Chapter XXXVIII: The Last, but Not the Least Important

Si Brill heard the shouting, and leaving his friends--the prisoners--to care for themselves he fairly flew out of the ravine.

He saw his "pard" holding the paper aloft and he understood all. The glow of a well-earned victory came to his bronzed face, and he sent up a cheer that started all the echoes in the gulch into life.

"All is lovely, Si!" shouted Collins. "We got the receipt, and the boy's safe. Don't wait a second but take him to his father at once. His heart is jist a hungerin' to hold young Sam next to it."

"You're right every time, old pard!" shouted Si Brill.

Sam ran to him and he was on the point of asking where his father was, when Si caught him in his arms and gave him such a hug as would have crushed one of weaker frame.

He would have carried Sam in triumph on his broad shoulders, had that young gentleman consented. As it was he took his hand, and raising his hat in the other, he ran down the gulch, cheering all the while as if the sound were essential to his progress.

Mr. Willett stood in the door of the dugout. He saw Si accompanied by a tall, slender youth. No need to tell him who it was.

With the cry, "My boy! Oh, thank Heaven for my boy," Mr. Willett ran out and father and son were clasped in each other's arms, and their kisses and their tears mingled.

"See h'ar, Mr. Willett," called out Hank Tims, who had followed up his friend, "when you've got through a huggin' young Sam, jist turn him over to me and let me have a chance to express my sentiments on this occasion."

At sound of the dear old hunter's voice, Sam turned to him with extended hands and cried out:

"Hank, old friend, I've been through the great canyon."

"Well!" laughed Hank, as he shook Sam's hands, and patted his back by turns, "you look as if you'd been dragged through a narrer knot hole, but yer eyes are as bright as ever and you'll soon git flesh on yer bones, but through the Gerrait Canyon! oh, come, Sam, don't try to fool me so soon after we've been parted for so long----"

"But didn't Ulna tell you?"

"So he did, Sam, but I thought mebbe his mind was affected. But never mind, we'll have lots of time to talk over our adventures when we git back to Gold Cave Camp. Well, well, I never did think, leastwise not lately, that I'd ever live to see so happy a day as this," and Hank turned his attention to Ike and Wah Shin, who had come upon the scene, nor was the dog forgotten in the warm welcome given to all.

"I tell you, Mistah Willett," said Ike, as he held his old employer's hand, "I'ze got enough to talk about till the day I die, even if I was to live for a thousand years."

"Which I hope you may, Ike. But what is that noise up the hill?" asked Mr. Willett, his attention attracted by the prolonged cheering in that direction.

They had not long to wonder, for soon Collins came dashing down the hill, his eyes glowing and a flush of triumph on his manly face.

"What's up, pard?" asked Si Brill.

"They've got at the truth!" shouted Collins.

"What truth?"

"The truth about the murder."

"Then you showed them the receipt?" said Mr. Willett, again taking Sam's hand.

"Yes; I did all that, and even then some of 'em wanted to doubt; but something has happened to settle 'em."

"What's that?" asked Hank.

"The landlord has lit out----"

"Oh!"

"But that's not all," continued Collins. "Badger is dead----"

"Dead!" echoed all.

"Yes, dead; but just before he pegged out he confessed that it was him killed Tom Edwards----"

"I was right in my belief," said Mr. Willett solemnly.

"Yes," continued Collins, "and now every man in the camp, even those that was the bitterest, are jest achin' to see you, and to congratulate you, and to ax yer parding; so let's go up. Thar's no danger to you nor your's in Hurley's Gulch now," and there was a ring of pride in the brave fellow's voice.

The Gold Cave campers, happier than we can describe over their reunion, followed Collins from the dugout to the canvas settlement on the bluff.

As soon as the assembled miners caught sight of them they sent up such a glad shout as was never heard before nor since on the banks of that particular gulch.

At heart the great mass of men are right, and they mean to do right. Among these miners there seemed to be a general disposition to make amends as speedily as possible for their past errors.

