THE LIFE OF A BEAVER COLONY 133 



them for the time to enjoy their hard-earned rest in 

 the peaceful security of the new home while we 

 return to the old pond to see what happens to those 

 who would not give up their home and take the 

 advice of their elders. 



The shooting season having ended Joe, as we 

 will call the trapper, returned to his little log 

 cabin, satisfied at having been instrumental in the 

 death of at least two unusually large moose (several 

 others having escaped wounded) which he had 

 called with his fatal birch bark horn until they 

 were within easy range of the waiting sportsman. 

 His thoughts now turned to the beaver colony 

 which had so thoroughly excited his cupidity. 

 From the walls of his shack he took down a bundle 

 of carefully greased steel traps and examined them 

 to see that all were in perfect order. Then he 

 made a pack of a small tent, blankets, and some 

 grub, and the inevitable kettle and pan, axe and 

 rifle. Placing these on his back, with the weight 

 hanging from his forehead by means of a tump 

 line, he started out, filled with a keen sense of 

 satisfaction, for he did not doubt the success of his 

 undertaking, and a dozen or two of beaver pelts 

 would make a very good start for the winter's 

 work. Three days' hard travelling through the 

 bleak autumn woods brought him to the pond 

 which a few months before he had seen under such 

 entirely different conditions. He approached 

 carefully and made his little camp some distance 



