VIIA VISIT TO THE BEAVERS

The boys were up early; but Bill and Moze had already gone. They ate breakfast by lamplight, a new experience. The guide explained that they had a long journey to make.

Daylight was just dawning when they took their places in the canoe and pushed from shore. Ben paddled leisurely down the lake, with Ed in the bow and George amidships. Ed had his shotgun across his knees, and George sat with his rifle by his side. They were armed for any sort of game. Ben paddled noiselessly. The young hunters sat quietly in their places, their eyes riveted on the shadowy shore-line, eager to see big game. Once a flock of crows flew noisily overhead. Again some squirrels barked far back in the forest. Otherwise all was still.

By the time the sun had climbed over the mountains, they had reached the end of the lake. Here they were obliged to make aportage to another body of water about a mile distant. They landed, pulled the canoe up on shore, and unloaded the guns and a few cooking utensils. George also carried the camera slung on a strap from his shoulder.

MAKING A PORTAGE (By courtesy of the Outing Publishing Co.)

To the surprise of the boys, Ben hoisted the canoe on his shoulders and walked off with it. They fell in behind him in single file. Ed carried the two guns, and George the cooking things in a bag on his back.

There was a well-marked trail extending from the water, and Ben followed slowly along its winding course. He pointed to little square patches on the tree-trunks, from which the bark had been peeled. He said they were “blazes,” made to show the trail, especially in winter when the snow was deep.

A grouse rose and thundered away through the woods. Ben stopped and told Ed to put down the rifle and go ahead with the shotgun, for he believed other birds were hiding close by. He cautioned him to aim well in front if the birds flew crosswise, and several inches over the middle of their bodies if they went straight away.

Ed had barely taken five steps when another grouse rose, and flew directly from him. It was his first experience with these difficult targets, and he was rattled. Althoughhe fired both barrels the bird went safely on its way.

“That’s all right,” laughed the guide; “put in two new shells quick.”

Ed slipped the shells into his gun and walked a few steps farther on, determined to make a better showing.

Whirr! A third grouse rose and chose the same course as the first.

“Now!” cried Ben, when the bird was in the proper alignment.

Bang! bang! went both shells, and Ed whooped triumphantly, for the grouse turned a somersault in the air and landed with a thud in the center of the trail lifeless.

“That’s better,” said Ben, encouragingly. “You’ll soon do as well with the gun as you do with the rifle.”

The boys ran forward eagerly and picked up the dead bird. They stroked its plumage admiringly, and Ed put it in the large rear pocket of his hunting-coat.

“Never mind, George, you’ll get a chance later on,” the guide promised.

They started on, and before they had gone far George evened the score by shooting a rabbit. Then they came out on the shore of a sparkling sheet of water which the boys thought too large to be called a pond. Itspread out on either side to far-off wooded shores, and in front apparently stretched away for miles toward a range of purple mountains. Ben said that distance judged over water was very deceptive, and that it was not nearly so far to the end of the lake as it seemed. He added that he did not intend going that far, for they would turn aside to a brook which flowed through some swampy meadows where there was a beaver settlement.

They had hardly launched the canoe when Ed spied a great, dark bird with a white head and tail sitting on the naked limb of a dead pine. Ben declared it a bald eagle, and then he pointed overhead to another bird, somewhat smaller, soaring about in wide, swinging circles above the lake. He called it an osprey or fish-hawk. He said, if they sat motionless and watched closely, they might see the eagle rob it of its dinner. For some time they drifted quietly along while the osprey sailed about on motionless wings. Occasionally it uttered a shrill cry, which the guide explained was its hunting-call.

The eagle sat gloomily on its lofty perch, with feathers ruffled and head drawn down between its shoulders. The boys thought it showed little interest in the fish-hawk; butBen assured them it was watching every move the latter made. He said it was just pretending to be half asleep.

Then the osprey, with folded wings, dove straight as an arrow to the water below, and disappeared with a loud splash which sent a cloud of spray into the air. A few seconds elapsed before the tips of its wings reappeared, and its body, wet and shining, came into view. It flapped and struggled furiously to rise. The guide thought it had fastened its claws in a monster fish.

After much effort it finally rose heavily from the lake, and they saw a large fish twisting about in the merciless grip of its talons. Slowly it mounted upward and flew laboriously toward the distant shore.

“Look at ‘Old Sleepy Head’ now!” laughed Ben, pointing at the eagle.

It had risen to its full height, stretched its neck, and spread its wings. Then with a wild scream it launched into space and flew at the osprey. The latter immediately turned and began to tower frantically skyward. The eagle, screaming fiercely, was close behind it. They circled higher and higher, while the little party in the canoe looked on.

At length the eagle made a savage swoop toward its victim, and the osprey droppedits finny prize and darted out of harm’s way. Like a thunderbolt from the sky the eagle pitched headlong after the falling fish, which it secured before it reached the water, and bore it proudly away.

“What do you think of that?” asked Ben.

