
said, “but I don’t know how wet it is.”
“Well, let’s land on that high point just this side of the swamp and we
can work in from there. The dam must touch that dry land somewhere.”
“There. The canoe is safe. Shall we take our lunches?” Scott asked.
“Certainly,” the doctor replied emphatically, “one of the first rules of
the woods; never get separated from your lunch.”
They climbed the steep bank to a bench which marked a former level of
the lake. It had been covered by a good stand of popple, but most of it
was now down, apparently thrown by a windstorm. Suddenly Dr. Barnes
spied a stump.
“Can it be—” he began excitedly running over to examine the stump. “Yes,
sir, that one, that one, that one, everyone of them gnawed down by the
beaver.”
He was trotting hurriedly from stump to stump. Scott hastened to examine
one of them and found it very distinctly marked with the print of teeth,
as though it had been cut off with a series of gouges with a concave
chisel. It was a very neat job.
“Just about two acres cleared clean,” he said, as the doctor puffed up
from the swamp. “I did not know they cut down such big trees.”
“Big trees!” the doctor echoed. “There’s a stump down there on the edge
of the swamp fifteen inches in diameter. We must have some pictures of
this.”
While the Doctor busied himself with the pictures Scott scouted around.
“Look here,” he shouted excitedly, “here are some regular skidways and
logging roads.”
The Doctor came on the run. “Yes, sir, well planned ones, too. You see
they cut down the tree simply to get the twigs and smaller branches. The
latter they haul down these skidways, float to their pond near the house
and keep under water so that they can peel them in the winter time. Now
let’s go look for the dam. There ought to be a beaver trail down to the
swamp.”
He was right. A well beaten trail led them down to the swamp and right
to the end of the dam. It was a queer looking structure; a low
embankment of dirt and sticks winding away across the swamp, which was
dry below the dam and covered with a foot of water above. They walked
along the top of the dam pacing the distance as they went. As they
neared the stream the dam increased in height to about six feet backing
up a corresponding depth of water.
“Two hundred and forty feet,” the doctor said, “isn’t it wonderful?”
“What is it for?” Scott asked.
“You see they had to build it so long on account of the swamp. If the
banks of the stream had been steep the dam would have been short. They
build it to keep water always around the house, which is built in the
pond above the dam. The entrance to it is under water. The wolves can’t
get into it. Besides that it gives them a chance to get under the ice
for their sticks in the winter. See that big pile of sticks out there in
the pond? That is the house. Let’s see if we can get out there.”
By walking fallen trees and wading shallow bars they finally reached the
house. It was some fifteen feet across and protruded about four feet
above the water. It was built of sticks—all of them providently peeled
beforehand—from an inch to three inches in diameter, the whole plastered
thickly with mud. It seemed perfectly solid. There were a few tracks in
the mud and a whimpering such as might be made by small pups came from
the inside, but no beavers were to be seen. They retraced their way to
the dam.
“Right there,” the doctor said, pointing to a mound of comparatively dry
moss, “we could spend the night quite comfortably. I believe that if we
break a hole in the dam so that they can hear the running of the water
they will come to fix it up.”
They made their way down the stream. There were several other dams which
had apparently been abandoned, all short, but one of them higher than
the new one. Just before they reached the lake Dr. Barnes was delighted
to find an old abandoned house.
“Now,” he exclaimed excitedly, “we’ll see what it’s like inside.”
The solidity of the structure was wonderful, but by dint of considerable
hard work with the axes they cut away half of the house, showing the
interior in cross section. It was some time before Scott had a chance to
inspect it himself for the hole was no sooner opened than the doctor
crawled into it head first; spasmodic wriggling of his legs and a series
of muffled exclamations alone told of the state of his emotions. He
stayed so long that Scott began to fear that he had moved in there to
live. He finally wriggled out very red in the face, and very jubilant.
“Why don’t you look in there?” he asked. “You can see just how they
live.”
Scott did not waste any time explaining why he had not looked in, but
crawled eagerly into the muddy opening. Much to his surprise he found
the floor of the house well above the level of the stream and perfectly
dry. The roof of the house was arched up with great skill leaving an
opening in which a good-sized man could curl up very comfortably. On two
sides there were tunnels leading down to small dirt landings almost on a
level with the surface of the water. From these the beaver could slip
conveniently under the water, still within the house, and swim out
through a submarine passage. It was certainly a very ingenious
arrangement—for they had all the advantages of living on land and at the
same time were protected absolutely from the attacks of all land
animals. The floor was covered with fish bones, which Scott learned
later had probably been left there by the mink who had made use of the
house after its abandonment by the original inhabitants—for the beavers
themselves do not eat fish.
No sooner had Scott wriggled out than the doctor crawled laboriously in
again with a pencil and envelope in his teeth to draw a sketch of the
interior. This completed and several photographs taken of the house from
all angles, they ate lunch, traced out the boundaries of the cuttings on
both sides of the swamp and paddled home to prepare their outfit for a
night in the wet moss. Dr. Barnes was all enthusiasm.
The other boys had no desire to share in the expedition, but they were
immensely interested in a way and shouted bits of advice and sarcastic
sympathy after the canoe as long as it was in range.
The long twilight gave them plenty of time, and they sneaked the canoe
along the edge of the lily pads in hope of catching some of the beavers
out foraging—for it was the time of day when they were most often seen.
