CHAPTER VIII
A BIT OF TRAGEDY
Shaggycoat made his way home in a leisurely manner, stopping a day hereand there at some lake or river that pleased his fancy. The home sensehad not yet fully mastered him and he still found pleasure in runningwater, and upon grassy fringed banks.
One morning when he had been upon his homeward journey for about a week,he turned aside to explore a little stream that looked inviting. Heintended to return to the river and resume his journey in a few minutes,but the unexpected happened and he did not do as he had intended. He wasswimming leisurely in a shallow spot, where the stream was very narrow,when, without any warning, or premonition of danger, he set his foot ina trap. The trap had not been baited but merely set at a narrow point inthe stream, in hope that some stray mink or muskrat would blunder intoit. It was nothing that Shaggycoat could blame himself for, but merelyone of those accidents that befall the most wary animals at times.
The trap was rather light for a beaver, but it had caught him just abovethe first joint, and held on like a vise. At first Shaggycoat tore aboutfrantically, churning up the water and roiling the stream, seeking bymere strength to free himself, but he soon found that this was in vain.He then tried drowning the trap, but this was equally futile. Next heburied it in the mud but it always came up after him when he sought tosteal away. Then he waited for a long time and was quiet, thinking itmight let him go of its own accord, but the trap had no such intention.
As the hours wore on, his paw began to swell and pain him, but finallythe pain gave place to numbness, and his whole fore leg began to prickleand feel queer. With each hour that passed, a wild terror grew uponShaggycoat, a terror of he knew not what. The trap gripped him tighterand tighter, and Brighteyes and the young beavers seemed so far awaythat he despaired of ever seeing them again.
Finally the day passed, the sun set, and the stars came out. The hoursof darkness that hold no gloom for a beaver, in which he glories as theother creatures do in day, were at hand; but they held no joy for poorShaggycoat. Every few minutes he would have a spell of wrenching at thetrap, but he was becoming exhausted, although he had thought hisstrength inexhaustible. At last a desperate thought came to him. Itseemed the only way out of the difficulty.
He edged the end of the trap where the chain was, between two stones,then began slowly moving about it in a circle. Occasionally the trapwould come loose, then it would be replaced and the twisting processrenewed. Finally there was a snap, like the crack of a dry twig, and thebone had been broken. The worst was over. He gnawed away and twisted atthe broken paw until it was severed.
Did it hurt? There was no outcry, only the splashing of the water, and abright trail of blood floated down-stream, and the trap sunk to thebottom to hide the ragged bleeding paw that it still held, while a wiserand a sadder beaver made his way cautiously back to the main stream,licking the ragged stump of his fore paw as he went.
The cold water soon stopped the bleeding and helped to reduce the fever,but Shaggycoat was so spent with the night in the trap that he stoppedto rest for two days before resuming his journey homeward.
Just as the sun peeped over the eastern hills on the morning thatShaggycoat freed himself from the trap, a boy of some twelve summersmight have been seen hurrying across the fields toward the brook,closely followed by an old black and tan hound. The boy carried a smallStevens Rifle known as the hunter's pet, across his arm, and both boyand dog were excited and eager for the morning's tramp.
In low places where it was moist, the first frost of the season layheavy upon the grass, and its delicate lace work was still plainly seenon stones and by the brookside. It was a fresh crisp morning, just sucha morning as makes one's blood tingle, and whets the appetite.
The birds, as well as the boy, had seen the frost, and the robins wereflocking, though most of the summer songsters had already gone.
About half an hour after Shaggycoat left his ragged paw in the trap andswam away, leaving a trail of blood behind him, the boy and dog partedthe alder bushes, and came to the spot where the trap had been set.
"By vum, Trixey, something has been in the trap!" exclaimed the boy, ashe noted the muddy water and the tracks upon the bank, but he could notsee whether there was still anything in the trap because of the silt. Hebegan slowly to haul up the chain, Trixey watching the process eagerly.At last the end of the chain was reached, and the trap dripping water,but containing only the ragged paw, came to the surface.
"Why, Trixey, he's gone!" exclaimed the boy. "It wasn't no muskrat,either. I'll bet it was an otter."
After examining his bloody trophy carefully for a time, the boy resetthe trap, and, wrapping the paw in some fern leaves, took it home toprove his story, but it was not until several days afterward when heshowed the paw to an old trapper, that he learned that a beaver had beenin his trap.
