180 TRAPPING UP LITTLE OTTER 



removed a circular sod and excavated the earth 

 to a sufficient depth, carrying away the loose dirt 

 and throwing it in the creek, so that when the pit 

 was done its precincts were as neat as a chipmunk's 

 dooryard. Then the traps were closely packed in 

 it, the sod adjusted in its original place so nicely 

 that nothing but the searchlight of a thunderbolt 

 could have revealed what was hidden there. 



I once saw where a lightning stroke unearthed a 

 log chain that had lain buried at the foot of a tree 

 for unknown years, the electric current furrowing 

 the turf and laying bare every contortion of the 

 chain from end to end, just as it had been dropped 

 from some careless hand. 



Our traps were buried, our trapping ended, to 

 little purpose save living very close to Nature and 

 primitive life, sometimes almost to the verge of 

 discomfort, though scarcely counted so by us. We 

 fed on the coarsest fare with the zest of healthy ap- 

 petites, slept soundly on the rudest beds, were sun- 

 tanned and smoke-tanned to the color and odor of 

 Indian-tanned buckskin, were imkempt and be- 

 grimed to the wonder and disgust of the good home 

 folk who could not understand what we could find 

 that was pleasant in such a life. We knew, if we 

 could not tell them. 



Good souls, they never thought of their an- 

 cestors living far harder lives but yesterday in the 



