The streams and swamps contiguous to this lake were well adapted for the habitat of mink, muskrat, otter, fisher, and those large fur-bearing animals, the lynx and lucivee, and here a brief description of where such animals exist, and how they are caught, may be of interest.

The habits of the muskrat, the least cunning of these, are so well known that they merit only a few words. They are amphibious animals, their food is succulent roots, bulbs, and bark, and they frequent small, marshy ponds, sluggish streams, and swamps. In summer they conceal themselves by burrowing into soft banks; in winter they erect houses of sedge-grass, roots, and mud, and are caught in small steel traps set in shallow water at the entrance of their paths out of lake or stream.

Mink, marten, otter, and fisher are much alike in shape and habit. All belong to the same family, but vary in size, also slightly in the matter of food. Mink and marten live on fish, frogs, birds, mice, etc.; otter on fish and roots; and fishers, as their name implies, subsist largely on fish. All these are more valuable fur-bearing animals than muskrats. Their abiding places are swamps and shallow streams, in the banks of which they burrow, and they are usually caught in steel traps baited with fish or meat.

The lucivee, or lynx, and bobcat, more ferocious and cunning than their smaller cousins, roam the woods and swamps, live on smaller animals, hide in caves, crevices, and hollow trees, and they as well as otter occasionally are caught in deadfalls.

Old Cy, familiar as he was with the homes, habits, and the manner of catching these cunning animals, soon began his trap-setting campaign. A few dozen steel traps were first set along the stream and lagoons entering the lake, and then he and Ray pushed up Beaver Brook, and leaving their canoe, followed its narrow valley in search of suitable spots to set the more elaborated deadfalls, which also merit description.

A deadfall is made by placing one end of a suitably sized log–one perhaps fifteen feet long and a foot in diameter–on a figure four trap, so adjusted that its spindle end, to which the bait is secured, shall be poised beneath the upraised end of the log. Alongside of this log a double row of stakes is driven to form a pen with entrance leading to the bait. When this deadly contrivance is properly adjusted, the log and its pen of stakes is concealed with green boughs piled lightly over it, and all the hungry lynx sees is a narrow opening under green boughs, and in it a tempting morsel awaiting him. As those creatures, as well as now and then an otter, are sure to roam up and down all small streams, a spot where one emerges from a narrow defile, or joins a larger one, is usually selected for a deadfall.

It is also quite a task to clear a suitable space, fell a right-sized tree, and construct one of these penlike traps; and although Old Cy and Ray started early, it was mid-afternoon that day ere they had the third one ready and awaiting its possible victim.

As gum-gathering was also a part of their season’s plan, they now left the swamp valley, and, ascending the spruce-clad upland, began this work, which is also worthy of description.

The chewing gum of commerce, so delightful to schoolgirls and small boys, is the refined, diluted, and sweetened product of gum nuts, or the small excrescences of spruce sap that exudes and hardens around knot-holes and cracks in the bark of those trees. These form into hardened nuts or knobs of gum, from the size of a hazelnut to that of butternut, and are worth from a dollar to a dollar and fifty cents a pound. A long pole with a sharpened knife or chisel fastened to its tip is used by gum seekers. It can be gathered from the time frost first hardens it until spring, and to gather three to five pounds is considered a good day’s work.

Ray’s first attempt at this labor seemed like nut-gathering at home, only more romantic, and when they were well into the vast spruce growth bordering one side of the Beaver Brook valley, he became so interested in hunting for the brown knobs, loosening them, and picking them up that he would have soon lost all points of the compass, except for Old Cy.

There is also a spice of danger seasoning this pursuit. A wildcat might at any moment be seen watching from the crotch of a tree, or a bear might suddenly emerge from the thicket. It was hard work also, for while some parts of a spruce forest may be free from undergrowth, not all portions are, and this tangle is one not easy to move about in.

There was also another element that entered into the trapping and gum-gathering life,–the possible return of the half-breed.“He hain’t nothin’ agin us,” Old Cy asserted, when the question came up. “We didn’t chase him the day he stole Chip, ’n’ yet I s’pose he’ll show up some day, ’n’ mebbe do us harm.”

