CHAPTER XV
KING OF BEAVERS
"Joe," said Wahawa to the trapper one evening, as they sat by the fire,munching corn bread and bacon, "I believe you have caught the sacredbeaver of my people, the good Puigagis, King of all the Beavers."
Joe laughed. "Py gar, what foolishness you tink in your hade now. You isone foolish leetle gal, he your sacred beaver, you say?"
But Wahawa did not laugh. She looked very serious as she replied, "It isnothing to laugh at, Joe. If this is really the sacred beaver, no goodwill come of it. Did you notice he had lost one forepaw? My peoplealways let a maimed beaver go when they trap him because of somethingthat happened many moons ago. Listen, Joe, and I will tell."
The man of many traps looked interested for he, too, was touched withsuperstition, and fearful of anything that might affect his good luck asa trapper.
"As many moons ago as the old pine back of the shack has needles on itsboughs," began Wahawa, "the Great Spirit became angry with my people.The squaws said it was because the warriors went on the war-path insteadof killing and preparing meat for the winter months, and the braves saidit was because the squaws were lazy and did not raise corn. But for onereason or another the Manito was angry so he covered the face of the sunwith his right hand, and it was like a sick man's smile, and he coveredthe moon and the stars by night with his blanket and they were no longerbright, but like a camp-fire that has gone out.
"The corn did not grow in the summer-time, and the snow and the windwere furious in the winter.
"Such cold as this was never known in the land before and never since.The ice froze so deeply on lake and river that it could not be brokenand no fish could be taken. The deer all yarded in the deep forest anddid not stir abroad so the hunters could not find them, and manyperished before spring. Still deeper and deeper fell the snow and colderand colder grew the breath of the wind, and the kiss of the frost waslike death.
"The warm skins of bear and beaver were no longer warm and the camp-firehad lost its heat.
"Finally, the warriors were obliged to kill their ponies, and thewolves, running in great packs, came down to help with the feast. Atnight they would stand about the camp, just on the border of thefirelight, watching and waiting. They seemed to know that powder andball were low in the pouch of the warrior, and that he no longer hadstrength to draw the bow. They knew that the camp-fires would soon goout, and the warriors and the squaws fall asleep at their post. So thegreat gray wolfs watched and waited for they knew that the hour offeasting was near at hand.
"Then my grandmother, who was the daughter of the chief, and whosewithered lips told me the story, had a dream.
"She dreamed that Puigagis, the King of the Beavers, came into her lodgeand spoke to her in the tongue of her people.
"'O Singing Bird, daughter of the great chief,' he said, and his voicewas sweet to hear. 'The great spirit was angry because his warriors didnot hunt, and the women were lazy, but he has seen the suffering of thypeople, and the great wolf, Famine, looking in at your lodges. Thismelted his anger and he has sent me to save your people. Tell yourfather, the chief, to send his warriors in the morning to a valley, oneday's march to the northward, and they shall find a colony of beavers aslarge as an Indian village. Many lodges they shall see, and all willcontain beaver meat, and warm furs to protect them and their womenagainst the wind and frost. I, Puigagis, the King of all the Beavers,will go before them to show the way. My own life and all the lives of mykind I will give to save the lives of the redmen and their daughters.'
"Then the wind lifted Puigagis, King of the Beavers, in its strong armsand bore him away over the tree-tops.
"The daughter of the chief awoke and saw that the camp-fire was verylow, and that the wind was shaking the tepee as though to tear it down.When she put new faggots on the fire and it blazed up, she saw therewere beaver tracks on the snow and her dream had been true. She awokeher father, the chief, who called his warriors and they examined thetracks in the snow and saw that they were the tracks of a beaver; abeaver of great size, who had lost one forepaw in a trap.
"The chief then bade his warriors make ready for in the morning theywould go to the lake of which the King of the Beavers had spoken.
"In the morning the sun was brighter than it had been for weeks, andthey started out with more hope than they had felt for many moons. Theywent due north as Puigagis, the King of the Beavers, had directed, and,whenever they were uncertain of the way, they would examine the snow andalways at just the right moment would find the tracks of thethree-footed beaver.
"Although he went on the wings of the wind, he touched the snow everymile or two that they might not go astray and miss the Beaver Lake.
"Late in the afternoon, when they were weary and very cold with the longmarch, they came to a beautiful valley, and there before them, coveredwith snow, stretched the broad bosom of the lake.
"Here and there showing their domes above the ice were beaver lodges,many more than the oldest hunters had ever seen. On the top of thelargest lodge of all sat Puigagis, King of all the Beavers, and thewarriors saw that his right forepaw had been taken off by a trap. Amoment he sat there as though in welcome, then disappeared as if thelodge had opened and swallowed him.
