The Fur Trade To-Day. 
Hidden away in many a narrow valley of the 
Rocky jMountains or the Coast Range, or in the 
vast regions of the far and little known North, 
lie the trap lines which each season furnish a 
great part of the fur that serves to protect 
civilized men and women from winter’s cold, 
or to adorn their apparel. 
Early in the autumn, long before the first snow 
has fallen, the mountain trapper moves into the 
lonely valley that he has chosen, fits up his old 
cabin or builds a new one. selects his trap line, 
and begins tO' prepare for his winter’s work. 
There is fuel to be provided and food; traps 
must be put in order or built; stretchers pro¬ 
vided ; the signs of the mountains studied. 
Slowly the nights grow longer and the cold 
stronger, then some quiet evening the trapper 
hears a faint rattle of snow against the stove 
pipe or the hissing of flakes which come down 
his chimney, and he knows that winter has come 
—the time to begin to take his fur. 
As soon as the storm is over he starts out, 
loaded with traps and bait. As he follows his 
line, he reads, written on the surface of the 
white mantle that covers all the earth, a hun¬ 
dred stories, each of which teaches him some 
fact about the winter’s work. Here is where 
a deer has moved after the storm ended, there 
a fox was hunting for rabbits, grouse or mice, 
at another place are seen the great round foot¬ 
prints of the lynx. No longer now can the deni¬ 
zens of the mountains move about unknown; 
each one must leave on the snow a story of his 
wanderings, usually not difficult to read. 
The trapper works on through the winter; 
sometimes fortunate, again unlucky. Perhaps 
there has been a great migration of some species 
of animal into the section covered by his line; 
perhaps an exodus has left the country bare of 
lynx or marten. It may be that a fisher—or 
worst of all a wolverine—gives him great trouble 
by following his line, removing the baits from 
his trap or eating the animals that have been 
taken in them. During the dead of winter furi¬ 
ous storms sometimes rage, when it is impossi¬ 
ble to go abroad, and the trapper must lie housed 
up until the weather moderates. Then comes the 
task of freeing the traps from new-fallen snow, 
resetting them and beginning anew. 
The cold grows harder, the fur better. 
February comes and March; the days begin to 
lengthen, the sun haS more power, the snow 
settles. Sometimes the lone trapper feels that 
he would like to see a human face, but all the 
time his stock of furs is growing and he takes 
satisfaction in seeing it increase. At last the 
weather grows distinctly warmer; the snow 
becomes dirty and brown, the streams begin to 
carry floods of chocolate-colored water, and the 
trapper knows that his season is over. But he 
has a good stock of furs and the long and lonely 
■winter is well paid for. 
If it is in the far North, the Indian and his 
family have received their advances from the 
Hudson’s Bay Company, and have started out 
for the trapping ground, which from time im- 
memoral has been a family possession, and will 
be so until the white man—who respects none 
of the customs or traditions of the old past— 
may invade it and drive out the Indian. 
They journey by canoe, all hands working hard 
for the general good. Many days’ travel may 
be before them ere they can reach this ground, 
l:ut when they arrive there the lodge is put up, 
and all arrangements are made for winter com¬ 
fort. Provisions of deer or fish are gathered, 
and since the weather is now growing cold, are 
frozen and put up on scaffolds far above the 
reach of the dogs. Then, when the time comes 
M.VZIE HODGE AND BOB. 
to set the traps, the head of the family selects 
the line, and he, his sons and son-in-law begin 
the work. Much of this work is still the pro¬ 
viding of food, for, unlike the white man, the 
Indian does not carry with him a quantity of 
provisions; he lives off the country. The men 
kill moose and caribou and bears, the women 
snare rabbits and birds, and both unite in catch¬ 
ing the fish with which the lakes of that un¬ 
known country abound. It is from this North 
land that come some of the best furs in the world 
—marten, beaver, otter, fisber, possibly even a 
silver fox which, when it reaches its ultimate 
market, may be worth $2,000 or $3,000, though 
the Indian will be fortunate if he receives for 
it $200. The little community is a busy one. 
Its two or three men and a like number oR 
women and girls and of little children all have 
their appointed tasks. The question of food 
remains ever present. Not only food for the 
people, but also for the dogs, which drag the 
loaded sledge through the far stretching silent 
forests, while the driver moves along with them 
over the surface of the snow upheld by his long 
snowshoes. 
At last the winter with its hopes and fears, 
its joys and sorrows, is overpast, the snow melts, 
the ice disappears, the canoes, mended and loaded 
with the family possessions, including the win¬ 
ter’s catch of fur, move off on their way back 
to the post where the advances of the autumn 
were received. There the furs are turned in, 
the Indian pays his debts, and, let us hope, has 
a good balance, and the summer is spent at 
various tasks until the time has rolled around 
to another trapping season. 
In some such way as this are taken the furs 
gathered in America. All over Northern Europe, 
Init on a comparatively small scale, and all over 
much of Northern Asia, great quantities of furs 
are gathered. Where do these furs go, and what 
do they mean to the commercial world? 
London is the great fur mart of the world. 
More furs are sold there annually than any¬ 
where else in the world, and of these furs the 
greater part come from America. Nevertheless 
furs are sold in Paris, Leipsic, Antwerp and 
Brussels. A good share of the furs taken in 
North America are manufactured and consumed 
on this continent and never cross the ocean. Furs 
in large numbers are sold in Nijni Novgorod 
and Irbit wben tbe annual fairs are held. 
Nijni Novgorod, in Central Russia, nearly 
east of Moscow and about two hundred and 
fifty miles from that city, holds its annual fair 
in August. This fair is not devoted especially 
to any one product but is a general fair. To 
Nijni for hundreds of years have been brought 
by caravans and in other way—and now to some 
extent by rail—goods of all sorts from many 
parts of tbe empire. Hither come oriental 
goods in great quantities, precious stones from 
the far east, not less precious rugs from the 
south and southeast, and a thousand other 
products. The principal furs there sold are 
Persian lamb and astrakan, the skins of a 
special form of sheep, and a few years ago this 
was the only place where Persians, so-called, 
could be bought. The Persians come chiefly 
from Bokhara. Nevertheless, some furs are 
brought there of wild animals taken in all the 
districts of Russia. Of these the principal are 
red foxes, with a few white foxes, a few sables, 
some wolves and other unimportant furs. 
The fur sale at Irbit takes place in February. 
Tins is a small town having an estimated popu¬ 
lation of 5,000 or 6,000 people, situated in north¬ 
eastern Russia close to the Siberian border. It 
is nearly east of St. Petersburg. • Here no 
Persians are sold. Tbe only furs sold are 
Siberian furs, and those from the extreme 
north. Irbit is not on a railroad, and can be 
reached only by a 48 hours’ journey by sleigh. 
The inhabitants are chiefly Tartars. The furs 
sold here are of very high class and include 
Russian sable, ermine, Siberian squirrel, fine 
red foxes, wolves, marmots and white hares. The 
