382 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct. 20, 1894. 
MAKING A RAISE. 
Fur-hunting — that's what we intended doing the com- 
ing winter. The whole of the past summer we had spent 
in prospecting for mineral, but the autumn had come, 
snow already covered the summits of the mountains and 
we had struck nothing; and now the three of us sat in 
solemn conclave in Joe Dalton's cabin one fine October 
morning a few years ago. This cabin was situated on a 
ranch in the Flathead Valley, northwestern Montana, 
and we were discussing where to go. So far nothing had 
been settled. The season was too far advanced for an 
extended trip and we hadn't funds enough to outfit our- 
selves. Finally Joe deferred matters until the evening, 
as he wanted to ride to town, nine miles away, for the 
mail. He was out of tobacco, too, which was a still more 
serious affair. 
It was 7 o'clock before he returned and we were at sup- 
per, and after unsaddling his horse he tossed a letter and 
two newspapers on to the bunk, drew up to the table, 
helped himself to a large portion of venison stew and 
commenced eating without further ceremony, and pres- 
ently Fred inquired what made him so late. 
"Business," replied Joe, as he ladled away at the stew. 
"I got on to something this afternoon that's worth looking 
into. I'll explain after a while, but I'm just about hun- 
gry now — haven't had a bite since breakfast." 
It was evident from Joe's look of suppressed excitement 
that he had something of importance to communicate, 
and after finishing his meal he lit his pipe, blew forth a 
vast cloud of smoke, and heaving a sigh of deepest con- 
tent, proceeded to unburden himself. 
"Who d'ye think I saw down town to-day?" 
"How should we know?" said Fred; "unless some of the 
boys have returned from the Libby Creek excitement." 
"No, it's none of them. It was Dutch Billy." 
. "When did he get back?" "Where's he been to?" "Did 
he have any luck?" and for a moment Joe was assailed 
by a running fire of questions. Billy had mysteriously 
disappeared over two weeks ago, having left in the night 
for parts unknown, with a heavy pack on his back, a belt 
full of ammunition and his old Sharps rifle. He was a 
first-rate hunter and was given to making periodical ex- 
cursions, always on foot and alone, into the depths of the 
great forest that stretched far away to the north and 
west of the Flathead Valley, emerging therefrom with 
sundry proofs of his skill in the shape of skins and furs, 
sometimes of considerable value. 
"He's on a terror of a spree," said Joe. "He got a bear 
skin and five beaver hides and sold 'em at Randall's store 
for $25 and a gallon of whisky. He never said where he'd 
been but old man Ray met him on the Kootenay trail 
packing his wad. When little Billy's sober he'll never 
open his head, but when he's full he's a fool like all 
drunken men, and he let out to me that he'd struck two 
fresh beaver dams." 
"Why didn't he stay and catch the beavers then?" 
"His grub played out, and I guess ne was thirsty," said 
Joe, "but he camped in a meadow near a river, he said, 
and I got points enough to know that place if we could 
only run across it, and I mean trying my best, you can 
make your mind easy on that." 
"Well, that's a cute trick! You mean getting in ahead 
of Billy then and trying for them yourself?" 
"You bet 1 do,' said Joe emphatically, "what'll that 
little whisky bloat do if he gets 'em? He'll oDly blow in 
what they bring, same as he's doing now. It's free for 
all in these parts, and we've just as good a right to make 
a raise as he has — and a better one — 'cause we'll make 
good use of it." 
"Of course we will," assented Fred, "but when '11 Billy 
start after them?" 
"Billy '11 never leave town while he's got a cent, and 
then it'll take him a week to get sober. You boys get the 
outfit ready to-morrow and I'll go after some flour for 
we're nearly out. Then we'll pack old 'Breed and start in 
the evening." 
Any faint scruples of mine regarding prior rights and 
the laws of meum and tuum (as interpreted in that none 
too law-abiding section) were speedily overcome by this 
convincing logic, and we at once commenced prepara- 
tions. Beaver skins were valuable, and getting very 
scarce hereabouts, and the man who found a colony of 
them was regarded as one with a moderate bank account 
to draw upon. 
There seemed no need to publish our movements to the 
neighborhood at large, so we started on our wild goose 
chase by moonlight. The old pony, which Joe had traded 
from a half breed Indian long before, was burdened with 
a large pack, and we went afoot, for feed might be scarce 
and the fewer horses we had to attend the better in such 
an expedition as the present. We had a small tent, our 
blankets, cooking utensils, an axe, six heavy double spring 
traps and a good supply of provisions and ammunition, 
and, of course, our rifles, for we were ready to take in 
anything we ran across. 
