FUR FACTS 283 



the dam and I imagined I could see the dimly-outlined imprint of 

 his foot at the spot where he would naturally emerge from the log. 

 Decayed vegetation and rotten wood formed a superb cover for a 

 trap and I immediately began work. With gloves eliminating as 

 much as possible the human scent so unerringly detected by the 

 minks, I carefully removed a suflBcient amount of the material of the 

 drift to enable me to use the depression to veil the trap. The aper- 

 ture at the open end of the log was minute enough to render it un- 

 necessary to set more than one trap for if the slim figure did not 

 scent the trap and leap over it or purposely spring it he would be 

 forced to put his paw in it. 



My reasoning proved correct. The next morning the trap had 

 fallen from the drift. I was not surprised to find something heavy 

 on it when pulling it up the sliding pole arrangement that I had 

 fixed. He had passed through in one of his nighly raids and met the 

 fate I had planned for him. Like all minks, he had headed for deep 

 water, when he found it was impossible to get away and had been 

 drowned. He was a large animal and somewhat darker in color 

 than the others I had caught. He was nearly as dark as the average 

 northern mink. Strong and wary and acknowledged master in the 

 tricks of the game, he had at last wandered into the hands of his 

 most-dreaded foe. 



A few days subsequent to the capture of the mink, I was sitting 

 in my hut one morning upon my return from the trap line, when I 

 heard a loud knock on the door of my cabin. Visitors in those days 

 were very rare, and I could not imagine who it could be, unless it 

 was the owner returned to reclaim his cabin. To my surprise, I 

 found upon opening the door, that it was Tom Hicks, an old friend of 

 my uncle's. He was looking for a good trapping location, and upon 

 my assurance that he had found the precise location he was looking 

 for, he decided to stay with me. I helped him set his traps and the 

 next morning he was delighted with his catch. 



In one of my very first traps was a large coon, and further on 

 down the line I caught another, and still larger one. He was 

 alive and making every effort to get loose. As was my usual custom 

 in such cases, I hit him a resounding whack on the head with my 

 club and knocked him down. I then took up my trap and reset 

 it and turning to get my coon I found that he had come to life and was 

 making a wild attempt to scramble up the bank. I grabbed him 

 by the back, pulling him down and with my knife, gave him a jab 

 in the throat. At the same instant he doubled up, cat style, and 



