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