Not satisfied with cheering and shouting their congratulations, they rushed in by twos and fours, and beginning with Mr. Willett, they lifted all the Gold Cave campers--not neglecting Ike and Wah Shin--to their shoulders, and then marched in triumphal procession to the scene of the trial at the hotel.

The flight of the proprietor did not seem to make any difference, for there was plenty of food and cooks to prepare the banquet.

Ike went at once to the place where Wah Shin was helping to get dinner.

"I'll kind o' fill up a little, Wah," said Ike, as he laid siege to a big loaf of bread and a correspondingly large piece of cold meat, "for it'll take me jist 'bout a year's steady feedin' to catch up. You can bet that I'll never be sorry again that I didn't eat moah w'en I had a good chance."

Maj seemed to be of the same opinion, for he did not leave Ike's side for hours, and when he was next seen in public, he was truly aldermanic in his girth and evidently on good terms with himself and the world.

After a hearty dinner, which no one enjoyed more than Sam, speeches in praise of "the young canyoneers" as they were called, were made, and resolutions expressing unbounded confidence in Mr. Willett and Hank Tims were passed.

And so ended the happiest day Hurley's Gulch had ever seen, or ever saw again.

The next day our friends returned to Gold Cave Camp, but before starting off, Mr. Willett purchased the articles Sam had promised to send to the Indians, and Si Brill and Collins pledged themselves to deliver them.

Here our story ends, yet it may not be amiss to add a few words explanatory of the future of the characters in whom we have been so much interested.

Mr. Willett made a good deal of money out of the Gold Cave Camp property, but the danger from floods led him after a time to sell it at a sacrifice.

Years have passed since these adventures came to a close. To-day "Willett & Son" are among the richest and most honored miners and bankers in the Far West.

Their porter in the bank is our old friend, Ike; indeed so great is his interest in the establishment and so highly does he think of his position that he is very positive it could not go on for a day without him.

He always speaks of the firm as "we."

"We's doin' fine," is a frequent expression of his, though nothing delights him so much as to tell of his adventures in the Great Canyon. He sneers at all other human exploits as things of no account compared with the events in which he played so prominent a part.

Mr. Willett's cook is the faithful Wah Shin. "Wah really runs the house," Sam says, but he always adds, "and it could not be run better. Wah is a standing proof that the Mongolian has a bright mind and a generous heart--that is if you get one of the right kind and treat him right."

Strange though it may seem, Ulna, as Mr. Willett's protege, came east and studied medicine, and his skill and judgment are making him famous in the West. We need not add that there is one house in Denver where "Doctor Ulna" is always a welcome and an honored guest.

"Collins, Brill & Tims" is the firm name of one of the most prosperous "concerns" in Colorado.

It is not necessary for us to speak separately of the members in order to have them recognized, though it may not be amiss to say that they are all married men, and are among the largest depositors in the bank of Willett & Son.

They make the banker's house their home when in Denver, and although Hurley's Gulch has been long since abandoned, and the wolf unfrightened howls over its site, they love to talk over the stirring days when a son's devotion proved itself more powerful than Lynch law and vigilance committees.

LOST.

In the summer of 1864 Paul Seeton went to spend his holidays with his cousin, Frank More.

Frank lived in the northern part of Maine, on the outskirts of a vast forest. Paul was a Boston boy, who had scarcely ever been out of the city in his life.

It was in Aroostook county, a place famous for growing the biggest timber in the northern states, a place known to lumbermen and loved by them; with few inhabitants except those who are engaged in the timber trade; with no villages and no roads.

One day Frank proposed a fishing excursion. Their destination was about fifteen miles away, on a chain of lakes that extended far into the forest.

They set out at break of day, rode on horseback over a rough road for about two hours, and at length reached the shore of a lake.

Here they hired a boat from a man who lived in a log house, and embarking, sailed for five or six miles to a place where the lake narrowed. Here taking down their sail they rowed for some distance through a channel so narrow that the branches of the lofty pines on either side almost met. It took a good hour to pass through this, when suddenly they emerged from it and found themselves on a second lake, three or four times as large as the first.