While Shaggycoat is making his way painfully back to his mountain lake,occasionally stopping to favor his freshly amputated paw, let us go backto the lake and see how Brighteyes and the young beavers have beenspending the summer.
For the first few days after Shaggycoat's going, it had seemed verylonely without him. He had always been so active, coming and going, thathe was greatly missed. But a mother beaver with four lively youngstersto provide for, has many things to think of, so Brighteyes soon foundthat she was kept quite busy attending to the family and providing food,which had been done before by her mate.
One bright May morning when the air was sweet with the scent ofquickening buds, the winds soft with the breath of spring and a throbof joy was in each heart; when beast and bird and man were all gladbecause the spring had come again, Brighteyes went to the upper end ofthe pond for some saplings for the supply of bark was low. She left theyoung beavers in the lodge, where they seemed to be quite safe, but thesmell of beaver meat had been tickling the nostrils of the gluttonouswolverine, and he had lingered about the pond all the spring. The beaverlodge had been too hard for him to dig through in midwinter, when it wasfrozen like a rock, but the sun and winds had drawn the frost from thewalls, and now it was no harder than any other mud house.
It was so pleasant outside where everything was singing and springing tothe light that Brighteyes stayed longer than she intended, and when shereturned and dove into the underground passage, leading to the lodge,she was surprised to find three of the young beavers in the undergroundchannel, as close to the water as they could get. They were very muchfrightened and did not want to go back into the lodge, so she took themto one of the underground burrows along the bank, and left them therewhile she reconnoitred.
Brighteyes found to her great surprise that a large hole had been dug inthe side of the lodge, and, through the opening, she could see the browncoat of the wolverine. He was eating something, for she could hear thecrunching of bones. Presently he heard Brighteyes in the passage andthrust his ugly wolfish head through the hole in the wall. His eye wasevil, and his chops were bloody, and something told the mother beaverthat the blood was that of her missing young one. Then the wolverinesprang for her through the opening, and she fled precipitately and thefriendly water of the pond enfolded her, where she was safe from theglutton.
Brighteyes returned to the remaining youngsters, and after that sheguarded them with untiring vigilance. They did not return to the lodgethat summer, but lived in the burrows that Shaggycoat had made along thebank. When they got tired of living in one, they moved to another. Inthis way they were able to shift their base, and still keep the friendlywaters of the pond about them.
Although the glutton lingered about the lake for a week or two, he didnot again taste beaver meat. So one night he slunk away into the woodsin search of some rabbit burrow or fox's hole, from which he might digout the luckless victims, and the beavers did not see him again. Afterhe had been gone for several days, they came out of hiding and had thefreedom of the pond.
When they were large enough, they were taught more of the mysteries ofswimming and diving, at which they would play for an
hour at a time. Infact they never tired of it.
When they had explored the pond and knew all its windings and its manywater recesses, they went upon the bank, but their watchful mother neverallowed them to go far ashore. They early learned that the water worldwas the only safe place for them, and there were dangers to be guardedagainst even there.
Sometimes, after a swim, they would come upon the bank and sit in thesun to make their toilet. They would rest upon their flat tails, andcomb their soft fur with the claws upon their hind paws. It was hard toreach all places upon the body, but they were very patient and combedaway persistently. When they had finished, and the sun had dried theircoats, they were very sleek and glossy.
One starlight night in September, Brighteyes was swimming home from theupper end of the pond, when she heard a splash in the lake behind her.She quickened her pace, but her pursuer came steadily nearer. Thereseemed to be something familiar in the sound, so she stopped toinvestigate. She was now certain of it, so with true female coquetry,she slipped out upon the bank and hid. A moment later Shaggycoat foundher there, pretending that she did not know all the time it was he.
Her nose was just as warm, and he was just as glad to see her, as he hadbeen that first night of their tryst. Then the queerest love song thatever broke the starry stillness floated out across the pond. It was amere murmur, like the sighing of autumn winds in leafless branches. Thisplaintive love ditty and the weird concert heard in beaver lodgesduring the summer months and the signal whistle given when a beaver islost are the three vocal accomplishments of the colony.
Shaggycoat: The Biography of a Beaver Page 10