The Indian trail to the Kootenay River was soon reached, 
and, leaving the open valley, we entered the forest and 
were soon entirely away from civilization. About 10 
o'clock we came to a little grassy opening and camped for 
the night. Early next morning we were under way 
again, and now the country was rougher, the trail wind- 
ing among low, rolling hills, and around swampy places 
where grew tangled clumps of red willows. We stopped 
at noon on a little stream that flowed to our right, ate a 
hurried meal, and started again. The timber was very 
fine here; giant pine and tamarack trees stood towering 
over their lesser fir and spruce brethren, but the density 
of the undergrowth prevented an extended view in any 
direction, and, after ascending a low hill, we followed 
the trail down into a wooded hollow along which an- 
other stream ran, and here we once more halted. 
4< This is as far as I'm anyways certain about," said Joe. 
"The Clearwater River is off east to Our right about four 
miles, and this little creek puts into it. Billy took two 
days to get there, and he spoke of an old landslide that 
had dammed up the river in times gone by, but there was 
no getting any sense out of him. Now, if we can find that 
landslide we're solid. It's the only thing we've got to 
guide us, anyway." 
There was no trail from here on as we turned down the 
little stream and followed its course. Joe had trouble- 
some work leading the pony around fallen trees and 
through the dense brush, but the little gulch gradually 
widened into a comparatively open river bottom, and 
presently we emerged from the woods in a small meadow 
of some twenty acres in extent. It was completely encir- 
cled by forest, but looking ahead over the treetops we saw 
a line of wooded mountains. They were not far distant — 
half a mile to the lower slopes perhaps — and then we 
knew we were near the Clearwater, for it skirted the base 
of the hills. 
Choosing a flat place just inside the timber, we pitched 
our tent under a spreading fir tree, and while Fred started 
the supper, Joe picketed his pony and I cut a good supply 
of "mountain feathers" (fir browse) and^ spread the blan- 
kets out for our bed; and after a hearty meal we passed 
the time in smoking and speculating on the outcome of 
our venture as we sat by the cheerful camp-fire. Our first 
need was some fresh meat, and as deer tracks had been 
seen all the afternoon, we decided to go hunting on the 
morrow, and, fatigued with our day's tramp, we turned 
in early. 
It was a little after daylight when I awoke. The fly of 
the tent was not quite closed, and through the opening I 
could see old 'Breed standing motionless at the end of his 
picket rope, his ears pricked up and gazing intently across 
the meadow. I knew the old pony's ways, and this one 
told me he saw something unusual. Gently, very gently, 
I crawled from beneath the warm blankets. The boys 
were still sleeping soundly, and gaining the opening with- 
out arousing them, I looked out. A fight fog hung over 
everything, but I could easily see across the meadow, and 
about half-way around to the right stood a whitetail deer, 
just at the edge of the brush, apparently surprised at our 
unwelcome intrusion, yet impelled by curiosity to remain. 
With a laudable wish to gratify that curiosity, but in a 
somewhat unexpected manner, I quietly reached for my 
rifle. The shot was an easy one, not over 70yds., and the 
sharp report of the piece i>roke abruptly on the perfect 
stillness that reigned over the forest that foggy October 
morning. I saw the deer bound forward on to the grass, 
wheel suddenly and rush back into the woods, and Joe and 
Fred were on their feet in an" instant. Within five min- 
utes a fire was started and I walked over the wet grass 
with Joe to look for my game, which I knew had been 
hit, and we found it lying dead just inside the timber. 
The ball had struck just behind the shoulder, and gone 
diagonally through it, coming out the opposite flank. 
We soon had the deer, which was a six months' buck 
fawn, strung up to a branch in camp, and by the time it 
was dressed Fred had breakfast ready. That lucky shot 
of mine meant a saving of time and trouble, and we were 
highly elated at our good fortune. The meal concluded, 
we decided to explore the river and its tributaries near by, 
so we proceeded down our little stream in company. Just 
at the further extremity of the meadow stood a great fir 
tree with heavy masses of foliage spreading out like a 
canopy some 10ft. above the ground, and underneath it 
were signs of human occupation. A rude fireplace of 
stones held the ashes of a fire, and a bed of soft browse 
had been made, while on a limb hung two circular hoops 
of willow, and all this had been done quite recently. 