It was this fear that had led Old Cy to leave one of their canoes in a log locker, securely barred, and also to caution the hermit to remain on guard at the cabin while he and Ray were away.

A canoe is the one most vital need of a wildwood life, for the reason that the streams are the only avenues of escape and afford the only opportunities for travel.

The wilderness, of course, can be traversed, but not easily. Swamps will be met and must be avoided, for a wilderness swamp is practically impassable. Streams can be forded, but lakes must be encompassed, and even an upland forest is but a tangled jungle of fallen trees and undergrowth.

Old Cy knew, or at least he felt almost sure, that the half-breed would return in good time. He had also reasoned out his failure to do so at once, and knew that left canoeless, as he had been that tragic day, his only course must be the one he actually followed. A month had elapsed since then, with no sign of this “varmint’s” return, and now Old Cy was on the watch for it.Each morning, when he traversed the lake shore from ice-house to landing, he looked for tell-tale footprints. He watched for them wherever he went, and the distant report of a rifle would have been accepted as a sure harbinger of this enemy.

It became their custom now each day, first to visit all small traps in the near-by streams, then pushing their canoe as far as possible up the Beaver Brook, to leave it, continue up the valley, and after inspecting their deadfalls, turn to the right out of this swale, and begin the gathering of gum.

And now, one day, in carrying out this programme, a discovery was made.

They had first visited the small traps near the lake, securing a couple of mink and three muskrats, which were left in the canoe. An otter was found in one of the deadfalls, and taking this with them, they entered the spruce timber and hung it on a conspicuous limb. Then the search for gum began.

As usual, they worked hard. The days were short, the best of sunlight was needful to see the brown nuts in the sombre forest, and so they paid no heed to aught except what was overhead. When time to return arrived, Old Cy picked up his rifle and led the way back to where the otter had been left, but it had vanished. Glancing about to make sure that he was right, he advanced to the tree, looked down, and saw two footprints. Stooping over to examine them better in the uncertain light, he noted also that they were not his own, but larger, and made by some one wearing boots.

“Tain’t the half-breed,” he muttered, with an accent of relief, and looking about, he saw a well-defined trail leading down the slope and thence onward toward the swamp.

Some one had crossed this broad, oval, spruce-covered upland while they were not two hundred rods away from this tree, had stolen their otter, and gone on into the swamp.

Any freshly made human footprint found in a vast wilderness awakens curiosity; these seemed ominous.

“He must ’a’ seen us ’fore he did the otter,” Old Cy ejaculated, “an’ it’s curis he didn’t make himself known. Neighbors ain’t over plenty, hereabout.”

But the sun was nearing the tree-tops, the canoe was a mile away, and after one more look around, Old Cy started for it. There was no use in following this trail now, for it led into the tangled swamp, and so, skirting this until a point opposite the canoe was reached, Old Cy and Ray then plunged into it.

Twilight had begun to shadow this vale ere the canoe was reached. And here was another surprise, for the canoe was found turned half over, and on its broad oval bottom was a curious outline of black mud. The light was not good here. A fir-grown ledge shadowed the spot; but as Old Cy stooped to examine this mud-made emblem, it gradually took shape, and he saw–a skull and cross bones!

“Wal, by the Great Horn Spoon!” he exclaimed, “I never s’posed a pirate ’ud fetch in here! An’ he’s swiped our muskrats and mink,” he added, as he looked under the canoe, “durn him!”

Then the bold bravado of it all occurred to Old Cy. The theft was doubtless made by whosoever had taken their otter, and not content with robbing them, he had added insult.

“I s’pose we’d orter be grateful he left the paddles ’n’ didn’t smash the canoe,” Old Cy continued, turning it over. “I wonder who’t can be?”

One hasty look around revealed the same boot-marks in the soft earth near the stream, and then he and Ray launched their craft and started for home.

“I’m goin’ to foller them tracks to-morrer,” Old Cy said, when they were entering the lake and a light in the cabin just across reassured him. “It may be a little resky, but I’m goin’ to find out what sorter a neighbor we’ve got.”