The Trappers Son | Page 2

laid horizontally across the stream, mixed with mud and

stones. Several willows and small poplars were sprouting up out of it.
"What! have the beavers made this?" asked Laurence.
"Ay, every bit of it, boy; each stem and branch has been cut down by
the creatures, with their paws and teeth. No human builders could have
formed the work more skilfully. And observe how they thus have made
a pond, ever full of water, above the level of the doorways to their
houses, when the main stream is lowered by the heats of summer. See,
too, how cleverly they build their houses, with dome roofs so hard and
strong that even the cunning wolverine cannot manage to break through
them, while they place the doorway so deep down that the ice in winter
can never block it up inside. How warm and cozy, too, they are without
the aid of fires or blankets."
"How comes it, then, that they have not the sense to keep out of our
traps, father?" inquired Laurence.
"If you had ever been to the big cities, away to the east, you would not
ask that question, boy," answered the old trapper. "You would there
have seen thousands of men who seem wonderfully clever, and yet who
get caught over and over again by cunning rogues who know their
weak points; just as we bait our traps with bark-stone, [see Note] for
which the foolish beaver has such a fancy, so the knaves bait their
snares with promises of boundless wealth, to be gained without labour
or trouble. To my mind, nothing is to be gained without working for it,
and pretty hard work too, if the thing is worth having."
This conversation passed between the old man and his son as they
proceeded along the bank of the pond where some of their traps had
been set. Some had failed to catch their prey, but after the search was
ended, they returned to their camp with a dozen skins as the result of
their labour. One of the animals which had been skinned having been
preserved for their morning meal, it was soon roasting, supported on
two forked sticks, before the freshly made-up fire. This, with some
maize flour, and a draught of water from the stream, formed their
repast.

"Now, Laurence, go and bring in the horses, while I prepare the skins
and do up our bales, and we will away towards the fort," said the old
man.
Laurence set off in search of their horses, which had been left feeding
during the night in a meadow at some distance from the camp. The
well-trained steeds, long accustomed to carry them and their traps and
furs, were not likely to have strayed away from the ground. Laurence
went on, expecting every moment to find them, but after proceeding
some way, they were nowhere visible. Near at hand was a rocky height
which overlooked the meadow. He climbed to the top; still he could not
see the horses. Becoming somewhat anxious at their disappearance, he
made his way across the meadow, hoping to find that they had
discovered a richer pasturage farther on. As he looked round, he saw, to
his dismay, two horses lying motionless on the ground. He hurried
towards them. They were dead, and fearfully torn and mangled.
"The wolves have done this, the savage brutes. We will be revenged on
them," he exclaimed as he surveyed the dead steeds. "Father and I must
have slept very soundly during the night not to have been awoke by
their howling. It will be a sore grief to the old man, and I would that he
had found it out himself, rather than I should have to tell him. However,
it must be done." Saying this, he set off on his return to the camp.
"The brutes shall pay dearly for it," exclaimed the old trapper, when
Laurence brought him the intelligence of what had happened. "Whether
Injuns or wolves wrong him, Michael Moggs is not the man to let them
go unpunished;" and his eyes lighted up with a fierce expression which
made the young boy instinctively shrink back from him. "We have
three strong traps which will catch the biggest wolf on the prairies; and
if they fail, I'll lie in wait till I can shoot the savage brutes down with
my rifle. We shall have to tramp it on foot, boy, with the furs on our
backs. That's bad for you, but we can leave the traps hidden away en
cache; and as the snow will soon cover the ground, the cunning Injuns
are not likely to find them. It's not the first adventure of the sort I have
met with; and though I am sorry for your sake, and for the loss