"We've struck the right spot," said Joe. "That's Billy's 
camp." 
Of this we had no doubt whatever, and it was but a 
short distance to the brink of Clearwater. Its banks were 
low and level, and, although well timbered, were free 
from underbrush, and here we separated. Joe started off 
down stream, while Fred and I crossed the little tribu- 
tary and went in the opposite direction. After following 
the devious windings of the river for two miles or more, 
we approached a place where the stream appeared to 
fork, but before reaching this spot a promising-looking 
little creek was encountered and we decided to examine 
it. We had carefully scrutinized every foot of the river 
bank, and hadn't seen even a beaver cutting, although a 
mile or so up the little tributary we came to some old 
workings, but they were uninhabited now, having been 
trapped out long ago, and after a careful, though fruit- 
less, examination, we started back to camp, reaching 
there late in the afternoon, somewhat tired and very 
hungry; but Joe had returned and had an appetizing 
supper almost ready, to which we did full justice, for that 
venison steak was perfect. 
If we had been unsuccessful Joe had fared no better. 
He had followed the stream for nearly three miles to 
where it made a sharp bend, and some very old beaver 
signs around a muddy slough that adjoined the river 
proved a poor reward for his pains, so we decided to re- 
verse matters on the morrow, we going down stream and 
Joe examining the river above the point where we had 
turned off. 
We were up early next morning, and this time took a 
lunch with us, as we intended being away all day, and 
by 9 o'clock Fred and I reached the bend Joe had men- 
tioned. For a mile or so the Clearwater had been trend- 
ing away from the hills, but now it swung inward, meet- 
ing the mountain abruptly , then turning off again along 
its base, and on reaching this spot we emerged from the 
woods into an open space on the river bank, which here 
rose vertically from the water. As we did so we obtained 
an unobstructed view of the opposite bank and saw the 
very thing we were seeking. 
The hillside ran up steeply there and the continual 
sapping of the fast running water had, in times gone by, 
loosened a large mass of earth and rocks which had shd 
down into the stream, partially damming it. A great 
quantity of driftwood, brought down by the spring 
freshets, had accumulated here, and one large tree had 
jammed against the bank on which we stood, thus enabl- 
ing one to cross to the other side. The scar on the 
mountain slope left by the landslide was plainly visible, 
although overgrown with brush and small trees, but if 
Dutch Billy's incoherent ravings contained a grain of 
truth this was surely the place. 
But where were the beaver dams? We could see quite 
a distance down stream and there was not a sign of one. 
In fact the river was much too rapid for such work and 
there were no tributaries entering here. I scanned the 
opposite bank closely but could see no encouragement 
whatever. Some tall leafless cottonwoods were scattered 
along it, and in one place some willow bushes concealed 
the outlet of a little rill or spring, but it was so small that 
we never gave it a second thought, and after a brief con- 
sultation we decided to cross the stream on the jam of 
driftwood. 
The wide sweep of the Clearwater encircled a large, 
densely wooded flat, and the hill which arose behind 
it was here broken into by a hollow that seemed to run 
back a considerable distance. Our intention was to fol- 
low along the base of the hills and strike the river bank 
opposite our camp, but we were Boon struggling with 
some of the thickest brush I ever encountered, and after 
crawling through acres of fallen trees and a mixture of 
willow bushes and jack-pine thickets tangled in every 
conceivable manner, we ascended the slope a little way, 
and between the tree trunks obtained a view of our 
position. 
Thick forest — that was all we could see. Great yellow 
pines reared their lofty tops above a sea of spruce and fir 
trees, and here and there the bare, naked-looking tama- 
racks rose to as great a height. We could look almost 
into the hollow mentioned, and it was considerably lar- 
ger than we had thought— quite a basin in fact — and 
down its center ran an irregular line of cottonwoods, 
which still retained a few of their golden leaves, and we 
could see more patches of yellow among the sombre foli- 
age on the flat, and look which way we would, our eyes 
rested upon a rolling expanse of forest, broken only by 
the silvery line of the Clearwater as it pursued its sinuous 
course toward the Flathead. 
"There must be a creek, Fred, along that line of cotton- 
woods." 
"Yes, it looks like it from here," said he. "Let's go 
down and try it again." 
But the further we traveled the worse matters became. 
Some swampy ground overgrown with masses of red wil- 
lows and a liberal admixture of thorns now confronted 
us, and after slowly working my way through these, 1 
was joined by Fred, who fancied he had found an easier 
way, but was now softly breathing maledictions on such 
places in general and this one in particular. 