Up went the sail again, and away they went over the second lake for about ten miles. All around grew the primeval forest, dense, dark and luxuriant. But Frank had been here before, and the scene was quite familiar.

The boat went swiftly onward, and at last approached the farthest extremity of the lake. Here a small peninsula jutted forth from the forest into the lake, which was cleared and under cultivation. Upon it arose a log hut, from the rude chimney of which smoke was curling upward.

It belonged to a man named Spence, who cultivated the ground in summer and in winter went lumbering in the woods. He lived there all alone, and apart from his solitude was very comfortable.

The boat grounded on the beach in front of Spence's hut, and the boys went up to the house. They found Spence himself at home, cooking his dinner.

The boys did not stay long. After asking a few questions as to the best fishing holes, they took to the boat again, and following Spence's directions, rowed toward a small creek which penetrated among the hills, and passing up this, at length came to a small basin enclosed by high wooded shores. Here they began to fish.

Although they waited patiently, they found, to their great disappointment, that the fish would not come. At length Paul felt a bite; he pulled up his line in a fever of agitation, and with a glow of triumph jerked into the boat a tiny fish about four inches long. But Paul's triumph was not at all shared by Frank.

"Pooh!" said he, "it's only a miserable perch."

"A perch?" said Paul. "Isn't it a good fish?"

"Good? Why, these lakes are crammed with them. It's trout we want, not these." And as Frank said this he jerked his own line with some complacency. Soon something bit his bait. He jerked it out and found, to his disgust, another perch.

At length Frank said that he was going up the woods a little distance, to a lake which was about a mile off, connected with this by a brook. He could follow the windings of the brook and easily get there.

Paul, however, thought he would stay where he was, for the woods looked very rough, and he enjoyed being in a boat, even if he didn't catch anything.

So Frank started off, promising to be back within an hour.

Paul continued his fishing. He moved the boat to the opposite shore. No bites came--that is, none came to the bait, but he soon became aware of other bites, which he did not expect. These were produced by swarms of mosquitoes, which gathered so thickly that at last Paul had to pull in his line and give himself to self-defense. He shifted the position of the boat a dozen times, but his persecutors followed him. At last he could stand it no longer, and concluded to go after Frank.

Nearly an hour had passed, and it was about time for Frank to return. It was Paul's intention to stroll along the brook, and he would be certain either to meet Frank in his return, or else he would find him at the lake to which he had gone.

It was very swampy, and Paul sank in up to his knees for some distance, but at length reached rising ground. The brook was only a small one, and was bordered by such dense underbrush that Paul found it impossible to follow it. In fact, a much better path appeared.

This was a rough track, overgrown with moss and ferns, which was used by the lumbermen in winter. It went up from the lake apparently in the same direction as the brook.

So he walked along this path, forcing his way through alder bushes and tangled ferns, until at last he came to a stop in front of a wide and impassable marsh.

The lumber path in winter ran across this, but now it could not be traversed. So Paul tried to go around it. But after completing about half the circuit, he reached a swampy place which he could not cross.

He now retraced his steps, and at length decided to return to the boat and wait there.

The lumber path could not be very easily found, but at last he turned into a place which looked very much like it, and walked on for some distance. But the way was rough. At length the path ceased altogether. He found himself in the wild wood.

He saw now that he had missed the path, but thought that the best plan would be to keep straight on, and get back to the lake. So he kept on. It was very hard work. The ground was covered with moss, in some places it was spongy, in others it was overgrown with ferns, while every now and then he would have to climb over the trunk of some fallen tree.

In this way he struggled onward for a long time, and wondered why he could not see any signs of the lake. At last he began to grow discouraged. The full conviction forced itself upon him that he had lost his way. He had been wandering; how long a time and how far he did not know.

There were no signs whatever of the lake. What to do he could not tell. He stood still, and looked around. Dense forest trees arose on every side, shutting out the view, and enclosing him with their gloomy shades.

