Mary Jane awoke the next morning to feeling her face and hair being stroked. Her eyes opened and she rolled over.

"Good morning,….sleepyhead." He chuckled a little. "Do you always sleep in late?"

"I'm sorry…" She smiled a little. "With all the excitement from yesterday….made me exhausted."

"That's okay…I was tired, myself." Sam smiled. "Sorry last night was painful for you…."

"It's all right….I knew it would happen." She said, holding herself up by her arms. "I'm all right now." Mary Jane smiled.

"Well, I'm glad." Sam smiled. "Are you going to stay in bed all day, huh?"

"Maybe….and…maybe not." She flashed a suggestive look at him and laid back down against the pillows.

"If so….may I join you?" He grinned.

Mary Jane shook her head and laughed at the disappointed look he gave her. She got up out of bed and went to him. Her lips parted as they welcomed his own. "You can join me….elsewhere." She whispered, and turned around so she could get her clothes ready for the day.

"Sweetheart…."

"What Sam?" Mary Jane looked at him.

He walked over to her and put his hands on her waist. "I think you still bled more from last night, there's a stain on the back of your nightgown."

"There is?" She asked, checking behind her. Sure enough, there was.

"Pushed you too hard last night…." He muttered. "I wanted you…..too much. We should've both just went to bed and did it in the morning. I'm sorry."

"Sam….I didn't protest one bit last night! The blood and the pain were expected. It's just what happens!"

"That's what hurts me…I caused you pain…."

"It won't be like that always….we'll have plenty of practice!" Mary Jane grinned at him. She shed herself of her nightgown and took both of his hands…"C'mere!"

"What?" He asked, but then his lips turned upward in a sneaky grin.

"Just come here!…" She laughed and stopped beside the white cast iron clawfoot slipper bath tub and placed his arms around her naked body. She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and kissed him on the lips, gently sucking on his bottom lip and pulling away slowly. A few buckets of warm water were sitting on the Franklin stove, used to heat the room. She filled the bath tub with the warm water and grabbed a bar of soap and gave it to him. Mary Jane unbuttoned his shirt and undid his trousers he was wearing and led him to the little bath tub.

"You…Me….Small space." Sam grinned. "I'm liking this already!" He said, stepping out of his underclothing and into the little bath tub.

"I thought so." Mary Jane laughed, joining him. "And what better way to explore each other's bodies?…"

"Good idea, Mary Jane Gruber Zust…" Sam grinned at her. Mary Jane beamed back. It was interesting to hear her maiden name and her new last name together for the first time.

Mary Jane closed her eyes as he made the soap into a gentle lather and began rubbing it on her body. She loved that she could finally and freely, feel his touch. There was no worry…no fear. She had no regrets. She was beginning to love this time with him, and knew there would be many more.

(

Eleven year old Freddy Lay was sitting on the little couch in the parlor reading the new book his grandfather gave him, "With Trapper Jim in the North Woods."

"CHAPTER I.

WHAT LUCK DID FOR THE CHUMS.

"It was a long trip, fellows, but we're here at last, thank goodness!"

"Yes, away up in the North Woods, at the hunting lodge of Trapper Jim!"

"Say, it's hard to believe, and that's a fact. What do you say about it,

you old stutterer, Toby Jucklin?"

"B-b-bully!" exploded the boy, whose broad shoulders, encased in a blue

flannel shirt, had been pounded when this question was put directly at

him.

There were five of them, half-grown boys all, lounging about in the most

comfortable fashion they could imagine in the log cabin which Old Jim

Ruggles occupied every fall and winter.

"Trapper Jim" they called him, and these boys from Carson had long been

yearning to accept the hearty invitation given to spend a week or two

with the veteran woodsman. A year or so back, Jim had dropped down to see

his brother Alfred, who was a retired lawyer living in their home town.

And it was at this time they first found themselves drawn toward Jim

Ruggles.

When he heard of several little camping experiences which had befallen

Toby Jucklin and his chums, the trapper had struck up a warm friendship

with the boy who seemed to be the natural leader of the lot, Max

Hastings.

Well, they had been writing back and forth this long time. Eagerly had

the boys planned a visit to the North Woods, and bent all their energies

toward accomplishing that result.

And now, at last, they found themselves under the shelter of the roof

that topped Old Jim's cabin. Their dreams had come true, so that several

weeks of delightful experiences in the great Northern forest lay before

them.