"Then the warriors built great fires upon the ice, made a hole in thebeaver dam with their hatchets and strong stakes which they cut in thewoods, and destroyed the entire colony, with the exception of the greatlodge of Puigagis, King of all the Beavers. This they would not touch,lest evil befall them; nor will they take the skin of a maimed beaver tothis day.
"They loaded their packs with meat and skins until they bent beneaththem. The wind and weather befriended them on their homeward journey.The beaver meat and the new skins kept life in the Indian village untilthe great Spirit lifted his hand from the face of the sun, till flowersand birds returned and the children of the woods were again glad.
"But the three-footed beaver they will not trap or harm to this day andit is an ill omen to hold one captive."
"Dat ees vun fine story," commented Joe, as the narrator finished."Maybe he true, maybe he not. I do not know me. But he ver good," andJoe blew rings of blue smoke and watched them meditatively.
"Did you ever hear how the beaver got his flat tail?" asked Wahawa.
"By gar, no, I tink he always have he. Tell one more pretty story,leetle gal."
"Well, this was the way," replied the Indian girl.
"Many, many moons ago, so long ago that it is only known by picturesthat my people cut in stone, there was a King Beaver, wiser and largerthan all his fellows. In those days, the beaver had a round bushy taillike the raccoon, but he saw one day when he was building a house thatit would be very handy to have a flat tail. He pondered long on how toget it. Finally a plan came to him and he called the four strongestbeavers in the land and told them to bring a large flat stone.
"When they had brought the stone, the King Beaver placed his tail uponanother flat stone and made the four strong beavers drop the stone theyhad brought upon his tail. It hurt him very much but he shut his teethtight and thought how nice it would be to have a flat tail. When theylifted the stone off his tail, it was not as flat as he wished, so theytried again, but still it did not suit him, but he thought they hadflattened it enough for that day.
"Every day for a week he had the four strong beavers drop the stone onhis tail until at last it was flat enough. After that he used it so muchin handling mud that the hair soon wore off, and it looked just as thebeaver tail does now. The descendants of this beaver all had flat tails,and they were so much stronger and better workmen that they survived allthe other kinds and the round-tailed beavers soon became extinct.
"There is another Indian legend about how the beaver learned to buildhouses. Once an Indian caught a beaver in a pitfall and took him home tohis wigwam where he kept him all winter. The beaver saw how warm andnice the Indian house was and the following fall when he escaped hebuilt himself a mud house as near like the Indian's as he could,
and hewas the first beaver to live in a lodge."
"Ver good stories," commented Joe. "Ver good. Maybe they true, maybethey not, but I tink He make um beaver tail flat, because He know thebeaver want a flat tail. And for He," Joe pointed with his thumb to theroof of the shack, "He give de eagle hees strong wing because he live inthe cloud, an' de fish fins, because he want to swim. He made de deerwith springs in his laigs because he got no teeth to bite his enemy, norclaws. He made de fox cunning becase he not strong, so he run mightyfast like de wind. De wildcat an' de bar, He also give claws an' strongarms, so they all lib an' not starb.
"De flower it smile, an' de tree talk an' de wind an' de water theybetter company than much folks. Dar no lie in de woods. Dar all tingsgood. He make all tings ver good, by gar. Me like um wind an' water.They all make me glad."
One day when Shaggycoat had been in captivity about a week, Wahawa camedown to his burrow and coaxed and dragged him out. He was not so muchafraid of her as he had been and he loved the sound of her voice, for itwas like the water slipping between stones. But when she had brought himforth, Wahawa did something that both astonished and frightened thebeaver, for, quick as a flash, she threw a camp blanket over his head,and before he had time to bite, she had gathered up the four corners andShaggycoat was a prisoner in an improvised bag.
Although he bit and clawed at the blanket, it was so soft and yieldingthat he could make no impression on it, so he finally lay still and letthe Indian girl do with him what she would. She talked to him all thetime in that low rippling voice which somewhat allayed his fear.
She slowly ascended the ladder leading to the room above with the heavyload upon her back and then rested him for a moment on the floor.
What new peril awaited him, Shaggycoat did not know. Maybe his coat wasto be taken off now, and he would be just like the poor beaver he hadseen the first night of his captivity. But Wahawa soon lifted him to herstrong back again and bore him away, he knew not where. When she hadcarried him about a quarter of a mile over rough country, she laid downher burden, and, to the great astonishment of the beaver, dropped thefour corners of the blanket and the beautiful world that Shaggycoat hadknown before his captivity, the world with a sky and fresh green treesand bushes with grass and sweet smelling air, was before him. But betterthan all that a swift stream was flowing almost at his very feet. Themusic of its rippling made him wild with joy.
