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 
