“I don’t s’pose thar’s reds ’bout, but thar’s no tellin’ whar they is. I didn’t see none last year, but they mought be ’bout now. Jes’ hold on a minute.” The banks of the stream were fringed by a deep under-growth upon both sides. Stepping forward to the water’s edge, the trapper parted the branches, and glancing a moment within, motioned for us to approach. “It’s all right,” said he, “there hain’t been no reds poki’ ’bout yer while I’s gone.” With this he stooped and pushed a small canoe into the water and slipped within it. We joined him, although our combined weight brought the frail vessel down to its very gunwales. It was made of bark after the Indian fashion, very light, but strong. Biddon dipped a long Indian paddle in the water and we moved slowly up-stream. After going a short distance, he again touched the bank, and from beneath another lot of shrubbery drew forth a number of beaver traps. These were similar to the common trap used in all parts of the world, and set much after the same fashion, but with a very different bait. At every point where signs of the animals were visible, he dug down the bank, so as to make a certain spot perpendicular. Just beneath the surface of the water he then placed the trap. The next and last proceeding was to smear the banks around with a very odoriferous oil, obtained from the beaver itself. This smell attracts the beavers in the vicinity, who immediately swim to the shore to learn more of it. The trap is so arranged that one is sure to place his foot directly upon it for support in ascending the bank, and the natural consequence follows. He is caught and falls into his mortal enemy’s hands. “Ef one don’t have a dinner on beaver tails tomorrow, then I’m a beaver,” remarked Biddon, after he had set all his traps, and headed his canoe down stream. “A dinner on beaver tails!” exclaimed Nat, in astonishment. “That must be a fine dinner, I swow.” “If you had read much of these animals, you would know that the part mentioned by Biddon, is the most delicious and nourishing portion,” said I. “And when you gits a bite of it, you’ll find it so, I reckons!” “Perhaps so,” replied Nat, doubtingly; “but whar ar’ you going to take us?” “You’ll find out when we get thar.” The trapper rowed the canoe quite a distance down stream, when he sheered it into shore close to where a huge chestnut, larger than any I had ever before witnessed, overhung the water. Its base was enveloped by a mass of undergrowth, denser than common, and we were obliged to stoop to the edge of the boat before we could make our way beneath it. As we sprang up the bank, it pulled up behind us, and I then noticed that the chestnut was hollow, and had a deep orifice at its base. “Foller,” commanded Biddon, stooping and crawling beneath it.