Sept. 8, 1894.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
20S 
to stait for home. When I arrived at camp the sun had 
gone down, the shades of night were gathering over all 
around, and in the uncertain light I saw John sitting on a 
log in the dooryard with a dozen muskrats lying in a pile 
near. He seemed to feel somewhat disappointed and de- 
jected. I greeted him, "John, you did pretty well on 
muskrats." "Yes, me catchem some musquash, but no 
getem ole beaver. He no come near 't all las' night, spose 
he scar'em some; he go way some other place." 
It was evident that the beaver had taken the alarm, 
probably had sniffed in the air some taint or scent from 
our persons. As is generally known, the scent from the 
Indian's person is much stronger than is that from the 
white man's. Here it is that even with all his skill he 
labors under a disadvantage in trapping the quick-scented 
animals. True, he succeeds, usually, in doing away with 
this scent on the sticks, bushes and other objects which he 
may have touched in setting his traps; still, it mixes with 
the air and is wafted about, beyond his control, except in 
so far as he can neutralize it, by impregnating the air 
with some stronger scent, and one which may be grateful 
to the beaver s nose. Usually trappers carry something of 
this kind with them, but on this occasion we had no 
beaver medicine with us. 
After this trial of skill in thrust and parry between old 
John and the beaver had been going on for a week, the 
Indian seemed to be losing confidence in himself. He 
became restless, uneasy, gloomy, and unusually taciturn. 
The shadows of disappointment and of hopes departing 
were gathering on his brow. The lines on his face were 
growing longer and sinking deeper. He was becoming 
weak and emaciated, though his appetite remained good. 
He would mutter in his restless, uneasy sleep, and getting 
up many times in the night, he would sit over the smoul- 
dering fire, brooding over his waning prospects. 
in my week's cruisings I had found two families of 
beavers, but did not speak of them to old John, for it was 
rather too early in the season to catch them. But as the 
days passed by I became somewhat uneasy as to his con- 
dition, not knowing but that he might worry himself into 
a turn of sickness. So, during the night, after the seventh 
day of his trials, I thought the matter over and concluded 
to tell him next morning and ask him to go up with me 
and catch one or two of them, and so wean his mind away 
for a time from the old big one. 
Early the next morning I went out to scan the wpatber. 
The signs looked bad ; dark scuds of clouds were racing up 
from the south, following each other in quick succession, 
indicating a wet day. So I concluded not to go off in the 
woods till the storm was over. When I went back into 
camp old John was up and had started a fire. I told him 
that it looked liks rain, and I guessed I wouldn't go out 
for that day. "Better not," said he, "much bushes; maybe 
getem much wet," and seemed to be glad I was going to 
stay with him. We had a good breakfast, then talked 
a while. He was slow in brightning up, but did so to 
some extent after a while, and proposed that I should go 
with him and look over the musquash traps. So we went 
down, got five musquas, and reset the traps; came back 
to camp, skinned the rats and stretched the pelts. This 
was a small catch, for old John had them pretty well 
thinned out in this lower water. They were quite plenty 
in the upper pond and its main inlet, but we did not wish 
to trap them there till wo should have done with the old 
beaver. 
After dinner we thought we would go up to the beaver 
traps and look for fresh signs. We found them set all 
right; nothing had been disturbed. We pushed further 
along, closely scanning the shores, till we came to the 
mouth of a little brook or run, which emptied into the 
pond. It was very small and shoal, and as we moved by 
I happened to look up into it and saw two or three places 
where the surface muck had been scraped off, showing 
the underlying blue clay; I thought that perhaps this 
might have been done by the old beaver in traveling up 
and down the brook, and so I called my companion's at- 
tention to it, and told him that we would back down a 
few rods and I would go ashore, walk up to the head of 
the run and look about a little, while he could go up with 
the canoe to the main inlet and prospect. I came to the 
little brook, near its source, where the water trickled out 
of the ground about fifty rods above the pond. I found 
no signs there, so followed down about twenty-five rods, 
and found some new works — a few alders cut down and 
partially peeled, a white birch cut all around, and in 
toward the center of the tree some 3in., and the bark 
eaten off in places, directly above and below the scarf. 
Some of this work seemed to have been done recently — 
the night before, I thought. All this looked quite en- 
couraging, but the problem was to catch the old rascal. 
There was only about 5in. of mud and water in the brook, 
and under this was blue clay, compact and firm. It would 
be of little use to set steel traps in such a place as this; the 
beaver would be very likely to tear itself away; and the 
only other plan that promised any success was the build- 
ing of an Indian killeag in the bed of the brook. 