Besides Toby Jucklin, who stuttered violently at times, and Max Hastings,

who had had considerable previous experience in outdoor life, there were

Steve Dowdy, whose quick temper and readiness to act without considering

the consequences had long since gained him the name of "Touch-and-Go

Steve"; Owen Hastings, a cousin to Max, and who, being a great reader,

knew more or less about the theory of things; and last, but not least, a

boy who went by the singular name of "Bandy-legs" Griffin.

At home and in school they called him Clarence; but his comrades, just as

all boys will do, early in his life seized upon the fact of his lower

limbs being unusually short to dub him "Bandy-legs."

Strange to say, the Griffin lad never seemed to show the least resentment

in connection with this queer nickname. If the truth were told, he really

preferred having it, spoken by boyish lips, than to receive that detested

name of Clarence.

These five boys had come together with the idea of having a good time in

the great outdoors during vacation days.

And Fortune had been very kind to them right in the start. Although Max

always declared that it was some remark of his cousin that put him on the

track, and Owen on his part vowed that the glory must rest with Max

alone, still the fact remained that once the idea popped up it was

eagerly seized upon by both boys.

They needed more or less cash with which to purchase tents, guns, and

such other things as appeal to boys who yearn to camp out, fish, hunt,

and enjoy the experiences of outdoor life.

As the Glorious Fourth had exhausted their savings banks, this bright

idea was hailed with more or less glee by the other three members of the

club.

It was not an original plan, but that mattered nothing. Success was what

they sought, and to attain it the boys were quite willing to follow any

old beaten path.

An account of valuable pearls being found in mussels that were picked up

along certain streams located in Indiana, Arkansas, and other states,

suggested the possibility of like treasures near at home.

Now, Carson, their native town, lay upon the Evergreen River; and this

stream had two branches, called the Big Sunflower and the Elder. The boys

knew that there were hundreds of mussels to be found up the former

stream. They had seen the shells left by hungry muskrats, and even

gathered a few to admire the rainbow-hued inside coating, which Owen told

them was used in the manufacture of pearl buttons.

But up to that time no one apparently had dreamed that there might be a

snug little fortune awaiting the party who just started in to gather the

mussels along the Big Sunflower.

This Max and his chums had done. Their success had created quite an

excitement around Carson.

When it was learned what was going on, farm hands deserted their daily

tasks; boys quit loafing away the vacation days, and even some of those

who toiled in the factories were missing from their looms.

Everybody hunted for pearls. The little Big Sunflower never saw such

goings on. They combed its waters over every rod of the whole mile where

the fresh-water clams seemed to exist.

When the furor was over, and there were hardly half a hundred wretched

mussels left in the waters that had once upon a time fairly teemed with

them, the results were very disappointing.

Two or three small pearls had been found, it is true, but the majority of

the seekers had to be satisfied with steamed mussels, or fresh-water clam

chowder, as a reward for their hard work.

The wide-awake boys who first conceived the idea had taken the cream of

the pickings. And from a portion of the money secured through the sale of

these beautiful pearls they had purchased everything needed to fill the

heart of a camper with delight.

Here, as the afternoon sun headed down toward the western horizon, the

boys, having arrived by way of a buckboard wagon at noon, were looking

into the flames of Trapper Jim's big fire in the log cabin, and mentally

shaking hands with each other in mutual congratulation over their good

fortune.

There was a decided tang of frost in the air, which told that the summer

season was gone and early fall arrived.

It might seem strange that these boys, who in October might be expected

to be deep in the fall school term, should be away from home and up in

the wilderness.

That was where Good Luck remembered them again, and the explanation is

simple enough.

Even in the well-managed town of Carson, school directors sometimes

neglected their work. And in this year, when the vacation period was

three quarters over, the discovery was made that the big building was in

such a bad condition that certain extensive repairs would have to be

made.

In consequence, greatly to the delight of the older scholars, it was

decided that school for them could not take up until the middle of

November.

As soon as Max learned of this delightful fact he knew the time had come

for their long-promised visit to Trapper Jim.

They had been tempted to go during the summer months, but as there was

little to do in the woods at that period of the year save fishing, the

boys had been holding off.

Now they could expect to use their guns; to see how Jim set his cunning

traps that netted him such rich rewards each winter season, and to enjoy

to the full that most glorious time of the whole year in the woods, the

autumn season, when the leaves are colored by the early frosts and the

first ice forms on the shores of the little trout streams.

