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Shows how the accountant and Harry set their traps and what came of it.

The moon was still up, and the sky less overcast, when our amateur trappers quitted the encampment, and descending to the mouth of the little brook, took their way over North River in the direction of the accountant’s traps. Being somewhat fatigued both in mind and body by the unusual exertions of the night, neither of them spoke for some time, but continued to walk in silence, contemplatively gazing at their long shadows.

“Did you ever trap a fox, Harry?” said the accountant at length.

“Yes; I used to set traps at Red River. But the foxes there are not numerous, and are so closely watched by the dogs that they have become suspicious. I caught but few.”

“Then you know how to set a trap?”

“Oh yes; I’ve set both steel and snow traps often. You’ve heard of old Labonté, who used to carry one of the winter packets from Red River until within a few years back?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of him; his name is in my ledger—at least if you mean Pierre Labonté, who came down last fall with the brigade.”

“The same. Well, he was a great friend of mine. His little cabin lay about two miles from Fort Garry, and after work was over in the office I used to go down to sit and chat with him by the fire; and many a time I have sat up half the night listening to him as he recounted his adventures. The old man never tired of relating them, and of smoking twist tobacco. Among other things, he set my mind upon trapping, by giving me an account of an expedition he made, when quite a youth, to the Rocky Mountains; so I got him to go into the woods and teach me how to set traps and snares, and I flatter myself he found me an apt pupil.”

“Humph!” ejaculated the accountant; “I have no doubt you do flatter yourself. But here we are. The traps are just beyond that mound; so look out, and don’t stick your feet into them.”

“Hist!” exclaimed Harry, laying his hand suddenly on his companion’s arm. “Do you see that?” pointing towards the place where the traps were said to be.

“You have sharp eyes, younker. I do see it, now that you point it out. It’s a fox, and caught, too, as I’m a scrivener.”

“You’re in luck to-night,” exclaimed Harry eagerly. “It’s a silver fox. I see the white tip on its tail.”

“Nonsense,” cried the accountant, hastening forward; “but we’ll soon settle the point.”

Harry proved to be right. On reaching the spot they found a beautiful black fox, caught by the fore leg in a steel trap, and gazing at them with a look of terror.

The skin of the silver fox—so called from a slight sprinkling of pure white hairs covering its otherwise jet-black body—is the most valuable fur obtained by the fur-traders, and fetches an enormous price in the British market, so much as thirty pounds sterling being frequently obtained for a single skin. The foxes vary in colour from jet black, which is the most valuable, to a light silvery hue, and are hailed as great prizes by the Indians and trappers when they are so fortunate as to catch them. They are not numerous, however, and being exceedingly wary and suspicious, are difficult to catch. It may be supposed, therefore, that our friend the accountant ran to secure his prize with some eagerness.

“Now, then, my beauty, don’t shrink,” he said, as the poor fox backed at his approach as far as the chain, which fastened the trap to a log of wood, would permit, and then, standing at bay, showed a formidable row of teeth. That grin was its last; another moment, and the handle of the accountant’s axe stretched it lifeless on the snow.

“Isn’t it a beauty!” cried he, surveying the animal with a look of triumphant pleasure; and then feeling as if he had compromised his dignity a little by betraying so much glee, he added, “But come now, Harry; we must see to the other traps. It’s getting late.”

The others were soon visited; but no more foxes were caught. However, the accountant set them both off to see that all was right; and then re-adjusting one himself, told Harry to set the other, in order to clear himself of the charge of boasting.

Harry, nothing loath, went down on his knees to do so.

The steel trap used for catching foxes is of exactly the same form as the ordinary rat-trap, with this difference, that it has two springs instead of one, is considerably larger, and has no teeth, as these latter would only tend to spoil the skin. Owing to the strength of the springs, a pretty strong effort is required to set the trap, and clumsy fellows frequently catch the tails of their coats or the ends of their belts, and not unfrequently the ends of their fingers, in their awkward attempts. Having set it without any of the above untoward accidents occurring, Harry placed it gently on a hole which he had previously scraped—placing it in such a manner that the jaws and plate, or trigger, were a hairbreadth below the level of the snow. After this he spread over it a very thin sheet of paper, observing as he did so that hay or grass was preferable; but as there was none at hand, paper would do. Over this he sprinkled snow very lightly, until every vestige of the trap was concealed from view, and the whole was made quite level with the surrounding plain, so that even the accountant himself, after he had once removed his eyes from it, could not tell where it lay. Some chips of a frozen ptarmigan were then scattered around the spot, and a piece of wood left to mark its whereabouts. The bait is always scattered round and not on the trap, as the fox, in running from one piece to another, is almost certain to set his foot on it, and so get caught by the leg; whereas, were the bait placed upon the trap, the fox would be apt to get caught, while in the act of eating, by the snout, which, being wedge-like in form, is easily dragged out of its gripe.

“Now, then, what say you to going farther out on the river, and making a snow trap for white foxes?” said the accountant. “We shall still have time to do so before the moon sets.”

