s Fred heard a sound of falling
water in front, and supposed that they were approaching the river. He
was mistaken. Within a few yards they came upon a tiny lake fed by a
creek at one end and closed at the other by a pile of logs and brush.
Curious heaps of mud and sticks showed here and there above the water.
Horace uttered an exclamation.

"A beaver pond!" he cried. "That explains it all."

In a moment the same thought flashed over Fred and Macgregor. The
killing of beaver is entirely prohibited in Ontario; but in spite of
that, a good deal of illicit trapping goes on in the remote districts,
and the poachers usually carry their pelts across the line into the
Province of Quebec, where they can sell the fur. Naturally, the
trappers had resented the appearance of the three boys in the vicinity
of the beaver pond; the men had no wish to have their illegal trapping
discovered. It was the first beaver pond the boys had ever met with,
and in spite of their hurry they stopped to look at it. They came upon
two or three traps skillfully set under water, and one of them
contained a beaver, sleek and drowned, held under the surface.
Apparently the men intended to clean out the pond, for the season was
already late for fur.

After a few minutes the boys hurried on. They met no one on the way,
and they found everything undisturbed in camp; they kept a sharp
lookout all day, but no one came near them.

On the whole, they felt considerably relieved by the result of their
scouting. The lawbreakers had no right to order them off the ground.
For their own part, the boys felt under no obligation to interfere with
the beaver trappers.

"If we meet any of them again, we'll let them know plainly that we know
how things stand," said Mac. "We'll let them alone if they let us
alone, and I don't think there'll be any more trouble."

It rained hard that evening--a warm, steady downpour that lasted almost
until morning. The tent leaked, and the boys passed a wretched night.
But day came pleasant and warm, with a moist, springlike air; the
leaves had unfolded in the night. The warmth brought out the flies in
increased numbers. They smeared their skins with a fresh application
of "fly dope," and with little thought for the fur poachers, started
out again to prospect. All that day and the next they worked hard;
they saw nothing of the trappers, and found nothing even remotely
resembling blue clay.

The condition of their foot