92 BEAVERS—THEIR WAYS. 
but that was months ago and far down the creek where 
these terrible bipeds were frequently loafing along the 
creek pursuing young ducks or killing frogs. 
The trapper stood upon the dam breast rifle in hand. 
He saw two objects swimming toward him. ‘‘Beaver’ 
he whispered to himself as the objects came fearlessly’ 
on. Beavers they proved to be. Each of them had 
a bunch of willow sticks in its mouth and _ were 
silently swimming with an even front. The sticks were 
for their dam and a fine evening it was to do their work 
well. How cheerful and happy they seemed—these 
last of the beaver kind on Apple Creek. 
The trapper had rested low. His rifle to shoulder 
was pointed toward the beavers. One loud report fol- 
lowed by another. A few kicks—some blood colored 
water—and the beavers had disappeared. Sank to 
their death like lead, The bunches of sticks now scat- 
tered and drifting with the widening ripples found lodg- 
ment here and there among the flags. The dam would 
remain unfinished and the hours of the night would 
bring no more happiness to playful little beavers about 
its falling waters. 
The man on the bank was satisfied. He had killed 
something. 