Then he called as loud as he could. There was no answer. He called again and again, and waited for a long time after each cry to hear whether there was any response. But none came.

What to do now was the question. He was not a coward, but any one might well have been alarmed, lost in those vast, trackless forests. Paul was alarmed, of course; but he was a spirited boy, and was not inclined to sit down and give up. After a few minutes he wisely decided that it was necessary to have some plan, and choose some definite direction in which to go.

So he concluded that the safest way for him would be to retrace his steps as carefully as possible.

Back he went, and managed to recover his track, but lost sight of it again, and found himself once more completely at a loss.

Turning on his own track in this way had only severed him utterly from the last faint hold which he had on the possible direction of the lake.

Once more he stood and considered, and finally after making up his mind as to the probable position of the lake, he started again with the determination to keep on in as straight a line as possible in that one direction.

His course was rough and toilsome in the extreme. Swamps, bogs, thick ferns, dense underbrush, tangled alders, fallen forest trees, huge rocks, all came by turns before his path, and all had by turns to be passed through or surmounted. Paul's city life had not fitted him for a task like this; but despair gave him strength.

Hours passed. Every hour brought fresh difficulties. His strength and resolution gradually gave way. No signs of escape had shown themselves. No sounds had come to his ears which promised help. He felt himself alone; alone to struggle with his dismal fate.

At last he reached rising ground. Here the woods were clear. The trees stood far apart, and the walking was easy. Utterly worn out, he toiled on and at length reached the crest of the hill.

Scarcely had he done so than an exclamation burst from him. Immediately below lay a broad sheet of water. He hurried down to the margin, and looked anxiously around in all directions.

There was nothing, however, but a sheet of water surrounded by woods. Whether this was the lake which he had left, or some other one, he could not tell. At any rate he was too fatigued to make any further exertion, so he flung himself upon the ground to rest.

Gradually sleep overtook him, and his slumber was so sound that he actually did not awake till the following day. On rousing himself he heard the birds singing, and felt the fresh, cool air of the morning.

He was very hungry, but felt rested and refreshed, and went at once to examine his position.

From the place where he stood he could see the end of the lake to the right, but on the left the view was impeded by a promontory.

His first effort now was to go to the promontory and examine the other end. The distance was not great, and he soon reached the place.

He looked eagerly down the lake, when, to his unutterable delight, he saw at the lower end the lone cottage to which the boat had carried him the day before.

All was now plain. He had wandered back to the lake blindly, and by such an extraordinary circuit that he had come to the shore about five miles away from the cottage.

He now set forth to work his way back to the cottage. He followed the windings of the shores, keeping the water always in sight. The distance was only five or six miles, but so circuitous was the shore, so full of indentations, and so rough was the way, that it was nearly evening when he reached the cottage.

No one was there when he arrived, but he waited, and at dusk a boat came over the water with Spence and Frank. For a day and a half they had been scouring the woods for him, and Frank, in his despair, did not know what to do. Paul was received as one who had risen from the dead.

FATE OF AN ENTRAPPED BEAR.

Wild beasts, in their wanderings through the forests, often meet and fight in the most savage manner. Here is a story told the writer, last summer, by an old gentleman in Somerest county, Maine:

"One of the toughest fights I ever saw," said he, "came off over behind that mountain yonder. It was years ago. Perhaps I saw with a boy's eyes at that time; I was but fourteen years old, then. But you shall have the story:

"There wa'n't a railroad in the state, in those days. Whenever any of the farmers wanted to go down to Farmington, or Norridgewock, or to Portland, they had to go with their teams; and when making a trip to the latter place were often gone a week or ten days.

"Quite late in the fall my father and Mr. Wilber, our nearest neighbor, had gone to Portland in company. Always during their absence we boys used the time in fishing, gunning, and other sports such as boys delight in. They had been gone two days, when early the third morning after their departure Jed Wilber came running to our house, all excitement.