After looking the conditions all over I went down to 
the pond to see old John, bring him up and get his judg- 
ment in the case. He was waiting when I reached the 
pond, and 1 asked him if he had found new signs. "No, 
me no see 'em any good sign; two, free days made; 
s'pose he gone away some place." I told him I thought 
the beaver was working upon the little brook. 
When we got there he looked at the cuttings and 
thought them very fresh. "Sartin he come last night; 
maybe three, four nights; cuttem down that tree soon; 
gettem more bark, maybe he come to-night." Then he 
looked at the brook and said, "Very bad chance settem 
traps; not much water; beaver fight much; maybe get 
away." Then I said, "Suppose we make a killeag in the 
brook, maybe we will catch him that way. What do vou 
think?" 
"That very good way. Sartin we make killeag. We 
makem now, to-day." 
"Well John," said I, "you'd better go down into the 
brook and fix it, and I will cut sticks and brush and hand 
to you. You can make it better than I can." 
He looked at the water, then down at his low, thin 
moccasins and said with a gruesome twist of counte- 
nance, "much cold in there." 
I told him never mind, he might put on my rubber 
boots and I'd take his moccasins. Then we went at it, 
he making the trap and I cutting and handing him the 
material. Soon it began to rain, and rained quite heavily 
all the afternoon. We were very glad to have the rain; 
it added much to the success of our enterprise, as it 
washed away all taint or scent which we might have left 
about the trap or in its vicinity. Old John worked care- 
fully and skillfully and did, as it seemed to me, all that 
any trapper could do. It took us about two hours to make 
the trap; and when we got back to camp it was nearly 
night, and we were wet and hungry; but we didn't mind; 
the rain was working for us. We soon got on dry clothes, 
built a good fire, cooked and ate our supper; then we felt 
pretty well. Old John's spirits took a rise of about 20 
degrees; but he had to rise about 80 more to bring him up 
to a normal condition. We talked a while of the proba- 
bilities of our success with the old beaver, and both of us 
were somewhat hopeful. 
We arose quite early the next morning, especially old 
John, who awoke me by the crackling of the brisk firo 
he had burning, and speaking to me in a half jocular 
manner, said, "Sposem me go up, bringem down ole 
beaver; getem breakfas', me come back; how you likem 
that?" 
"Like it well, John. Hope you will get it. Go ahead, 
I will have breakfast ready when you come back." 
So he started off in the canoe. In about an hour and a 
quarter he hove in sight on his way bank. The boat was 
going through the water at a rapid rate; the Indian was 
plying the paddle with his utmost energy. I stood on the 
shore at the landing watching him as he came down and 
felt hopeful of his success. As the canoe neared the shore 
with a sweep of the paddle he beached it broadside to. 
There in the bottom of the craft lay the beaver, and a 
very large one it was. As surmised, it had lost one foot, 
the left one forward, taken off some two years before, as 
the fracture was healed up and skinned over. Old John, 
with a radiance of satisfaction illuminating his face, asked 
me, "What you thinks. How you likem?" 
"Oh, great luck, John; fine, large fellow; glad you 
got it." 
"Sartin; me glad, too; big ole fellow; weigh sixty 
pound. He cunning ole rascal. Sometime me think me 
no gitem, but me keep tryem all time, by and by maybe 
me catchem. Sartin he here now in canoe. 
I asked him if the beaver was dead when he found it. 
"Sartin he dead; not live long in killeag; putem my hand 
on him, he feelem coled; then me know he dead; no getem 
'way. Then me take 'em out trap, carryem down to 
canoe." 
The beaver was carried up to camp and laid on some 
splits. Then we went in to breakfast. It was a very en- 
joyable meal for both of us. While at table we reviewed 
old John's campaign against the beaver in all its strong 
and weak points, and the beaver's marvelous intuitions in 
guarding against surprise. The Indian's spirits were rap- 
idly rising to a normal condition. The expression of his 
features was undergoing a rapid transformation. The 
shadows of gloom and disappointment were fleeing from 
his brow, leaving it clear and open and man-like, as 
nature moulded it. The kindly, considerate qualities of 
the man were asserting themselves. All this I noted with 
pleasure and satisfaction, for it betokened the success of 
our fall hunt. After breakfast we sharpened our knives 
and skinned the beaver. It was very fat and the meat 
looked good, and was good, as it proved when we came 
to eat it. 