“Agreed,” cried Harry. “Come along.”

Without further parley they left the spot and stretched out towards the sea.

The snow on the river was quite hard on its surface, so that snow-shoes being unnecessary, they carried them over their shoulders, and advanced much more rapidly. It is true that their road was a good deal broken, and jagged pieces of ice protruded their sharp corners so as to render a little attention necessary in walking; but one or two severe bumps on their toes made our friends sensitively alive to these minor dangers of the way.

“There goes a pack of them!” exclaimed Harry, as a troop of white foxes scampered past, gambolling as they went, and coming suddenly to a halt at a short distance, wheeled about and sat down on their haunches, apparently resolved to have a good look at the strangers who dared to venture into their wild domain.

“Oh, they are the most stupid brutes alive,” said the accountant, as he regarded the pack with a look of contempt. “I’ve seen one of them sit down and look at me while I set a trap right before his eyes; and I had not got a hundred yards from the spot when a yell informed me that the gentleman’s curiosity had led him to put his foot right into it.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Harry. “I had no idea that they were so tame. Certainly no other kind of fox would do that.”

“No, that’s certain. But these fellows have done it to me again and again. I shouldn’t wonder if we got one to-night in the very same way. I’m sure, by the look of these rascals, that they would do anything of a reckless, stupid nature just now.”

“Had we not better make our trap here, then? There is a point, not fifty yards off, with trees on it large enough for our purpose.”

“Yes; it will do very well here. Now, then, to work. Go to the wood, Harry, and fetch a log or two, while I cut out the slabs.” So saying, the accountant drew the axe which he always carried in his belt; and while Harry entered the wood and began to hew off the branch of a tree, he proceeded, as he had said, to “cut out the slabs.” With the point of his knife he first of all marked out an oblong in the snow, then cut down three or four inches with the axe, and putting the handle under the cut, after the manner of a lever, detached a thick, solid slab of about three inches thick, which, although not so hard as ice, was quite hard enough for the purpose for which it was intended. He then cut two similar slabs and a smaller one, the same in thickness and breadth, but only half the length. Having accomplished this, he raised himself to rest a little, and observed that Harry approached, staggering under a load of wood, and that the foxes were still sitting on their haunches, gazing at him with a look of deep interest.

“If I only had my gun here!” thought he. But not having it, he merely shook his fist at them, stooped down again, and resumed his work. With Harry’s assistance the slabs were placed in such a way as to form a sort of box or house, having one end of it open. This was further plastered with soft snow at the joinings, and banked up in such a way that no animal could break into it easily—at least such an attempt would be so difficult as to make an entrance into the interior by the open side much more probable. When this was finished, they took the logs that Harry had cut and carried with so much difficulty from the wood, and began to lop off the smaller branches and twigs. One large log was placed across the opening of the trap, while the others were piled on one end of it so as to press it down with their weight. Three small pieces of stick were now prepared—two of them being about half a foot long, and the other about a foot. On the long piece of stick the breast of a ptarmigan was fixed as a bait, and two notches cut, the one at the end of it, the other about four or five inches further down. All was now ready to set the trap.

“Raise the log now while I place the trigger,” said Harry, kneeling down in front of the door; while the accountant, as directed, lifted up the log on which the others lay so as to allow his companion to introduce the bait-stick, in such a manner as to support it, while the slightest pull on the bait would set the stick with the notches free, and thus permit the log to fall on the back of the fox, whose effort to reach the bait would necessarily place him under it.

While Harry was thus engaged, the accountant stood up and looked towards the foxes. They had approached so near in their curiosity that he was induced to throw his axe frantically at the foremost of the pack. This set them galloping off, but they soon halted, and sat down as before.

“What aggravating brutes they are, to be sure!” said Harry, with a laugh, as his companion returned with the hatchet.

“Humph! yes, but we’ll be upsides with them yet. Come along into the wood, and I wager that in ten minutes we shall have one.”

They immediately hurried towards the wood, but had not walked fifty paces when they were startled by a loud yell behind them.

“Dear me!” exclaimed the accountant, while he and Harry turned round with a start. “It cannot surely be possible that they have gone in already.” A loud howl followed the remark, and the whole pack fled over the plain like snow-drift, and disappeared.

“Ah, that’s a pity! something must have scared them to make them take wing like that. However, we’ll get one to-morrow for certain; so come along, lad, let us make for the camp.”

“Not so fast,” replied the other: “if you hadn’t pored over the big ledger till you were blind, you would see that there is one prisoner already.”

This proved to be the case. On returning to the spot they found an arctic fox in his last gasp, lying flat on the snow, with the heavy log across his back, which seemed to be broken. A slight tap on the snout with the accountant’s deadly axe-handle completed his destruction.

“We’re in luck to-night,” cried Harry, as he kneeled again to reset the trap. “But, after all, these white brutes are worth very little; I fancy a hundred of their skins would not be worth the black one you got first.”