Here was freedom almost within reach. But his captor was standing by andthe buckskin collar was still about his neck and he imagined it held himin some mysterious manner. He looked up at the Indian girl with largepleading eyes, and she understood his misgivings, so she drew thehunting knife from her belt and severed the buckskin collar. It had cutinto his neck for so long that the beaver did not realize it was goneuntil he saw it lying on the ground, then his heart gave a great bound.Was freedom to be his after all? His nostrils dilated as he lookedfurtively about. There was his captive standing by him and her eyes werefull of kindness. There was the water calling to him, calling as it hadnever called before, but he did not quite know what it all meant. Thenthe Indian girl spoke and he understood.
"Go, Puigagis, King of the Beavers," she said. "Go and be happy afterthy kind. We have held thee captive too long. Go at once, lest evilbefall us."
With a sudden jump, a scramble and a great splash, Shaggycoat clove thewater of the deep pool at their feet. The ripples widened and widenedand a few bubbles rose to the surface as the dark form sank from sightand Puigagis disappeared as suddenly from the life of the Indian girl asthough the earth had opened and swallowed him.
Once she thought she saw a dark form gliding stealthily along under theshadow of the further bank, but was not sure. Although she watched andlistened for a long time, she saw or heard nothing of him. Puigagis,King of the Beavers, had gone to his kind. The lakes and the streams hadreclaimed their wilderness child, and the Indian girl was glad.
CHAPTER XVI
OLD SHAG
Eight years have now passed since Shaggycoat brought his mate into thebeautiful wilderness valley, and they had proceeded to make ithabitable, according to the ideas of a beaver.
Wonderful changes have taken place in the alder meadow since then, andone would not know it to be the same spot. It is no more an aldermeadow, but a beautiful forest lake stretching away into the distanceuntil it is lost between the foothills, nearly two miles above the dam.On either side, the sparkling waters flow back to the amphitheatre ofhills that enfold it and the lake is altogether like a wonderfulsparkling jewel set in the emerald surrounding of the foothills.
Each summer, during his wanderings, Shaggycoat has met other wandererslike himself, and many of them have returned with him to his mountainlake. Even the first autumn, when he returned with his amputated paw, apair of sleek beavers came with him, so there were two beaver lodges inthe pond during the second winter instead of one. The dam was alsostrengthened and broadened during that second autumn until the pond wastwice its original size.
The third spring Shaggycoat's own first family of beavers left the lodgeto roam during the summer months, and to return in the autumn withmates. This is the arrangement in a well ordered beaver lodge. Thechildren stay with their parents until they are three years of age, so alodge usually contains the babies, the yearlings and two-year-olds, whoallow themselves shelter under the family lodge until their thirdbirthday, when they are shoved out to make room for the babies who havejust come. So there is a general nose breaking at this time, and theelders are sent into the world while all the rest are promoted. But I donot imagine that they have to be shoved very hard, for their love offreedom and wild life, and also the mating instinct, is calling to themthat third year, and they always obey the call of nature.
It must not be imagined that the little dam originally built on thespot, flows all this broad expanse of country, for, as we have alreadyseen, year by year it has been added to, until now the gorge is blockedby a log and stone structure that would do credit to man, with all hisbuilding and engineering skill. It seems to me that the beaver, with hisbuilding instinct, and his ingenuity in making his world over to suithis manner of life, more nearly resembles man than any other wildcreature.
Each beaver colony is a veritable city, and each lodge contains a largeand well ordered family.
The house is always scrupulously clean, and each member of the familyhas his own bed which he occupies. The front gate is surrounded by amoat, like the castles of old, and the drawbridge is always up.
The beaver is a veritable Venitian, and his city is a real Venice, withits waterway and its islands of solid earth upon which stand the housesof its many citizens. The new dam which is most important to BeaverCity, for it holds the water above the entrances of the score or more ofhouses, is a fine structure about two hundred feet in length, and ninefeet in diameter at its base. Into the structure many thousand logs havebeen rolled, some of them coming from two or three miles up the lake,for timber is not so plentiful near to the dam as it was.
The engineering genius of this huge undertaking was Shaggycoat, who satupon his broad flat tail and directed his many workmen. Near by, seatedupon the top of one of the lodges, a sentinel was always posted whilethey worked. He warned them of danger, and they gave their wholeattention to the work. At the first suspicious sound he would bring hisbroad tail down upon the water with a resounding slap that could beheard all along the dam, and all through Beaver City, for water is verymobile, and conducts motion or sound easily. At this well-known signal,the workers who, a moment before, might have been lifting and tugginglogs or laying on mortar, would disappear as though the lake had openedand swallowed them. This was really just what happened, but the watersdid not open; they were always waiting and ready to receive their littlewater folks.
For a few moments the lake would be as quiet as though there were not abeaver in the whole shimmering expanse, then a brown muzzle, drippingwater, would be cautiously thrust up from some shady corner of the dam,and a careful reconnaissance made. Whe
n the beaver had made sure that itwas a false alarm, he would call the rest and work would go on asbefore.
