A Woman on tKe Trap-Trail 
III.—Incidents of Outdoor Winter Life in the 
High Sierras of Idaho 
By MARGARET A. RIDLEY 
A fter Christmas a raven joined the jay 
family that kept ns company. That is, 
he did not exactly join them, for they 
scattered in terror whenever he came, but he 
made his residence near us and subsisted off 
our bounty. His favorite point of vantage was 
an old burnt snag that stood several yards from 
the cabin back on the hill. One morning after 
my ffusband had gone I chanced to step to the 
door when I heard some sort of a conversation 
going on in the woods. I could not just make 
out the words, but had no doubt that someone 
was coming. Who could it be, I wondered ? I 
stood still and listened for some minutes. The 
sound continued, but did not come nearer. That, 
too, was strange, thought I. 
It was many minutes before I detected the 
person who was making the sound. He was 
black and so also was the tree upon which he 
sat. Had he not fluttered a sable wing I would 
not have seen him. He sat there with his coat 
collar pulled up around his ears, for it was a 
cold day, and seemed to be telling himself how 
miserable the weather really was. He did not 
seem anxious for a nearer acquaintance, so I 
returned to my work and left him there. 
In a short time I heard a frightened squawk 
from the jays and stepped to the door in time 
to see the whole family of them scuttling for 
the alder thicket as fast as they could go. The 
raven was on the snow in front of the cabin 
walking sedately toward a bone that lay there. 
He saw me, cocked his head on one side, scan¬ 
ned me all over with the sharpest black eye I 
ever encountered, chuckled to himself and flew 
away. He did not fly far, however, and as soon 
as my back was turned he came back to his 
bone. There was not much on the bone, so I 
watched my chance and tossed him a piece of 
boiled meat. He snapped it up and sailed back 
to his snag, where he sat and no doubt made 
the first meal he had had for some time. 
This rather informal introduction was all that 
was needed in the freemasonry of the woods- 
folk. Our casual meeting soon ripened into a 
lasting friendship. People who have derived 
their ideas of ravens from reading about that 
very talented bird of Edgar Allen Poe are not 
familiar with the actual raven of the woods. 
There was nothing gloomy or sad about my 
raven at all. He was always the joiliest chap 
imaginable. When the weather was the coldest 
he would complain about it in the merriest 
monotone and then spend whole minutes laugh¬ 
ing at himself for being caught in such a coun¬ 
try during the winter time. When the days 
were sunny he would sit on his snag and cackle 
and chatter, dancing up and down in a sort of 
avian strathspey. He never saw me that he 
did not have something funny to say, and I was 
too ignorant to understand it. I know it was 
funny from the tone of voice in which he told 
it. No, my observations on ravens do not cor¬ 
respond with Poe’s in the least. 
I must tell you about our fishing. Does it 
make you smile to read of fishing in the mid¬ 
winter with the snow ten feet deep on the 
ground? Well, we not only fished, but caught 
fish as well. It happened in this wise: Hav¬ 
ing occasion one day to cut a hole through the 
ice on the lake we saw down in the crystal- 
clear water hundreds of fish swimming about. 
They drew near to the hole as though to get 
air. Among the supplies at the cabin were 
hooks and lines. Hastening back, my husband 
soon had the tackle out, and baiting the hook 
with a bit of meat, he dropped it through the 
ice. No sooner did it sink into the clear water 
than a fish took it and was soon flapping on the 
snow. The fish were a sort of white fish, very 
good to eat, and so abundant that it took only 
a few minutes to catch enough for a meal. 
When the bait ran low late in the season, fish 
was tried and served equally as well and pos¬ 
sibly better. We kept the place open and had 
fish whenever we chose. 
Late in the winter an accident happened to 
my husband which had a very amusing side 
that would have been laughable had it not had 
its serious possibilities. Among the traps were 
several intended for the capture of game larger 
than the fur bearers. These had been left in 
the shed after the vain attempt to trap the wol¬ 
verine. As the winter wore away, however, the 
smaller animals became scarce. My husband 
then turned his attention to the capture of the 
larger animals. Of these the most common was 
the lynx. The great snowshoe-like tracks of 
these cats might be seen everywhere. They 
were nocturnal in their habits and could never 
be seen; they just left their cards. Learning 
from the books how to set the traps to catch 
these animals, my husband put several along the 
trap trail. He did not much expect to capture 
one at once, so neglected to take his revolver. 
Armed only with his axe he set out to visit 
his traps. When the journey was half com¬ 
pleted he came upon a large lynx fast in a trap. 
Then he regretted not having brought his re¬ 
volver. How to slay the angry animal was a 
grave question. He pondered over it for some 
time and finally concluded that he might ap¬ 
proach near enough to strike it with his axe. 
Acting on the thought, he crept nearer and 
nearer, the animal glaring at him with angry 
eyes the while. The cat pulled back the length 
of the chain and stood on the defensive. When 
he deemed himself near enough, my husband 
reached forward and delivered a downward blow 
with the axe. The lynx jumped to one side and 
the axe buried itself in the snow. IMot only 
that, but my husband lost his balance and liter¬ 
ally fell into the embrace of the angry feline. 
With one front foot in the trap the cat was 
somewhat handicapped. He did enough execu¬ 
tion on my husband’s garments, however, to 
give me a busy afternoon with the needle. 
It may be supposed that the man lost no time 
in rolling out of the reach of the lynx. His 
face was scratched, his clothes torn, his temper 
ruffled, and when he came back to the cabin 
for his revolver there was a general air of dis¬ 
reputable excess about him that did not com¬ 
port well with the appearance of a respectable 
professional man. Seizing the weapon, he 
trudged out again with hardly a word, and in 
about three hours returned lugging on his 
shoulder a big lynx. He had not taken the 
time to skin the animal, but brought the carcass 
entire. Placing it on the chopping block, he sat 
down upon a billet of wood and glared at the 
body for some time. The venom with which 
he stripped off the skin and flung the carcass 
to the birds was so amusing that I was forced 
to laugh, despite the fact that the accident might 
have terminated more seriously than it did. 
Old trappers often smile when I tell them 
that my husband killed a bear in midwinter 
when the snow was ten feet deep. It was along 
in the first days of February and we were think¬ 
ing about spring, though spring was a long time 
off yet. The days were beginning to get warmer, 
the snow had all fallen from the trees, leav¬ 
ing them a fresher green. My husband was 
building bear pens against the time when the 
bears should appear in the spring. He had 
made several in different parts of the woods, 
and on this morning took up his axe and rifle 
and set out to the north of the cabin. He 
ascended a steep little hill that lay nearest to 
the range and prospected around a huge fallen 
tree with upturned roots. The snow was crusted 