As the afternoon passed they recovered from the effects of the long

railroad journey overnight and the joggling buckboard experience. A

thousand questions had been fired at Jim, who was a good-humored old

fellow with a great love for boys in his heart.

"Take things kind of easy to-day, boys," he kept on saying, when they

wanted to know why he didn't get busy and show them all the wonderful

things he had in store for his lively young visitors. "I want you to rest

up and be in good trim for tomorrow. Plenty of time to begin work then.

Knock around and see what it looks like where Old Jim has had his hunting

lodge this seven years back."

So they did busy themselves prying into things. And between that hour and

dark there were very few spots around the immediate neighborhood that

they had not examined.

Jim's stock of well-kept Victor steel traps were commented on, and

stories listened to in connection with this one or that. No wonder the

hunting instinct in the lads was pretty well aroused by the time they had

heard some of these stirring accounts.

"If the whole bunch of traps could only talk, now," declared Owen, as he

handled a big one meant for bear, "wouldn't they make the shivers run up

and down our backbones, though?"

Trapper Jim only smiled.

He had a thousand things to tell the boys, but, of course, he did not

want to exhaust the subject in the beginning. By degrees they should hear

all about his many adventures. It would be his daily pleasures

to thrill his boy visitors with these truthful stories as they gathered

each night around the roaring fire and rested after the day's work.

The shades of night, their very first night in those wonderful North

Woods of which they had dreamed so long, were fast gathering now.

Already the shadows had issued forth from their hiding places, and the

woods began to assume a certain gloomy look.

Later on, the moon, being just past the full, would rise above the top of

the distant hills toward the east. Then the woods might not seem so

strangely mysterious.

"When you're ready to begin getting supper, Uncle Jim," said Max, "you

must let us lend a hand. We don't know it all by a long sight, but we can

cook some, and eat-wait till you see Steve begin, and Toby-Why, hello,

here we've been chattering away like a flock of crows and never noticed

that our chum Toby was missing all the while!"

"Missing!" echoed Steve, jumping up eagerly at the prospect of their

first adventure coming along; and no doubt already picturing all of them

stalking through the big timber, lanterns and torches in hand, searching

for the absent chum.

"Who saw him last?" asked Max.

"Why, a little before dark," Owen answered, promptly, "I noticed him

prowling around out among the trees. He called out that a cottontail

rabbit had jumped up and was just daring him to chase after her."

"Looks like he accepted the dare, all right," said Bandy-legs.

"Where's a lantern? I choose a lantern. You other fellows can carry the

torches, because I got burned the last time I tried that game."

Steve was already beginning to hunt around as he talked, when Trapper

Jim, who had meanwhile gone and opened the door of the cabin, called to

them to be still.

"I thought I heard him right then," he said, "and it sounded to me like

he was calling for help. Get both those lanterns, boys, and light 'em.

We've got to look into this thing right away."

CHAPTER II.

HOW POOR TOBY WAS "RESCUED."

Of course the greatest excitement followed this announcement on the part

of the old trapper.

Steve darted this way and that, fairly wild to do something; and

Bandy-legs, too, showed himself anxious to help. But, as usual, it was

cool Max, assisted by Owen, who managed to light the two lanterns.

Steve pounced on the first one that was ready, true to his word…"

"Freddy, put that book down. It's time for supper."

"Aw Mama! I was just gettin' into chapter two! Can't I read just a bit more? It's gettin' interetin'! Somethin's happened to that kid, Toby! I wanna find out!"

"Freddy…." Frances spoke his name in a warning tone, with her arms crossed against her chest.

"Yes Ma'am…." He said, placing a little folded piece of paper inside the book and got up.

"Have you finished your homework yet?"

"Yes."

"Your chores?" She asked.

"Yes Mama." Freddy answered.

"All right then. You can read a little more after supper…."

"Speakin' of which….What are we havin'? I'm real hungry!"

"Sometimes I feel you're always hungry!" Frances laughed, placing her hands on his shoulders and then rubbed his back. "We're having coon and kraut…."

"Raccoon and sauerkraut! With the sliced apples n' onions again?"

"You bet!" Frances smiled.

"Oh boy!" He said running into the kitchen and sat down next to his nine year old little sister. Their father wasn't home yet, so Freddy prayed and then they began eating.

"The book Grandpa gave me is getting real interesting!"

"Yes, you told me that, Freddy…" Frances smiled.

"Well, it is!…I like it that it's about trapping and hunting and stuff like that. Adventure!"