"'The bears have been killing our sheep!' he exclaimed. 'They came into the little pasture last night, killed the old four-year-old, and a lamb, dragged them out into the bushes, and there we found their pelts taken off and rolled up, as nice as a butcher could do it.'

"'Oh, you ought to have shut them up, Jed,' said grandmother.

"'I know it,' said Jed. 'Father told us to, every night. But we were playing last night, and forgot it.'

"'The bear'll be back, to-night,' said I.

"'Of course he will,' said Jed, 'and that's what I am over here for--I want to get your bear-trap. I know just how to set it,' he went on, seeing grandmother hesitate. 'I saw 'em set it last winter a dozen times.'

"'Well, you can have the trap,' said grandmother. 'But mind it don't spring, and catch your hands or feet.'

"Jed and I brought the trap from the woodhouse chamber. It was tremendously heavy--weighing sixty or seventy pounds. But between us we carried it up to the Wilbers', and with Sol's help (Sol was Jed's next younger brother) we took it to the pasture. Then, by using a crowbar we managed, after a deal of prying and holding, to press down the stiff springs, and so set it. This done, we chained it to a four-foot log of green spruce, and left it near the spot where the bear had killed the sheep. For a bait, we laid partially under it a sheep's head, from a sheep that had lately been slaughtered by Mr. Wilber.

"Perhaps some of the boys may wonder why the lads did not chain the trap to a stump, or a standing tree. Hunters never chain a bear-trap fast to the spot where they set it. They clog it, that is, fasten a heavy stick or log to it, for the bear to drag. If caught and held fast, at first, a large bear would demolish any trap. But if allowed to run with it, the clog will at length weary him so that he may be easily overtaken and shot.

"Early the next morning," continued the old man, "I ran over to Wilber's, and we hurried to the pasture. The sheep's head was gone, but the bear, if indeed it was one, had kept his legs out of the trap. We rebaited it with mutton shanks, and the next morning Jed came to the house before I was dressed.

"'The trap's gone!' he shouted. 'Get your gun. We must follow him!'

"Hastily swallowing some breakfast, I loaded the gun with slugs, and with Jed and Sol rushed to the pasture. Sure enough the trap was gone, clog and all. The place where it had been placed bore marks of a struggle; the turf was gouged up, and in several spots there were blood-drops on the grass, and on the dry leaves. It was in October, the last of the month. The brakes in the woods were dead, but still standing. These had been pressed to the ground, and made a broad trail.

"By noon we gained the crest of a high ridge, or mountain, five or six miles to the westward. The farther side fell off abruptly to the bank of a small river. This side, too, was covered with thick hemlock and spruce. We hesitated about going further. It would be nearly night by the time we got back, if we started for home now. But we wanted to save the trap. If we went back, not only should we lose the bear, but the trap besides, and Jed, whose carelessness had cost the loss of two sheep, was especially anxious to get the bear.

"Sol had brought a lunch. We divided it between us, and again taking up our guns, followed the trail down into the dark growth, toward the river. An hour took us to the stream. But here, instead of coming upon the bear, as we had expected, we found that he had turned up the bank to the north. We kept on, however. There was a sort of fascination in the chase, even though every mile was taking us further into the wilderness.

"The late October afternoon was waning. Already the shadow of a large mountain to the westward was falling over the forest, in the valley where we were. The valley narrowed to a rocky ravine as we went on, and the mountain, with its dark spruces, seemed to tower threateningly over us.

"'It's no use, Jed,' said I; 'we ought to go home. I know you want----'

"'Hark!' exclaimed Sol.

"A sharp yelp, as if from a hurt dog, rang out. It seemed to come to us from only a short distance. Almost instantly it was followed by a long yell, and a chorus of howls. Snap ran, crouching, between our legs.

"'Wolves!' cried Jed.

"We stood listening, breathlessly. In a moment the yell burst out again, followed by yelps, snarls, and the sounds of a general fight.

"'I'll bet they're afoul of the bear,' whispered Jed.

"The uproar continued.

"'If they are, they won't mind us,' continued Jed. 'Let's creep up, and see.'

