In some places as many as fifty tree stumps were seen in one spot, within the compass of half an acre, all cut through at about eighteen inches from the root. We may remark, in passing, that the beaver is very much like a gigantic water-rat, with this marked difference, that its tail is very broad and flat like a paddle. The said tail is a greatly esteemed article of food, as, indeed, is the whole body at certain seasons of the year. The beaver’s fore-legs are very small and short, and it uses its paws as hands to convey food to its mouth, sitting the while in an erect position on its hind-legs and tail. Its fur is a dense coat of a greyish-coloured down, concealed by long coarse hair, which lies smooth, and is of a bright chestnut colour. Its teeth and jaws are of enormous power; with them it can cut through the branch of a tree as thick as a walking-stick at one snap; and, as we have said, it gnaws through thick trees themselves.
As soon as a tree falls, the beavers set to work industriously to lop off the branches, which, as well as the smaller trunks, they cut into lengths, according to their weight and thickness. These are then dragged by main force to the water side, launched, and floated to their destination. Beavers build their houses, or “lodges,” under the banks of rivers and lakes, and always select those of such depth of water that there is no danger of their being frozen to the bottom; when such cannot be found, and they are compelled to build in small rivulets of insufficient depth, these clever little creatures dam up the waters until they are deep enough. The banks thrown up by them across rivulets for this purpose are of great strength, and would do credit to human engineers. Their “lodges” are built of sticks, mud, and stones, which form a compact mass; this freezes solid in winter, and defies the assaults of that house-breaker, the wolverine, an animal which is the beaver’s implacable foe. From this “lodge,” which is capable often of holding four old and six or eight young ones, a communication is maintained with the water below the ice, so that, should the wolverine succeed in breaking up the lodge, he finds the family “not at home,” they having made good their retreat by the back-door. When man acts the part of house-breaker, however, he cunningly shuts the back-door first, by driving stakes through the ice, and thus stopping the passage. Then he enters, and, we almost regret to say, finds the family at home. We regret it, because the beaver is a gentle, peaceable, affectionate, hairy little creature, towards which one feels an irresistible tenderness! But, to return from this long digression.
Our trappers having selected their several localities, set their traps in the water, so that when the beavers roamed about at night, they put their feet into them, and were caught and drowned; for, although they can swim and dive admirably, they cannot live altogether under water.
Thus the different parties proceeded, and in the mornings the camp was a busy scene indeed, for then the whole were engaged in skinning the animals. The beavers thus taken were always skinned, stretched, dried, folded up with the hair in the inside, laid by, and the flesh used for food.
But oftentimes the trappers had to go forth with the gun in one hand and their traps in the other, while they kept a sharp look out on the bushes to guard against surprise. Despite their utmost efforts a horse was occasionally stolen before their very eyes, and sometimes even an unfortunate trapper was murdered, and all his traps carried off.
An event of this kind occurred soon after the party had gained the western slopes of the mountains. Three Iroquois Indians, who belonged to the band of trappers, were sent to a stream about ten miles off. Having reached their destination, they all entered the water to set their traps, foolishly neglecting the usual precaution of one remaining on the bank to protect the others. They had scarcely commenced operations, when three arrows were discharged into their backs, and a party of Snake Indians rushed upon and slew them, carrying away their traps, and horses, and scalps. This was not known for several days, when, becoming anxious about their prolonged absence, Cameron sent out a party which found their mangled bodies affording a loathsome banquet to the wolves and vultures.
After this sad event the trappers were more careful to go in larger parties, and keep watch.
As long as beaver were taken in abundance the camp remained stationary, but whenever the beaver began to grow scarce, the camp was raised, and the party moved on to another valley.
One day Dick Varley came galloping into camp with the news that there were several bears in a valley not far distant, which he was anxious not to disturb until a number of the trappers were collected together to go out and surround them.
On receiving the information Walter Cameron shook his head.
“We have other things to do, young man,” said he, “than go a-hunting after bears. I’m just about making up my mind to send off a party to search out the valley on the other side of the Blue Mountains yonder, and bring back word if there are beaver there, for if not, I mean to strike away direct south. Now, if you’ve a mind to go with them, you’re welcome. I’ll warrant you’ll find enough in the way of bear-hunting to satisfy you; perhaps a little Indian hunting to boot, for if the Banattees get hold of your horses, you’ll have a long hunt before you find them again. Will you go?”
“Ay, right gladly,” replied Dick. “When do we start?”
“This afternoon.”
Dick went off at once to his own part of the camp to replenish his powder-horn and bullet pouch, and wipe out his rifle.
That evening the party, under command of a Canadian named Pièrre, set out for the Blue Hills. They numbered twenty men, and expected to be absent three days, for they merely went to reconnoitre, not to trap. Neither Joe nor Henri were of this party, both having been out hunting when it was organised. But Crusoe and Charlie were, of course!
Pièrre, although a brave and trusty man, was of a sour, angry disposition, and not a favourite with Dick, but the latter resolved to enjoy himself and disregard his sulky comrade. Being so well mounted, he not unfrequently shot far ahead of his companions, despite their warnings that he ran great risk by so doing. On one of these occasions he and Crusoe witnessed a very singular fight, which is worthy of record.
Dick had felt a little wilder in spirit that morning than usual, and on coming to a pretty open plain he gave the rein to Charlie, and with an “Adieu mes comerades,” he was out of sight in a few minutes. He rode on several miles in advance without checking speed, and then came to a wood where rapid motion was inconvenient, so he pulled up, and, dismounting, tied Charlie to a tree, while he sauntered on a short way on foot.
On coming to the edge of a small plain he observed two large birds engaged in mortal conflict. Crusoe observed them too, and would soon have put an end to the fight had Dick not checked him. Creeping as close to the belligerents as possible, he found that one was a wild turkey-cock, the other a white-headed eagle! These two stood with their heads down and all their feathers bristling for a moment, then they dashed at each other, and struck fiercely with their spurs as our domestic cocks do, but neither fell, and the fight was continued for about five minutes without apparent advantage on either side.
Dick now observed that, from the uncertainty of its motions, the turkey-cock was blind, a discovery which caused a throb of compunction to enter his breast for standing and looking on, so he ran forward. The eagle saw him instantly, and tried to fly away, but was unable from exhaustion.
“At him, Crusoe,” cried Dick, whose sympathies all lay with the other bird.
Crusoe went forward at a bound, and was met by a peck between the eyes that would have turned most dogs, but Crusoe only winked, and the next moment the eagle’s career was ended.
Dick found that the turkey-cock was quite blind, the eagle having thrust out both its eyes, so, in mercy, he put an end to its sufferings.
The fight had evidently been a long and severe one for the grass all round the spot, for about twenty yards, was beaten to the ground, and covered with the blood and feathers of the fierce combatants.
Meditating on the fight which he had just witnessed, Dick returned towards the spot where he had left Charlie, when he suddenly missed Crusoe from his side.
“Hallo, Crusoe! here, pup, where are you?” he cried.
The only answer to this was a sharp whizzing sound, and an arrow, passing