JIM THE TRAPPER OF LAKE CHELAN 65 



not know what they might call the animals, but 

 I called them rats. 



"Where are the rats?" they inquired. 



"Everywhere," I replied. 



"Show us one," laughed one of the ladies. 



"Why," I exclaimed, "there are probably some- 

 in your tent now." 



"Mercy!" cried the ladies in alarm. 



"Oh, he is crazy," whispered a small boy. 



"Come, Mr. Beard," said one of the gentlemen, 

 kindly taking me by the arm, "you have been 

 dreaming, show us a rat." 



"Well," I replied, looking thoughtfully around, 

 "likely as not there are some in this straw." With 

 that I kicked the straw away and out jumped the 

 frightened muskrat. 



There were screams from the ladies, some ex- 

 plosive remarks from the men, and the place was 

 incontinently deserted. 



In less time than it takes to tell it the rat went 

 over the edge of the bluff, scrambled and rolled 

 down the bank, splashed into the water and swam 

 away. But the campers had shown more speed 

 than the muskrat in making an escape. 



Picking up my trout rod, I went back to the river 

 to get the big trout I knew must be lurking in the 

 whirlpool amid the tangled heap of "whim sticks." 