We cut off the tail and dressed the carcass; then old 
John said, "S'pose you putem some in pot an' boil 'em, an' 
me makem hoop out little ash tree an' stretchem skin." 
So I cut up some of the hindquarters and filled two good- 
sized kettles with it and hung them over the fire to boil. 
The liver, which is large, I washed and sliced up, ready to 
be fried for dinner. The rest of the meat was hung up 
in the shade of the trees, a little back from the camp; the 
weather being cool, it kept until we had eaten it all up, 
which did not tak« long. 
After a while old John got the skin stretched, cleaned 
off and hung up in the shade to dry. It was a very large 
one, and the fur fine and silky, and the color very dark, 
shading down on the back to almost a black. 
After dinner, leaving the kettle of meat simmering over 
a slow fire, we put some traps into the canoe, paddled to 
the upper pond and set them for muskrat. Then we went 
up the main inlet, looked about and found a new beaver 
house near the head of the dead water. The house was 
large and was occupied, apparently, by a large family of 
beaver. This was promising and made us feel quite 
elated. On the way back we went up to where we had 
caught the old beaver, changed the killeag, or trap, making 
it suitable for catching otter, which frequently go up and 
down these little brooks. 
The Indian is always hungry. The desire, the craving 
for food is always present, even when so full he can hold 
no more. While the beaver lasted old John used to get 
up two or three times every night, light up the fire a lit- 
tle, sit down and eat of the boiled meat. I was amused, 
when lying awake in the bunk, to see with what relish he 
would eat away on the beaver's hindleg. It was fat, and 
the fire light flickering and playing hide-and-go-seek over 
his greasy face made it shine like a piece of burnished 
mahogany. 
After trapping about two months, we thought it nearly 
time to be moving out. We felt sorry when we thought 
of leaving the place, for here we had passed many peace- 
ful and happy days. After the siege with the old beaver, 
nothing occurred to mar the pleasure of our enterprise. 
Old John and myself worked in perfect unison. We had 
a good dry camp to live in; we had good health and spirits; 
plenty of exercise and enough to eat; and furs were suffi- 
ciently numerous to satisfy our expectations, to give zest 
to the business, and to pay well for our labors. 
But it was now late in the fall; the weather was getting 
bad; the ponds and streams were frozen over, and game 
was not sunning much. Besides, old John was hardly 
able to endure a winter campaign; age was telling against 
him. So we concluded to gather up our traps and bring 
them to camp. This meant two days of hard work. Then 
we shod the canoe; that is, fixed long cedar "splits" over 
it outside to protect the bark from the roughness of the 
road. When this was done we fastened one end of the 
boat on a hand sled — we had made two while at camp — 
put the traps and some other things into it, and dragged 
them down to the mouth of the road at the main river. 
The river was frozen over, and trying the ice, we found 
that it would bear us while we drew the loads over it. 
As this was to be the last night in camp, we concluded 
to have an extra good supper. So we baked some bis- 
cuits, fried an extra big plate of fat, tender, juicy, 
caribou steak, cut from a ham of one we had shot, on a 
back pond, about a week before, and made a dish of good 
tea. After supper I asked old John, whether we had 
better divide the fur, and how we would do it, "Sartin" 
he replied, "last night here; better dividem; spose me 
makem two piles, you takem one pile, which you like, 
then me takem other one." To this I assented. When 
he had divided up the pelts into two lots, I took the odh 
which had in it the old big beaver skin. Then I drew it 
out from the pile, and handing it to old John, told him I 
would make him a present of it. He hesitated about 
taking it, but I told him I wished him to have it, for he 
had worked hard to get it. Finally he took it, and laying 
it by, said, "me like havem old beaver very much, but 
me no like takem from yon." 
I knew that he longed to possess the skin, but his sense 
of fair dealing prevented him from saying anything 
about it. Early the next morning we loaded everything 
on the sleds, covered over the top of the chimney, to 
keep out the snow and rain, closed up the camp, and 
giving it a lingering, regretful look, started on down, 
with our loads. Our fall trapping was ended. 
the Problem of the west. 
Worthington, Minn., Aug. 28. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: Your editorial in the Aug. 25 issue on "Shot- 
gun and Citizenship" was read by me with much interest, 
and I hope it is only one of many that you will write on 
the same subject. 
The idea of remedying the evil by education is an ad- 
mirable one. but unfortunately it must necessarily be too 
slow in its effect to be of much benefit in the Northwest. 