"Hold still a minute, Fred — what's that noise?" 
We listened intently and heard the rippling splash of 
falling water. It seemed to be up toward the gulch and 
not far distant. This had to be investigated, and ten 
minutes later we were near the sound, but the willows 
grew thicker than ever and cost us a hard struggle to get 
through it. But then came our reward. 
A little stream flowed out of the basin, where it had its 
birthplace, and this had been utilized by some beavers in 
the cleverest way imaginable. The little depression 
along which it coursed had been blocked by a large dam 
built of branches and small logs and plastered with mud, 
and this had formed a still, deep pool, which extended 
up the hollow some little distance, gradually shoaling 
until it met the running waters of the brook. Great 
numbers of cottonwood saplings had here been cut down 
and their white stumps were visible everywhere, and it 
was plainly seen that the work was quite Iresh, while the 
whole locality was buried in such impenetrable brush that 
we marveled at Billy's cleverness at finding such a well 
hidden little bonanza. But Fred and I exchanged glances 
of the keenest satisfaction, for we had evidently "struck 
a perfect picnic," as he expressed it. 
A beaver house was visible across the pool, but no 
sound broke the stillness save that of the water as it 
splashed downward over the dam, so we quietly with- 
drew. For the next three hours we crawled and struggl d 
in the rank heavy growth of the willow swamp, but were 
well rewarded for our pains. We found another and a 
larger beaver dam further up the stream, and after thor- 
oughly exploring the whole basin we started back — along 
the side of the hill this time — to our bridge and then to 
camp. 
"Well, Joe, what luck to-day?" 
"Not much," said Joe, as he laid down a large frying 
pan of sizzling steak. "I struck the place where Billy 
got his beaver, though. If you fellows had kept on up 
the river instead of turning up that little creek, you'd have 
found it." 
"Are there any there now?" 
"Any there now? Dye think Billy's that sort? Why, 
there was only one fam'ly anyway, an' you bet he got the 
last of 'em," spake Joseph scornfully. 
"And if you had gone on around that bend, you'd may- 
be have found what we found," said Fred; and over our 
supper we described our little discovery to Joe's profound 
delight, and he thereupon, with sundry rare and em- 
phatic expressions, vowed to replenish the common ex- 
chequer, and that right speedily. 
Although well up at catching "land fur," we knew but 
little of beaver trapping, but Joe was an expert at the 
business, so he took command, and next day we all three 
went, taking with us a hatchet, Joe's long rubber boots 
and the six traps, while Fred carried his Winchester. 
We gained the shallow water at the head of the lower 
pool, and at once proceeded to business. 
"Keep away from the bank, boys," said Joe, as he 
donned the rubber boots,"a beaver's mighty keen-scented 
and easily scared. Fred, cut me a dead stick — a dead one 
mind — 'bout five feet long and an inch thick, with a little 
knot or branch at one end." 
A little grove of cottonwood trees fringed the bank 
across the pool, and a good many of these had been cut 
down and stored away for winter use by the beaver> The 
bark forms their principal food, and the wet, slimy bank 
showed plainly where they landed, and now Joe waded 
carefully to this spot. The water was about a foot deep 
here and he placed the heavy beaver trap about six inches 
out from the bank. Now a beaver always lands at the 
same spot, and matters were so arranged that when one 
swam to the landing place and felt about with his hind 
feet for the bottom it would plant one of them on the pan 
of the trap. The long dead stick was passed through the 
ring on the trap chain and then driven firmly into the 
bank in an almost horizontal position, the object of this 
being to guide the captured beaver into deeper water and 
drown it by the weight of the trap. This is the method 
invariably followed, and after setting another Newhouse 
No. 4 at another slide on our side of the pool, Joe waded 
out on to dry ground and rejoined us. 
"Two's enough for this place just now," observed he, 
"it's a small dam, and if they get thrashin' around much 
the rest might get up and leave, so we'll handle 'em gently 
at first. Now where's the next place?" 
The upper and larger dam was not more than 200yds. 
away, and by making a detour we avoided much of the 
dense undergrowth we had encountered on the previous 
day. We were just approaching the upper end of the 
pool when a ruffed grouse ran out of a willow bush and 
fluttered up on to a branch. In an instant Fred had 
dropped the hatchet and raised his rifle. 
"Stop that, stop, don't shoot around here," cried Joe 
hurriedly. 
"Why not, Joe? I can take his head off. slick as a 
