Chapter 17 - Page 2

advancing toward a region

of scarcity.

In the course of his journey Captain Bonneville had occasion to

remark an instance of the many notions, and almost superstitions,

which prevail among the Indians, and among some of the white men,

with respect to the sagacity of the beaver. The Indian hunters of

his party were in the habit of exploring all the streams along

which they passed, in search of "beaver lodges," and occasionally

set their traps with some success. One of them, however, though

an experienced and skilful trapper, was invariably unsuccessful.

Astonished and mortified at such unusual bad luck, he at length

conceived the idea that there was some odor about his person of

which the beaver got scent and retreated at his approach. He

immediately set about a thorough purification. Making a rude

sweating-house on the banks of the river, he would shut himself

up until in a reeking perspiration, and then suddenly emerging,

would plunge into the river. A number of these sweatings and

plungings having, as he supposed, rendered his person perfectly

"inodorous," he resumed his trapping with renovated hope.

About the beginning of April they encamped upon Godin's River,

where they found the swamp full of "musk-rat houses." Here,

therefore, Captain Bonneville determined to remain a few days and

make his first regular attempt at trapping. That his maiden

campaign might open with spirit, he promised the Indians and free

trappers an extra price for every musk-rat they should take. All

now set to work for the next day's sport. The utmost animation

and gayety prevailed throughout the camp. Everything looked

auspicious for their spring campaign. The abundance of musk-rats

in the swamp was but an earnest of the nobler game they were to

find when they should reach the Malade River, and have a capital

beaver country all to themselves, where they might trap at their

leisure without molestation.

In the midst of their gayety a hunter came galloping into the

camp, shouting, or rather yelling, "A trail! a trail! -- lodge

poles! lodge poles!"

These were words full of meaning to a trapper's ear. They

intimated that there was some band in the neighborhood, and

probably a hunting party, as they had lodge poles for an

encampment. The hunter came up and told his story. He had

discovered a fresh trail, in which the traces made by the

dragging of lodge poles were distinctly visible. The buffalo,

too, had just been driven out of the neighborhood, which showed

that the hunters had already been on the range.

The