These States, and particularly the Dakotas and Minnesota 
are peopled to a very large extent with Russians and Nor- 
wegians, the former especially being very clannish in 
their dispositions. They came to this country in large 
parties — all from one locality in their old homes and settle 
together and usually in a section that already contains a 
number of their friends. The result is that whole coun- 
ties are populated by one nationality, not only the farms, 
but the towns as well, and it is a common thing to find 
every merchant in a town of the same nationality as the 
surrounding farmers. 
They come to this country with the- preconceived 
notions you describe, and living as they do, frequently 
for years without being able to speak or understand our 
language, are to all intents aod purposes as ignorant of 
our laws and institutions as when they first landed at 
Castle Garden, their one idea seems to be that this free 
country means license to do as they please, regardless of 
the rights of others. The few people of American birth 
living among them, unless of the same origin as them- 
selves, are looked upon with suspicion and have no in- 
fluence with them, and any attempt to argue or reason 
with them is simply wasted time. Progressive ideas have 
little or no chance to take root. The younger generations 
born in this country may in time be brought to a realiz- 
ing sense of what they owe to others, but the growth must 
of necessity be slow, they live surrounded by the influ- 
ences and ideas of the older generations, and do as their 
fathers did before them, slow to take advantage of new 
ideas and having little inclination or opportunity to do so. 
In their old homes they were used to being kicked and 
cuffed about and trampled on by those in authority, and 
the only law that they understand or respect is one of 
force. Let them once see through the medium of con- 
victions with accompanying fines and imprisonments that 
our game laws are not on the statute books solely as an 
ornament, and they will respect them, but until this is 
done they will be looked on only with contempt, and noi 
only by this class but the lawless element of Anglo-Saxon 
origin as well. What we need are game wardens as ener- 
getic as Warden Blow, and lots of them 
That in some sections the ruinous practice of the trapper 
has completed his deadly work. I had ample evidence this 
week in the receipt of a magnificent pointer from afriend 
at Ouawa, la., an ideal chicken country. My friend is an 
ardent sportsman, one who would rather hunt than eat, 
yet right on the eve of the open season he ships his favor- 
ite dog to me for my use during the entire season, and in- 
forms me that much as he would like to use her, he can- 
not, as the chickens have been trapped until scarely one 
is left in the country. 
"Stop the sale of game" is a plank on which all sports- 
men should stand as a matter of self -protection, if for no 
other reason, for in that plank and its general enactment 
is the only salvation of our game. So long as a market is 
open in which game can be disposed of, just so long will 
men exist to kill and ship, and express companies be 
found to receive and carry it. 
To the sportsmen of Illinois and New York we must 
first look for aid; close the large markets of Chicago, New 
York, etc. , and the multitude of smaller ones will cease 
to be profitable even before we can close them up. It is 
the large markets that make the work of the market- 
hunter profitable; without them the little ones would be 
so overstocked that the game would not bring the cost of 
carriage and ammunition. W. R. H. 
A Squirrel's Immunity. 
Davenport Centre, N. Y., Aug. 29.— An unusual cir- 
cumstance coming under my notice in regard to living up 
to the game law, I will submit it to the readers of your 
most enjoyable paper. 
A fine specimen of the migratory or gray squirrel came 
into town this afternoon, and after canvasing the village 
quite thoroughly, at last took up his position on a fir tree 
directly across the street from the post-office; and although 
quite a crowd of people were watching his movements, he 
barked away complacently, and, would you believe it, no 
one rushed home after the proverbial "best shutin' gun in 
the country," nor even a boy threw a stone at this squir- 
rel. Some one said, "That fellow seems to know that the 
law is not quite off on squirrels yet," "Yes," said I, "and 
it seems little short of a miracle that he has spent most of 
the afternoon in town, and still has his skin on yet." 
"Oh," was the rejoinder, "we don't kill squirrels nor 
birds out of season, nor do we dynamite trout streams 
either." I pity the squirrels and birds in most other 
towns. Ruffed grouse and "the grays" are plentiful here 
this season, but owing to the dry weather the "bog sucker" 
is not with us yet. C. E. L. 
A Gray Squirrel County. 
Springfield, Vt., Aug. 25.— The gray squirrels and 
ruffed grouse are very plenty around here, and the hunt- 
ing this fall promises to be better than ever before. I 
am going to write you further about the attractions 
which we offer to the sportsman in the near future. 
W. W. B. 