"Cocking our guns, we moved cautiously forward. The yells grew louder, and we heard growls. At length, turning a little bend of the ravine, we peered round a great boulder and saw a sight I shall never forget. With his back against a rock sat the bear--a tremendous fellow he looked--with the trap on his paw, while about him leaped, and surged, and snapped, fifteen or twenty gray wolves, their white teeth grinning, and their eyes flashing green fire. The bear was fighting for life against the whole of them.

"The wolves had struck upon his trail, and the smell of the blood that came from the leg crushed in the trap had made them furious. He fought hard, swinging the trap clog, as he struck with his forelegs to beat them off.

"Occasionally, as the ravenous creatures leaped at his throat, he would catch one with his uninjured paw and give him a hug that drew out a smothered yelp. Sometimes five or six of the wolves would jump at the bear at the same time, and for a moment we would lose sight of him, but he brushed them away, and rose again. The growls, yells and snapping jaws were savage beyond description. It grew dusk as we watched the fight.

"'What can we do?' said Sol.

"'It would be useless for us to interfere,' said I; 'they're bound to have him.'

"'Let's fire among them, though,' said Jed; 'I haven't brought a loaded gun up here for nothing. All together now.'

"All three of us fired together at the growling, struggling pack.

"A moment's silence followed the reports, then a long howl. We shrank back around the boulder, out of sight. Then a sudden panic seized us, and we ran down the ravine, and did not stop till we were a mile below. A faint howl came echoing through the somber forest.

"'They are not chasing us,' said Jed; 'guess we riddled some of 'em!'

"Night fell as we climbed the steep ridge. We had a dark time going home through the woods. Fortunately, Sol had a match in his pocket, and coming to an old white birch stub, we tore off several rolls of the dried bark. By fastening these to the end of a stick and lighting them, we were able to pick our way through the woods. It was a hazy night. The moon showed dimly. The glimpses we now and then got of it enabled us to keep a straight course. It was after eight o'clock when we reached home, and worried enough the folks had been about us.

"The next forenoon we started for the ravine again. We were curious to know how the fight terminated; besides, it was best to get the trap, if possible, to avert the storm that would burst on Jed's head when his father came home. Taking a shorter cut through the woods, we reached the place where we had seen the wolves, about eleven o'clock.

"No sound was heard save the rippling of the stream among the rocks. We stole cautiously to the boulder, where we had stood the night before, and looked from behind it. Nothing was in sight.

"'Gone,' said Jed. 'Let's go up, and see where they had their fight.'

"A sly little mink darted away, and into the stream as we approached. Beyond was a ghastly sight! There lay the skull and bones of the bear, gnawed clean, and showing yellow-white; and there lay the trap, still gripping with its iron jaws the bone of one paw.

"All the brakes were smashed down, and the bushes and the rock were besmeared with blood and hair. About the trap, within a radius of a few rods, lay the bones and skulls of two of the wolves, eaten by their comrades. Perhaps the bear had killed them, or perchance our shots had caused their death. It looked as if other wolves had come to the feast.

"'Come, come!' muttered Jed. 'Let's be off before they come back.'

"We took the trap to the stream to cleanse it, and then placing it on two poles we started for home. And a _tug_ it gave us, too!"

A FIGHT IN THE WOODS.

Some years ago, while in the northern part of Maine, I spent the month of September and a portion of October at a "hay-farm" on the borders of Chamberlain Lake--Lake Apmoogenegamook, the Indians used to call it. The whole region was almost an unbroken wilderness. Game was plenty, and by way of recreation from my duties as an assistant engineer I had set up a "line of traps" for mink and sable--"saple," as old trappers say--along a small but very rapid, noisy stream called Bear Brook, which comes down into the lake through a gorge between two high spruce-clad mountains.

Huge boulders had rolled down the sides, and lay piled along the bed of the gorge. The brook, which was the outlet of a small pond, pent up among the ridges above, foamed and roared and gurgled down among rocks shaded by thick, black spruces, which leaned out from the sides of the ravine.