“I feel sorry for the poor fish-hawk; but I wouldn’t have missed seeing the trick turned for anything,” Ed replied.

Farther on the boys saw what they believed to be a pair of ducks on the water. They asked Ben to turn the canoe so they might get a shot. He promptly did so, and Ed handed the shotgun to George. He took careful aim and pulled the trigger, and at the same instant, as it seemed, the birds vanished under water. Ben laughed heartily while they watched for the “ducks” to come up.

After some moments they reappeared, and Ben worked the canoe carefully toward them, that Ed might try a shot. He, too, took deliberate aim; but again the uncanny birds disappeared before the shot reached them. The guide, unable to control himself, shrieked with laughter.

The shooters, somewhat bewildered, asked what was the matter. He said they had been shooting at “hell-divers” or grebes, and declaredthey might shoot all day without hitting them. Ben told the boys that these little birds had deceived the best of shots.

The young marksmen were surprised to learn that grebes sometimes swim with only the tip of the bill above water. Also, they were told that the surest way to get one was to paddle after it when it came to the surface and force it to dive again. By repeatedly doing this they might finally “wind” the swimmer and get an easy shot. The guide added that it was not worth the trouble, as the flesh of the grebes was unfit to eat, being strongly impregnated with fish, which formed their sole diet. Consequently, the boys went on their way and left the grebes swimming serenely about in bold defiance of their marksmanship.

Ben later offered to show them an otter-slide, and turned the bow of the canoe toward land. He paddled silently along the near shore, which at this point rose to form a steep, moss-grown bank. Finally he stopped and pointed to a shallow gully, or chute, which extended from the top of the bank to the edge of the water. Close beside it, and parallel to it, was a narrow, winding trail. Ben explained that the larger depression was an otter-slide, which the makers used like atoboggan-run. The otters, lying on their stomachs, slid head foremost down the chute and into the water. The boys were told that the path at the side had been made by otters emerging from the lake and climbing the bank for another “header.”

Ed and George decided to get out and investigate. Ben beached the canoe and accompanied them. While they were examining the slide, he called, and they made their way to him, a short distance back in the woods.

“There’s a bear track, and a big one,” he said, pointing to a huge paw-mark in the soft ground.

It looked as though some giant had walked there barefooted.

“We’ll just keep tab on that fellow till he dens up, and then we ought to be able to get him,” said Ben, following the trail into the woods.

“Do you think he is around now?” inquired Ed, anxiously.

“Bless you, no; he’d have heard us long ago and—” began the guide; but he did not finish.

Just then there was a loud, startled “woof,” and a great crashing of dried twigs, and to their amazement a big black shape rose from the thicket and lumbered away.

The guide doubled up with laughter, for at sound and sight of the bear his companions had bolted and fled for the canoe. In their frantic haste to escape, the boys lost their footing at the top of the bank and went rolling down to the water’s edge. It was a funny sight.

“The bear was ’most as frightened as you were,” chuckled Ben. “Too bad you didn’t have your rifle, Ed, you might have had a nice shot.”

“I don’t believe I would have stayed to shoot,” Ed confessed. “But we won’t run next time—will we, George?”

“Not on your life!”

They paddled to the mouth of the brook, which flowed sluggishly into the deep, silent woods. Ben turned the canoe into it, and they were soon skimming along between rows of willows and birches which lined the shores. The stream brought them to a wide marsh, where the guide hoped to see a moose on their return toward evening.

From beneath some bushes which overhung the water a flock of ducks rose compactly bunched. George, who was in the bow with the shotgun across his knees, quickly brought it to his shoulder and fired two shots in rapid succession. Two plump ducks cametumbling down to float lifeless on the water. Another dropped slightly farther on; but it was only wounded, and it at once began flapping its way awkwardly toward shore.

“Quick, George; give him another charge, or he’ll get away!” warned Ben, swinging the canoe broadside of the stream.

Even while George hurriedly pushed the shells into the breech of his gun the rifle cracked, and Ed had severed the head of the duck from its body.

“Good boy!” cried Ben, enthusiastically. “That’s shooting.”

Ed called it a good-luck shot, but his comrades called it skill. They gathered the ducks and started for the beaver lodges and dam, which were still some distance away.

The brook widened and became deeper. They saw a muskrat house, and one of the small, brown inmates swimming close by. Ben said that these little creatures were near cousins to the beavers. He restrained the lads from shooting, since the fur was not yet prime, and promised that there would be plenty of opportunity to hunt and trap the “rats” later.

The stream at length led into what appeared to be a mill-pond. In the center they saw a large, dome-shaped mass of mudand sticks raised above the water. This was the beaver house or lodge. Ben pointed to the long, curving dam across the head of the pond. He explained how, when the current of a brook was strong, the beavers curved their dam upstream to withstand the surge of the water.

BEAVER HOUSES

They paddled to the house, and the boys were astonished to find it so large. Near it was a pile of short, green logs and sticks, a supply of winter food. They observed that the smaller end of each stick was thrust into the mud to prevent it from floating away.

