A Woman on tKe Trap-Trail 
II.—Incidents of Outdoor Winter Life in the 
High Sierras of Idaho 
By MARGARET A. RIDLEY 
W HEN everything was arranged, Mr. 
Roberts left us, promising to return 
next May and bring us out. I con¬ 
fess that my heart sank when I saw him ride 
out of sight down the steep hillside trail. We 
were two veritable babes in the woods. Before 
starting on this trip neither of us had ever so 
much as slept out of doors; how should we 
manage to shift for ourselves in the wilderness 
through an entire winter? There was not a 
human habitation within one hundred miles in 
any direction, unless it chanced that, like our¬ 
selves, some trapper had built a cabin and estab¬ 
lished a trap line. However, -we set to work 
with the determination to make the thing a suc¬ 
cess. I could see my husband get better every 
day. Before the week ended, after Mr. Roberts 
left us, he was eating like an ostrich and work¬ 
ing from dawn until dark without fatigue. 
There was much to do. Fuel had to be gotten 
in before the' snows came. After that the trap 
line was to be established and the traps built. 
This in itself was no small task. The line ran 
up over the hill and around the foot of the 
mountain, dipped down into the canon of a small 
stream, followed that for several miles, then 
swung over toward the river brink and back 
around the shore of the lake to the cabin. I 
insisted upon accompanying him when he went 
to build the pens. 
Let me try to tell you how the pens are made. 
A tree, or possibly a rock, is selected against 
which to set the trap. The trapper retires sev¬ 
eral rods and cuts down small trees, not more 
than four or six inches through, and these he 
cuts into sections four feet in length. These 
billets he splits through the middle and sharpens 
at one end. The sharpened stakes are driven 
into the ground close together in parallel lines 
a foot apart, until they form a perfect inclosure 
with the outer end open, the rear end closed 
by the tree or rock against which the stakes are 
driven. This inclosure is then covered with 
either billets of wood or limbs from the trees. 
It will be readily seen that the animal cannot 
get at the bait, which is fastened to the body 
of the tree at the back, without entering through 
the open front door. A steel trap is cunningly 
concealed just within that open space, and the 
animal, tempted by the bait, enters and sets his 
foot in the open jaws, which close with a snap 
and hold him captive. 
We spent several days in getting the traps in 
readiness. During that time we slept out of 
doors. It was delightful. The alders, aspens 
and larches were shedding their foliage and the 
forest was aglow with crimson and yellow. The 
snowshoe hares were changing their color and 
they flitted through the timber like white ghosts. 
Small game was abundant and our larder was 
never empty. Before meal time it was only 
necessary to watch for a grouse or a hare and 
the meat was provided. 
When we returned to our cabin we found 
there another tenant; a great pack rat had taken 
possession and was already housekeeping. I am 
afraid he did not bring all his own things with 
him, for we found him making use of many 
of ours. He was a beautiful creature, with soft 
fur and big liquid black eyes that stared at one 
fearlessly. He had a bad habit of stamping his 
foot, though, reminding you of a spoiled child. 
That would have been all right had he been con¬ 
tent to stamp it only in the day time, but night 
seemed to be the season when he was most out 
of humor. He would get upon the roof and 
stamp about until it would seem that the shingles 
were going to break through. We wanted to be 
at peace with all the woodsfolk, so we tried to 
live with him, but it proved too much of a task. 
When I wanted a knife, a spoon, or even a tin 
cup I never knew where to And it. He appro¬ 
priated every culinary article in the cabin, though 
I never could And out that he used them. They 
were usually found snugly concealed behind the 
flour sack, between the logs, in the wood pile; 
in any place that the fertile brain of the animal 
happened to suggest. Finally we set a trap—a 
small box lined with tin, using the old figure 
four triggers of our youth—and next morning 
we found him in prison. He was certainly an 
angry pack rat. He stamped about the narrow 
confines of his cell and chattered in the most 
violent manner. My husband took him far out 
in the woods and deposited him beside a dead 
tree. But like the cat, he came back. We were 
just falling asleep that night when we heard 
the well known stamping. As if to repay us 
for the indignity of capturing him, he spent the 
greater part of the night tramping about over 
our heads. It was a little wearying and at the 
same time laughable. 
We finally ridded ourselves of him in the 
strangest manner; in fact, wholly by accident. 
He could not be coaxed into our trap again; he 
was too wise for that, but an ermine was not 
so wise, and on a certain morning we found one 
of these animals in the trap. You will never 
know how cruel and bloodthirsty a weasel looks 
until you are permitted to see one confined in 
a trap. The little white animal actually looked 
as venomous as a snake, as he glared at us out 
of the box, and I fear it was with but little 
compunction that my husband knocked him on 
the head. These skins were quoted at fifty cents 
each and this one was made the nucleus around 
which our stock of furs should grow. It was 
the first fruits of our trapping skill and was an 
accident. The body was skinned and the skin 
stretched according to instructions and hung 
upon the cabin wall to dry. 
That night we heard our lodger coming as 
usual. He scurried over the roof, dived under 
the eaves, found his own particular doorway and 
descended to the floor. We heard him scamper 
across the room searching for something to eat. 
When about midway he paused suddenly. Not 
a sound. For as much as a minute he sat still 
and seemed to be actually holding his breath. 
Then we heard him frantically scaling the wall. 
He plunged through the opening under the eaves, 
crossed the roof at two bounds and leaped to 
the ground without the formality of climbing 
down the corner logs. That was the last of our 
guest. He never came back. He had scented 
his most deadly enemy and, in his own mind, 
quickly formed the conclusion that henceforth 
his bipedal friends must worry along without his 
company. We missed him for a time, but the 
quiet was refreshing, too, after the strenuous 
life he had insisted upon our leading for the 
few weeks he honored us by being our guest. 
For all his roguish propensities we could not 
bring ourselves to kill him. 
The nights were growing cold. As yet there 
had been no snow, but every morning the ground 
was covered with a white frost that resembled 
snow until the morning sun brushed it away. 
The hardest task of all was the killing of game 
for bait. It seemed too cruel to slay God’s 
creatures for such a purpose. The deer came 
every night to feed upon the rank grass that 
grew around the water’s edge and remained until 
daybreak in the morning. Moose came too and 
called from the deep timber near the shore, but 
never ventured into the open. Occasionally an 
elk would trot across the little opening in front 
of the cabin, his great antlers laid back along 
his neck, and disappear in the woods. In a few 
days the little shed in front of the cabin looked 
like a meat market. Before the winter was over 
we learned the wisdom of this provision. 