It was a wild place. I had stumbled upon it, one afternoon, while hunting a caribou (a kind of deer) some weeks before, and knew it must be good trapping ground; for the rocks and clear, black pools, in short the whole place had that peculiar, fishy smell which bespoke an abundance of trout; and where trout abound there are sure to be mink.

My traps were of that sort which hunters call "figure four" traps, made of stakes and poles, with a figure-four spring. Perhaps some of our boy readers may have caught squirrels in that way. For bait I used trout from the brook. I carried my hook and line with me, and after setting a trap, threw in my hook and pulled out trout enough to bait it. My line extended about a mile up the gorge, and comprised some twenty-five or thirty traps.

After setting them, I shot a number of red squirrels for a "drag," and thus connected the traps together. Perhaps I should explain that a _drag_ is a bundle of squirrels or partridges newly killed and from which the blood is dripping, which are dragged along by a withe from trap to trap to make a trail and scent, so that the mink and sable will follow it.

It is customary to visit mink traps once in two or three days. But as I had plenty of time just then, I went to mine every forenoon.

During the first week after setting them I had excellent luck. I caught eleven mink and three sable--about fifty dollars' worth, as I reckoned it. My hopes of making a small fortune in the fur business were very sanguine, until one morning I found every trap torn up! The poles and stakes were scattered over the ground, spindles were broken to pieces, and at one or two places where there had been a mink in the trap, the head and bits of fur were lying about as if it had been devoured.

At first I thought that perhaps some fellow who had intended to trap there had done the mischief to drive me away (a very common trick among rival trappers); but when I saw that the minks had been torn to pieces, I knew the destruction was the work of some animal--a fisher, most likely, or as some call it, a "black-cat."

I had never yet seen one of these creatures, but had often heard hunters and trappers tell what pests they were, following them on their rounds, robbing and tearing up their traps almost as rapidly as they could set them. Indeed, I had read in Baird's--I believe it was Baird's--Works on Natural History, that the fisher-cat, or _mustela canadensis_, is a very fierce carnivorous animal of the weasel family, a most determined fighter and more than a match for a common hound.

Well, I had nothing to do but to set the traps again, a task which I did in the course of the day, really hoping that the beast had merely paid the place a transient visit, and gone on upon his wanderings.

But the next morning showed my hopes were vain, for he had "gone through" my _line_ again, and every trap was upset. It really seemed as if the "varmint" had taken a malicious delight in tearing them to pieces.

At one of the traps a fine sable had been caught, and as if for very mischief the marauder had torn the beautiful skin, which was worth ten or a dozen dollars, to shreds.

Surely, if there is a business in the world that demands patience and perseverance, it is trapping. At least it took about all I could summon to go resignedly to work, make new spindles, catch fresh bait, and set the traps again, especially with the prospect of having the same task to perform the next morning.

I went at it, however, and by eleven o'clock had them all reset save one, the upper one, where the sable had been caught, when, on approaching it through the thick spruces, I saw a large raccoon gnawing the sable's head. Seeing me at the same instant, he caught up the head, and before I could unsling my gun scuttled away out of sight.

Was it possible that a 'coon had been doing all this mischief? I knew them to be adepts at a variety of woods tricks, but had never heard of their robbing traps before. Here was one caught gnawing a sable's head in the vicinity of the broken traps. Circumstantial evidence, as they say in court, was strong against him.

I determined to watch--that trap, at least.

Going over to our camp on the lake, I took a hasty lunch, and putting a fresh charge into my gun went back to the ravine. A few rods from the place where I had surprised the 'coon there was a thick clump of low spruces. Here I hid myself and began my watch.

The afternoon dragged away. Crows and hawks cawed and screamed; kingfishers and squirrels chickered and chirred, but no animal came near the traps. The sun was setting behind the high, black mountain, twilight began to dim the narrow valley.

Thinking I had had my labor for my pains, I was about crawling out of my hiding-place, when a twig snapped in the direction of the traps, and turning quickly I saw the 'coon coming up the bank of the brook, the same one, I was sure, that I had seen before, because of its unusual size.