As they approached the cedar swamp they observed a green popple branch
moving mysteriously and swiftly across the surface of the lake. Closer
observation showed that it was being vigorously pushed along by an
energetic beaver. They gave chase to see what he would do. He was
evidently loath to give up the prize, for he only swam the faster,
throwing quite a swell like a small tug boat. Finally the pursuit became
too hot for him and he abandoned the branch, diving under the surface
with a splash. Several times he came up to reconnoiter, diving again
almost instantly. Each time he dived he struck the water a blow with his
broad flat tail which sent his head under with a jerk and made a report
easily heard a half-mile away over the still water.
They paddled the canoe over toward the shore again to see if he would
recover the branch. After several false starts he took it in tow once
more and disappeared with it up the creek. When the canoe was still some
distance from the shore they spied another beaver dodging around the
lily pads. He was so intent on his own business that he did not seem to
notice the silently moving canoe. He was evidently making his evening
meal off of the yellow lily buds. Rising head and shoulders above the
water, he would devour a bud with great relish, sink silently into the
water and come up alongside of another juicy bud. They followed these
maneuvers for some time before he took alarm, dived with a loud splash
and was seen no more.
They scouted around cautiously but failed to find any more night
marauders.
“We’d better go ashore now,” the doctor suggested, “and fix things up
for the night. It may get dark before we are ready.”
They pulled the canoe up on the marshy shore and made their way up the
stream to the spot they had picked in the morning. The mound of moss
proved to be none too large, but the blankets were finally arranged so
that they thought they could spend the night in comparative comfort.
“Now for a hole in the dam,” the doctor said, with suppressed
excitement. “Where’s the ax?”
They soon found that a pick would have been more effective. The dam was
built even better than they had thought. The sticks were woven together
and plastered with a solidity that astounded them. A breach some three
feet long and a foot deep was finally made, and the water came pouring
out with a rush which must have appalled the beavers.
“There,” said the Doctor panting from his exertions, “that ought to
bring them all to the rescue. We must keep very still and wait
patiently.”
“Do you think they can smell us here?” Scott asked anxiously. “We are
pretty close to the break.”
“No, I don’t think so; most of these water animals rely more on sight
and hearing than on smell. They may be suspicious for a while, but they
will have to fix it for fear of having their pond drained.”
It did not take the beavers long to discover the break in the dam. The
watchers had scarcely settled themselves on their blankets when they
heard the distant plunk of a diving beaver in the pond. There was a
moment of tense silence and then another plunk nearer.
“Here they come,” the doctor whispered excitedly. “Keep quiet.”
The approaching beaver evidently wanted to investigate the leak, but had
no idea of being drawn into an ambush. He circled cautiously around at a
distance, diving nervously at short intervals, till, finally assured
that there was no danger, he swam boldly up to the breach and nosed
around it. They could see the faint glimmer from the little roll of
water he pushed along in front of him and once he passed so close to
them that they could hear his heavy breathing. Then he swam quietly
away.
“That must be the watchman sent to reconnoiter,” the Doctor explained.
“He has gone back to report on the break.”
He must have made a very lengthy report or had some trouble in
convincing the others, for it was a full hour before they heard anything
from him. Then once more they heard the distant “plunks.” Much to their
disappointment he came alone. He repeated the same performance as before
and disappeared once more.
“He must have forgotten some of the details,” Scott muttered.
Another hour of waiting and he came again. He seemed worried over the
escaping water but showed no inclination to repair the dam.
The next hour it was the same thing. “He must patrol this place all
night,” Scott suggested. “Do you notice that he strikes the hour almost
to the dot?”
“Yes,” the doctor murmured, a little sleepily. “They must come to repair
that dam pretty soon. We ought to have made the hole deeper.”
It grew cold in the swamp and each hour seemed colder than the preceding
one. The dismal squawk of a night hawk or the honk of a passing blue
heron sounded occasionally above the monotonous flowing of the water. An
owl seemed to be hooting fun at them from a neighboring tree—for he
always started up just after the sentinel had made his round, and along
toward morning the occasional scream of a coon just returning from his
night’s marauding, pierced the stillness. The crowded quarters on the
little mound of moss were very hard on cramped muscles and the lack of
industry on the part of the proverbially busy beavers was thoroughly
disappointing. Scott was beginning to feel his enthusiasm in the beavers
oozing away.
The dawn, that chilling interval between night and morning, was stealing
upon them and soon the streaks of light began appearing in the eastern
sky.
The Doctor stretched himself as much as he dared without getting his
feet in the water and sat up shivering. “I guess we have seen about all
we are going to see this trip,” he said despondently. “We might as well
go down here on dry ground where we can stretch ourselves and cook
breakfast.”
“Don’t you suppose they are going to fix that blooming dam sometime?”
Scott asked in disgust.
“Surely they’ll fix it,” the doctor replied confidently; “maybe they
work in the daytime. We’ll come back again sometime, break the dam wide
open, and hide on a platform in the trees. Maybe that would get them.”
Scott made a mental resolve that he would not make one of the party in
the tree, but the little doctor’s ardor was so little dampened by the
failure that he soon felt ashamed of himself.
“After all,” the doctor said reassuringly as they paddled back to camp,
“we did not fail altogether. All scientific facts are collected slowly,
one by one, and each new one is so much added to the sum of human
knowledge. We have seen a beaver patrolman on his beat—even had some
water splashed on us by him—and that’s more than any other scientist I
know can say.”