The first fierce animus had worn itself from Kazan's blood, and he now
watched the beavers closely. He had learned that they were not fighters.
They were many to one and yet they ran from him like a lot of rabbits.
Broken Tooth had not even struck at him, and slowly it grew upon him
that these invading creatures that used both the water and land would
have to be hunted as he stalked the rabbit and the partridge. Early in
the afternoon he slipped off into the bush, followed by Gray Wolf. He
had often begun the stalking of a rabbit by moving _away_ from it and he
employed this wolf trick now with the beavers. Beyond the windfall he
turned and began trotting up the creek, with the wind. For a quarter of
a mile the creek was deeper than it had ever been. One of their old
fording places was completely submerged, and at last Kazan plunged in
and swam across, leaving Gray Wolf to wait for him on the windfall side
of the stream.
Alone he made his way quickly in the direction of the dam, traveling two
hundred yards back from the creek. Twenty yards below the dam a dense
thicket of alder and willow grew close to the creek and Kazan took
advantage of this. He approached within a leap or two of the dam without
being seen and crouched close to the ground, ready to spring forth when
the opportunity came. Most of the beavers were now working in the water.
The four or five still on shore were close to the water and some
distance up-stream. After a wait of several minutes Kazan was almost on
the point of staking everything on a wild rush upon his enemies when a
movement on the dam attracted his attention. Half-way out two or three
beavers were at work strengthening the central structure with cement.
Swift as a flash Kazan darted from his cover to the shelter behind the
dam. Here the water was very shallow, the main portion of the stream
finding a passage close to the opposite shore. Nowhere did it reach to
his belly as he waded out. He was completely hidden from the beavers,
and the wind was in his favor. The noise of running water drowned what
little sound he made. Soon he heard the beaver workmen over him. The
branches of the fallen birch gave him a footing, and he clambered up.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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