With a glance around, to see that there was no danger near, he ambled along to the spot where the sable's head had been, and began sniffing at the shreds and bits of fur which lay about. Wishing to see if he would touch the trap, I did not stir, but watched his movements.

After picking up the bits of skin, he walked round the trap several times, with his queer, quizzical face askew, examining it. Then happening to scent one of the sable's legs which lay at a little distance, he ran to it and began to eat it. I could hear his sharp teeth upon the bones. Suddenly he stopped, listened, then growled. Very much to my surprise, there was an answering growl. Then another and another response. In a moment more, from behind a great rock in the bank, there stole out a large, black animal, an object of the 'coon's utter abhorrence, evidently.

Fresh growls greeted the appearance of the intruder, who came stealthily forward. He was a wicked looking fellow, and had evidently hostile intentions.

The 'coon rose to his feet, lifting his back like a bear or a cat, and growling all the while. The newcomer crouched almost to the earth, but continued to steal up to the 'coon until within a yard or two.

There they stood facing each other, getting more angry every moment; and evidently intended to have a big "set to." I had no wish to interfere, and was contented to remain a spectator. The two thieves might settle their quarrels between themselves. I wasn't at all certain to which of them I stood indebted for my extra labor, and concluded to keep my charge of shot for whichever of them survived the fray.

The growls rose to shrieks; the fisher, for such I judged it to be, wriggling his black tail, and the 'coon getting his back still higher. Then came a sudden grab, quick as a flash, and a prodigious scuffle. Over and over they rolled, grappling and tearing; now the gray tail would whisk up in sight, then the black one. The fur flew, and that strong, disagreeable odor, sometimes noticed when a cat spits, was wafted out to my hiding-place.

It was hard to tell which was the best fighter. Gray fur and black fur seemed to be getting torn out in about equal snatches. Suddenly the 'coon got away from his antagonist, and running to the foot of a great spruce tree standing near, went like a dart up the trunk to the lower limbs. There he faced about.

The fisher followed to the tree and looked up. He saw his late foe, growled, and then began to climb after him. He was not so good a climber as the 'coon, but scratched his way up with true weasel determination. The moment he came within reach the raccoon jumped at him, regardless of the height from the ground, and fastened upon his back. The shock caused the fisher to lose his hold, and down both animals dropped with tremendous force, sufficient to knock the breath out of them, I thought. But they clung to each other, and dug and bit with the fury of maniacs. 'Coons are noted fighters; and as for the fishers, they never give up while the breath of life is in them.

Presently the 'coon broke away again, and once more ran to the tree, this time going up its trunk, out of sight, among the branches at the very top. It looked as if he was getting about all the fight he cared to have.

Not so with the big weasel. He instantly followed his antagonist, clumsily but surely clawing his way up the trunk. It took him some time to reach the top, but he got there at last. Another grapple ensued among the very topmost boughs, and they both came tumbling to the ground, catching at the limbs as they fell; but grappling afresh they rolled down the steep bank to the edge of the water.

Meanwhile it had grown so dark that I could but just see their writhing forms. The growling, grappling sound continued, however, and I could hear them splash in the water. Then there came a lull. One or the other had "given in," I felt sure. Which was the victor?

Cocking my gun, I crept to the bank. As nearly as I could make out the situation, the fisher was holding the 'coon by the throat.

I took a step forward. A twig snapped under my foot. Instantly a pair of fiery eyes glared up at me in the gloom; and with a harsh snarl the fisher raised himself. But the 'coon didn't stir; he was dead.

It seemed almost too bad to shoot the victor of so desperate a fight; but thinking of my traps I hardened my heart and fired. The fisher reared up, fell over, then recovering its legs, leaped at me with all the ferocity of its bloodthirsty race. But the heavy buckshot had surely done its work, and with another attempt to spring at me the animal fell back dead.

I had no more trouble with my traps.

THE END.

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