"It is not interesting." Helen said. "I think it's stupid! I read two pages and I got bored with it."

"That's 'cause you only read two single pages, silly." Freddy said slyly, his jaw jutting out to the side.

"Yeah, and you look silly when you jut your jaw out like that….Moosejaw!"

"Don't call me that!" Freddy whined.

"Moosejaw!"

"You call me that again and…I'll…I'll tell the Lansing boy the time you ran around stark naked at the church ice cream social!" Freddy threatened.

"I was two!...And you better not tell him that!" The nine year old shouted.

"Why do you like him?...I hear he's courtin' that Wernke girl anyway!"

"Children, enough bickering!...Eat your supper!" Frances said sternly.

"Yes Mama." Freddy said. He took a bite of his supper. "The apples are really good!"

"Thank you, sweetheart…..Your sister helped me dice them."

"Oh…." He said, stuffing more into his mouth. "Nice…I guess." Freddy muttered, to which nine year old Helen stuck her tongue out at her older brother.

"Evening everybody!" Fred said, walking through the back door.

"Hey Papa!" Freddy smiled.

"Hello!..." He grinned, ruffling the boy's auburn hair and gave Helen a kiss on the cheek. "Supper smells great! Coon n' kraut! My new favorite meal!...With apples and onions?" Fred smiled, turning his head up at his wife.

Frances chuckled. "Like father like son….Freddy asked me the same thing earlier…Yes, with apples and onions!" She chuckled.

"Speaking of apples….I've got something out in the summer kitchen." Fred smiled. "Go take a look…"

"Well, all right…." Frances smiled, wondering what it was he had….and so she stepped out into the summer kitchen.

"A wooden barrel…" She chuckled.

"Thought it would be good to keep those apples in….instead of that old one you have." He said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"You made this?" She smiled at him.

"Well, yeah…." He grinned.

"Thank you, honey….I really like it." Frances smiled, and gave him a peck on the lips. "I was just…using what I had…." She smiled. "Thank you for going through this much trouble to make a new one….You're wonderful, you know that?" She smiled at him.

"Nah, you are." He grinned, and picked up the barrel and put it inside. "You deserve it."

"Well, thank you." She smiled.

"Nice barrel, Papa." Freddy spoke up.

"Thanks….Help me carry down to the cellar, will ya?"

"Sure, Papa…" Freddy said, bolting up from his seat and grabbed the bottom of the barrel and started going down the stairs to the cellar.

"You guys be careful! I'd hate to have you fall on those stairs!" Frances said, standing at the top of the stairs, watching them make their way down into the room with the limestone walls and floor.

"We've got it honey, don't worry." Fred chuckled.

"Yeah, Mama! We're real strong!"

Frances stifled a small laugh at her eleven year old son. "Well, my strong men better get that done so they can eat their supper."

"Yeah, Mama!" She heard him call.

"We'll just set it next to my shelves there, Freddy….That'll do."

"Okay, Papa…." Freddy grunted, getting a better grip on the barrel and walked to the back of the room where there were all sorts of tin shelves up on the back wall. Fred kept his tools and things there. There also was a few round, tin bath tubs in the middle of the room, where Frances would wash the clothes in the wintertime.

"Good job, son…" Fred said, patting him on the back. "Now c'mon, let's get upstairs and eat. I'm starving!"

"Me too!" Freddy said, and ran upstairs.

Fred chuckled and trudged his way up the stairs, and sat down at the table.

"You know I'll need your help tomorrow, kids…" Frances said. "Nona's bringing Fran and Snooky over, while she and Joe visit with her parents out of town…."

"Aw Mama! Do I gotta help?" Freddy whined a little.

"I hope you will, Freddy…." She told him.

"But I don't wanna watch some little girls!...I get enough of Helen now!"

"Hey!" Helen shouted.

"Freddy…." His father said in a stern manner.

"I wanted to go deer huntin' tomorrow." Freddy said, pressing a hand against his cheek.

"Maybe you can for a while…" Frances said. "But I do need you and your sister's help tomorrow…I'm going to do some mending….and sewing needles and two month olds don't mix." She laughed a little. "I can't look after her and do the mending both at once!"

"Do I gotta watch Snooky the whole time?"

"No, of course not." She said. "But if you two will keep an eye on little Fran."

"All right." Freddy mumbled. He wasn't so fond of the idea of having to watch his three year old and two month old cousins. "I still wanna go hunting."