Most of the conical shaped houses, of which there are now about twenty,are on islands or on the bank near the dam. They look as much like asmall Indian village, as they do like the abodes of wild animals.
For a long time, the overflow water from the lake troubled the beaversby wearing away their dam, but, finally, they dug a little channel inthe sand around one end of the dam, and now the water runs off nicely inthis artificial duct, and the dam is left unimpaired by the flow. If youcould stand upon this dam, partly overgrown by willows, and see thesymmetrical structure and the little lodges of Beaver City above, andthe sparkling water running nicely away in the sluiceway, you wouldmarvel at the ingenuity and patience of these ingenious rodents. But thewisest and oldest head in the colony is that of Shaggycoat, or old Shag,as I shall now call him, for he was the pioneer of the city, and his wasthe first lodge on the large island.
Little by little he has seen his lake widen and broaden, and one by onenew lodges have been reared, until now, as he sits upon his broad tailand views Beaver City from the vantage ground of the dam, he must bewell satisfied with his planning, for it is all his world and he lovesit as each wild creature does the element it inhabits. To his ears thesound of running water is sweetest music, and the roar of the freshet,which fills man with dismay has no terrors for him; he knows it is onlyhis beloved water world, wild and turbulent, with the joy of meltingsnow, and the bliss of spring rains.
He also knows that soon the buds will start and the birds sing, and hewill be off for his summer ramble. He has never outgrown the habit ofwandering during the summer months, but autumn will surely see him backdirecting repairs upon the dam and seeing that the winter supply ofunpeeled logs is stored. It takes a great many logs to supply BeaverCity with food now so that when the winter supply is piled up in thewater in front of the dam, it would probably make several cords. If youcould have seen the everchanging beauty of that forest lake throughspring, summer, autumn and winter, you would not have been surprisedthat the beavers were well satisfied with their surroundings, or thatthe water seemed always to be calling to them in low sweet tones.
When the spring freshet filled their lake to overflowing, the ice piledup against the dam, and the mad waters rushed through the crevasseroaring and hissing like an infuriated monster. Though the waters wereangry and tossed the great cakes of ice about disdainfully, yet the foamupon its fretful surface looked soft as wool and the little water folksknew that the anger would pass, even as the fury of the spring wind.
Finally the water would go down, and the lake would become clear andcalm. Then it was a wonderful opal like the spring sky from which ittook its color. When the warm spring winds kissed its sparkling surface,it dimpled and sparkled, and little wavelets lapped the pebbly beachwith a low soft sound.
Then June came with its lily pads, and the pickerel grass in theshallows along the edge, and the waters near shore were green likeemerald. July brought the lilies, whose mysterious sweetness ravishedthe nostrils, and whose creamy white faces nestled among the green padsin sweet content.
The summer passed like a wonderful dream with soft skies, balmy winds,and warm delightful waters in which to swim, but the male beavers overthree years of age were always away during the summer, and the lake wasleft to the females and the youngsters.
Soon autumn came and the maples back in the foothills were made gorgeousby the first frost. The merry fall winds soon rattled down showers ofscarlet, crimson, yellow and golden leaves till the waters along theedge of the lake were as bright as the branches above. Even then thetrees were all reflected in the lake, so it had its own beauty as wellas that of the world above it.
When the first frost came, the male beavers returned to repair the dam,and build new lodges or repair the old ones. These were active nightswhen the sky was so thick with stars that there was hardly room formore, and the Milky Way was bright and luminous.
When the clear glass window was shut down over the lake and the beaversin their snug city were made prisoners for the winter, December hadcome.
Then the whole lake sparkled like a jewel, and by night it vied with thestars for mysterious beauty; but soon the lake would be covered withsnow, and then it would be a wonderful marble floor, smooth as a boardstretching away as far as the eye could reach.
There snugly locked under the ice, where not even the gluttonouswolverine can dig them out, with plenty of food for the coming winter,let us leave the inhabitants of Beaver City, happy in the assurance thatspring will come again when their lake will be warm and bright, nestlinglike a wonderful jewel on the breast of mother earth.
* * * * *
_BOOKS BY_ CLARENCE HAWKES
_Animal Biographies_
BLACK BRUIN. The Biography of a Bear.
KING OF THE FLYING SLEDGE. The Biography of a Reindeer.
KING OF THE THUNDERING HERD. The Biography of an American Bison.
PIEBALD, KING OF BRONCOS. The Biography of a Wild Horse.
SHAGGYCOAT. The Biography of a Beaver.
SHOVELHORNS. The Biography of a Moose.
TENANTS OF THE TREES.
TRAILS TO WOODS AND WATERS.
THE WAY OF THE WILD.
A WILDERNESS DOG. The Biography of a Gray Wolf.
* * * * *
WANTED A MOTHER. A Story for Children.
Shaggycoat: The Biography of a Beaver Page 17