They were puzzled at not finding any doorway in the house; but Ben explained that the entrance was under water, and he told them how the beavers traveled about beneath the ice. The muskrats, he added, built their houses in much the same way, except that instead of small logs and large sticks they made use of grasses and weed-stalks.

Then he paddled to the shore, and they alighted. Here they saw the round, blunt-pointed stumps and tree-butts chiseled by the beavers’ sharp teeth, and Ben explained how they cut the trees. He said, when beavers find a suitable tree they sit up on their haunches and gnaw away the bark, working slowly about the trunk in acircle. Then they go around again and chisel out pieces of the wood itself. This they continue to do until they penetrate to the heart of the tree, and presently it falls. Then they gnaw off the smaller limbs and branches, which are collected and floated to the dam or lodge.

Ben added, some people claim that the beavers always cut a tree so that it will fall in any desired direction. But he said he did not believe this, for he had seen hundreds of trees which the beavers had felled in the most inconvenient places, and others that, through careless cutting, had lodged against adjacent trunks and failed to come to the ground at all.

Then the guide led the boys to the dam. They walked along the top, where the sticks were all pointed lengthwise of the stream. There was more beaver talk from Ben, who surprised the boys by telling them that the beaver’s tail, properly prepared, made delicious soup.

Anxious to get a glimpse of the clever creatures, Ben decided to wait close to the dam. However, he was not hopeful, for, he said, the beavers usually worked after dark, or between daylight and sunrise; but, he added, they were occasionally seen abroad in thedaytime, and on the chance the boys were eager to wait.

They returned to the canoe, and presently there was a crackling fire, and appetizing smells soon drifted off through the woods. When they had finished eating they went into hiding behind some willows at the edge of the pond, and Ben told them that when an old bachelor beaver became quarrelsome the beavers drove him from the village and compelled him to live alone; also, when the beavers were obliged to go some distance into the forest for the trees they required, they sometimes dug regular little canals down which they floated the sticks and logs to their pond.

Suddenly a loud whack came from the water, and, cautioning his companions to keep still, the guide peeped between the branches. Quietly he pointed toward the lodge, and the boys saw a dark-brown animal swimming leisurely along near the foot of the dam. Ben whispered that the noise had been made by the beaver striking the water with its tail.

The animal soon reached the base of the dam and crawled from the water. It walked carefully along the whole length of the dam, apparently on a tour of inspection. At oneplace a stick had become dislodged, and the beaver skilfully put it back.

Then it entered the pond and, to their delight, started directly toward their place of concealment. Ben warned them to remain absolutely motionless, and Ed stealthily placed his camera within reach, in the hope of getting a snap-shot.

The beaver swam to a log within fifteen feet of them, and there emerged and sat up in plain view. Ed hastily focused the camera and pressed the bulb, with an involuntary exclamation of delight. At the sound the beaver dove beneath the water.

“Well, my boy, you’re certainly in luck,” laughed Ben, as Ed wound off the film. “I guess he just came over to have his picture taken.”

“That will make a fine enlargement!” cried George.

“It’s better than shooting him,” Ben declared. “Anybody can wait around and get a pot-shot, but it’s not every one that can get close enough to take a good picture. Of course, he helped considerable by saving us the trouble of sneaking up on him; but nobody knows that,” he added, mischievously.

Ed took several pictures of the dam and the gnawed stumps. Then they entered the canoeand paddled upstream toward the lake. The weather was becoming colder, and a raw, piercing wind had come down out of the north. Ben thought it might snow before many hours, and the boys, eager for their first experience with snowshoes, hoped it would.

When they turned from the stream the shadows of early twilight had crept through the woods, and were reaching over the water. Ben paddled rapidly, and they were soon at the end of the lake, where the dim trail led away toward the little cabin.

Ben had lifted the canoe on his shoulders and was starting along the trail when an alarming sound came over the water from the swamp.

The guide instantly set the canoe down and straightened to listen, and the boys instinctively moved closer to his side. As they stood there the wild call was repeated. It echoed weirdly over the water, and consisted of a deep, cow-like bellow followed by several low, rumbling grunts.

“That’s a bull moose calling,” declared Ben. Then he lifted the canoe and continued into the black woods.

The lads followed closely, unable to keep from glancing over their shoulders apprehensively each time the cry was repeated.They asked Ben about the noise, and they were quite excited to learn that with a roll of birch-bark he could imitate the sound and call a moose. He promised to do this for them, and they determined to hold him to his promise.

As they stumbled along in the wake of the guide, Ed and George several times heard animals running away through the dark. They thought it wonderful that Ben was able to find and follow the trail in such darkness, and finally asked him how he did it. He laughed and declared he just followed his feet.

It was late when they eventually reached the cabin. Ben cooked a splendid supper, and they ate with the appetite of the woods. Then came the comfort of their blankets and sound sleep.

Back to Index Next