poke of the ways the Indians had, of cleaning out the whole
family," suggested the Boy, when Jabe had come to a long pause, either
because he was tired of talking or because he had no more to say.

"Yes, the Injuns' methods was complete. They seemed to have the idee
there'd always be beaver a-plenty, no matter how many they killed. One
way they had was to mark down the bank holes, the burrows, an' then
break open the houses. This, ye must understand, 's in the winter,
when there's ice all over the pond. When they're drove from their
houses, in the winter, they take straight to their burrows in the
bank, where they kin be sure of gittin' their heads above water to
breathe. Then, the Injuns jest drive stakes down in front of the
holes,--an' there they have 'em, every one. They digs down into the
burrows, an' knocks Mr. Beaver an' all the family on the head."

"Simple and expeditious!" remarked the Boy, with sarcastic approval.

"But the nestest job the Injuns makes," continued Jabe, "is by
gittin' at the brush pile. Ye know, the beaver keeps his winter
supply of grub in a pile,--a pile of green poles an' saplings an'
branches,--a leetle ways off from the house. The Injun finds this
pile, under the ice. Then, cuttin' holes through the ice, he drives
down a stake fence all 'round it, so close nary a beaver kin git
through. Then he pulls up a stake, on the side next the beaver
house, an' sticks down a bit of a sliver in its place. Now ye kin
guess what happens. In the house, over beyant, the beavers gits
hungry. One on 'em goes to git a stick from the pile an' bring it
inter the house. He finds the pile all fenced off. But a stick he
must have. Where the sliver is, that's the only place he kin git
through. Injun, waitin' on the ice, sees the sliver move, an' knows
Mr. Beaver's gone in. He claps the stake down agin, in place of the
sliver. An' then, of course, there's nawthin' left fer Mr. Beaver to
do but drown. He drowns jest at the place where he come in an'
couldn't git out agin. That seems to knock him out, like, an' he
jest gives up right there. Injun fishes him out, dead, puts the
sliver back, an' waits for another beaver. He don't have to wait
long--an' nine times outer ten he gits 'em all. Ye see, they _must_
git to the brush pile!"

[Illustration: "HE DROWNS JEST AT THE PLACE WHERE HE COME IN."]

"I'm glad _you_ don't trap them that way, Jabe!" said the Boy. "But
tell me, why did you bring me away out here to _