“Be quick, Harry; the moon is almost down, and poor Hamilton will think that the polar bears have got hold of us.”

“All right! Now, then, step out;” and glancing once more at the trap to see that all was properly arranged, the two friends once more turned their faces homewards, and travelled over the snow with rapid strides.

The moon had just set, leaving the desolate scene in deep gloom, so that they could scarcely find their way to the forest; and when they did at last reach its shelter, the night became so intensely dark that they had almost to grope their way, and would certainly have lost it altogether were it not for the accountant’s thorough knowledge of the locality. To add to their discomfort, as they stumbled on snow began to fall, and ere long a pretty steady breeze of wind drove it sharply in their faces. However, this mattered but little, as they penetrated deeper in among the trees, which proved a complete shelter both from wind and snow. An hour’s march brought them to the mouth of the brook, although half that time would have been sufficient had it been daylight, and a few minutes later they had the satisfaction of hearing Hamilton’s voice hailing them as they pushed aside the bushes and sprang into the cheerful light of their encampment.

“Hurrah!” shouted Harry, as he leaped into the space before the fire, and flung the two foxes at Hamilton’s feet. “What do you think of that, old fellow? How are the heels? Rather sore, eh? Now for the kettle. ‘Polly, put the kettle on; we’ll all have—’ My eye! where’s the kettle, Hamilton? have you eaten it?”

“If you compose yourself a little, Harry, and look at the fire, you’ll see it boiling there.”

“Man, what a chap you are for making unnecessary speeches! Couldn’t you tell me to look at the fire, without the preliminary piece of advice to compose myself! Besides, you talk nonsense, for I’m composed already, of blood, bones, flesh, sinews, fat, and—”

“Humbug!” interrupted the accountant. “Lend a hand to get supper, you young goose!”

“And so,” continued Harry, not noticing the interruption, “I cannot be expected, nor is it necessary, to compose myself over again. But to be serious,” he added, “it was very kind and considerate of you, Hammy, to put on the kettle, when your heels were in a manner uppermost.”

“Oh, it was nothing at all; my heels are much better, thank you, and it kept me from wearying.”

“Poor fellow!” said the accountant, while he busied himself in preparing their evening meal, “you must be quite ravenous by this time—at least I am, which is the same thing.”

Supper was soon ready. It consisted of a large kettle of tea, a lump of pemmican, a handful of broken biscuit, and three ptarmigan,—all of which were produced from the small wooden box which the accountant was wont to call his camp-larder. The ptarmigan had been shot two weeks before, and carefully laid up for future use; the intense frost being a sufficient guarantee for their preservation for many months, had that been desired.

It would have done you good, reader (supposing you to be possessed of sympathetic feelings), to have witnessed those three nor’-westers enjoying their supper in the snowy camp. The fire had been replenished with logs, till it roared and crackled again, as if it were endued with a vicious spirit, and wished to set the very snow in flames. The walls shone like alabaster studded with diamonds, while the green boughs overhead and the stems around were of a deep red colour in the light of the fierce blaze. The tea-kettle hissed, fumed, and boiled over into the fire. A mass of pemmican simmered in the lid in front of it. Three pannikins of tea reposed on the green branches, their refreshing contents sending up little clouds of steam, while the ptarmigan, now split up, skewered, and roasted, were being heartily devoured by our three hungry friends.

The pleasures that fall to the lot of man are transient. Doubtless they are numerous and oft recurring; still they are transient, and so—supper came to an end.

“Now for a pipe,” said the accountant, disposing his limbs at full length on a green blanket. “O thou precious weed, what should we do without thee!”

“Smoke tea, to be sure,” answered Harry.

“Ah! true, it is possible to exist on a pipe of tea-leaves for a time, but only for a time. I tried it myself once, in desperation, when I ran short of tobacco on a journey, and found it execrable, but better than nothing.”

“Pity we can’t join you in that,” remarked Harry.

“True; but perhaps since you cannot pipe, it might prove an agreeable diversification to dance.”

“Thank you, I’d rather not,” said Harry; “and as for Hamilton, I’m convinced that his mind is made up on the subject.—How go the heels now?”

“Thank you, pretty well,” he replied, reclining his head on the pine branches, and extending his smitten members towards the fire. “I think they will be quite well in the morning.”

“It is a curious thing,” remarked the accountant, in a soliloquising tone, “that soft fellows never smoke!”

“I beg your pardon,” said Harry, “I’ve often seen hot loaves smoke, and they’re soft enough fellows, in all conscience!”

“Ah!” sighed the accountant, “that reminds me of poor Peterkin, who was so soft that he went by the name of ‘Butter.’ Did you ever hear of what he did the summer before last with an Indian’s head?”

“No, never; what was it?”

“I’ll tell you the story,” replied the accountant, drawing a few vigorous whiffs of smoke, to prevent his pipe going out while he spoke.

As the story in question, however, depicts a new phase of society in the woods, it deserves a chapter to itself.