THE WEASEL 77 



heard the hunters at work there, digging their 

 game out ; then they came along and discovered 

 me at my work. They proved to be an old trap- 

 per and woodsman and his son. I told them what 

 I was in quest of. " A mountain weasel," said 

 the old man. " Seven or eight years ago I used 

 to set deadfalls for rabbits just over there, and 

 the game was always partly eaten up. It must 

 have been this weasel that visited my traps." 

 So my game was evidently an old resident of the 

 place. This swamp, maybe, had been his hunt- 

 ing-ground for many years, and he had added 

 another hall to his dwelling each year. After 

 further digging, I struck at least one of his ban- 

 queting halls, a cavity about the size of one's 

 hat, arched over by a network of fine tree-roots. 

 The occupant evidently lodged or rested here 

 also. There was a warm, dry nest, made of 

 leaves and the fur of mice and moles. I took 

 out two or three handfuls. In finding this 

 chamber I had followed one of the tunnels 

 around till it brought me within a foot of the 

 original entrance. A few inches to one side of 

 this cavity there was what I took to be a back 

 alley where the weasel threw his waste ; there 

 were large masses of wet, decaying fur here, and 

 fur pellets such as are regurgitated by hawks and 

 owls. In the nest there was the tail of a flying 



