of these the
beavers often came, as was plainly seen in the tracks, so the trappers
approached them carefully.

They were scrutinizing one of them from behind a log, Quonab with ready
gun, Rolf holding the unwilling Skookum, when the familiar broad, flat
head appeared. A large beaver swam around the hole, sniffed and looked,
then silently climbed the bank, evidently making for a certain aspen
tree that he had already been cutting. He was in easy range, and the
gunner was about to fire when Rolf pressed his arm and pointed. Here,
wandering through the wood, came a large lynx. It had not seen or smelt
any of the living creatures ahead, as yet, but speedily sighted the
beaver now working away to cut down his tree.

As a pelt, the beaver was worth more than the lynx, but the naturalist
is strong in most hunters, and they watched to see what would happen.

The lynx seemed to sink into the ground, and was lost to sight as soon
as he knew of a possible prey ahead. And now he began his stalk. The
hunters sighted him once as he crossed a level opening in the snow. He
seemed less than four inches high as he crawled. Logs, ridges, trees,
or twigs, afforded ample concealment, till his whiskers appeared in a
thicket within fifteen feet of the beaver.

All this was painfully exciting to Skookum, who, though he could not
see, could get some thrilling whiffs, and he strained forward to improve
his opportunities. The sound of this slight struggle caught the beaver's
ear. It stopped work, wheeled, and made for the water hole. The lynx
sprang from his ambush, seized the beaver by the back, and held on;
but the beaver was double the lynx's weight, the bank was steep and
slippery, the struggling animals kept rolling down hill, nearer and
nearer the hole. Then, on the very edge, the beaver gave a great plunge,
and splashed into the water with the lynx clinging to its back. At once
they disappeared, and the hunters rushed to the place, expecting them to
float up and be an easy prey; but they did not float. At length it was
clear that the pair had gone under the ice, for in water the beaver was
master.

After five minutes it was certain that the lynx must be dead. Quonab cut
a sapling and made a grappler. He poked this way and that way under the
ice, until at length he felt something soft. With the hatchet they cut
a hole over the place and then dragged out the body of the lynx. The
beaver, of course, escaped and was probably little the w