Frances sighed. "I promise you…you will."

"Okay…" Freddy mumbled.

Fred laughed a little.

"What?" His wife asked him.

"What a nickname! "Snooky" How you get "Snooky" out of Leonona….I'll never know." Fred joked.

"It's a popular pet name in Germany, honey." Frances smiled.

"I knew that." He laughed. "Just, why "Snooky?"

"Who knows how children get their nicknames?" Frances said. "I think Joe just liked it."

"Yeah, like that one black boy's nickname is "Chocolate Baby" Freddy exclaimed with a laugh. "What a nickname!"

"Freddy, I wish you wouldn't call the boy that...Its sounds racist."

"Oh Mama, I wasn't callin' him that! Besides, he likes being called 'Chocolate Baby'!"

"Uh huh..." She said, in an, 'I don't think so' tone.

"Or what about my nickname?" Helen said, changing the subject. "Why would Grandpa pick a nickname for me like, 'Moanie'?"

"Maybe 'cause you moan and complain all the time!" Freddy said.

"Shut up!" Helen shouted at her brother. "More like you do!"

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do!" Helen shouted.

"Children! That's enough yelling at each other!...Eat your supper!"

"Yes Mama!" They both said, and ate the rest of their supper.

"Freddy! Slow down, ….you'll choke, boy!" His father laughed at him a little.

"He wants to get done so he can go back to reading his book…what's it called? 'Trapper John in the Big Woods'?" Frances said.

"Trapper Jim!" Freddy said. "'Trapper Jim in the North Woods!'...It's neat, Papa! It's about these five boys, 'round my age! And they go on this hunting trek with this old trapper guy, Jim Ruggles! Of course, he's a trapper, so that's why they call him Trapper Jim…..so….he goes on the trek with the boys, and one of the boys, Toby Jucklin…He's a stutterer….and anyway, he's gone missin'! That's all I've read so far! I like it 'cause I think it's got huntin' and fishin' in it…oh and trappin'! I wanna be a trapper! Bring in money, ya know, Papa?"

"Sounds like quite a fine book, son." Fred said. "Yeah, I think that'd be good for you to raise a little money….teach you responsibility. What do you think you'd trap? All animals….or you gonna limit yourself to one?"

Freddy shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know…."

"Well, maybe we'll get you some trapping books from the mercantile."

"Neat!" Freddy grinned.

"I know how much you like readin' books….and when we get out there, I can teach you some things."

"All right, Papa…." Freddy smiled. "Mama, can I go read now? I'm finished."

"You may…but while you sister gathers the plates and things from the table and puts them in the wash tub….I want you to go out to the well and get a bucket of water for me, please."

"Sure, Mama!" He said, grabbed the water bucket and headed out the back door. He soon burst through the door again, with the water bucket in hand and gave it to his mother.

"Now can I go read?"

"Yes! Go!...Go read!" Frances laughed and watched him sprint through the door of the kitchen, through her sewing room and into the parlor, where he planted himself on the little couch and opened his book and continued where he left off…

"Come on, you slow pokes!" he exclaimed, making for the door; "why, our

poor chum might be drowning for all we know, and us wasting time here."

"Oh, I reckon it ain't so bad as that," remarked Trapper Jim. "Hard to

drown a tall boy in a three-foot deep crick. Besides, he's up the wind

from here, while the water lies the other way. That's one reason none of

us heard him before."

They were all hurrying along by now. Bandy-legs, being a little timid,

and not altogether liking the looks of the dark woods, had picked up the

gun belonging to Max.

"My goodness!" he called out after the others, being in the rear of the

little procession, "there's no telling how long poor old Toby might 'a'

been letting out his whoops, and with that door shut we didn't hear him."

"Well, we can right now, all right!" called back Steve, who was running

neck and neck with the trapper, swinging his lighted lantern in such a

reckless, haphazard fashion that he was in momentary danger of smashing

the useful article against some tree.

They could all hear Toby calling very clearly now.

"Help! Oh, h-h-help!"

"One thing sure," Max remarked; "Toby hasn't tumbled down into a hollow

tree stump! His yells sound too plain for that."

"Oh, shucks; forget it!" said Bandy-legs.

Some time before, while the boys were hunting for Bandy-legs, who had

become lost in a large swamp not twenty miles away from Carson, they had

finally found him, caged fast inside a large hollow stump. He had climbed

to the top of this to take an observation, when the rotten wood, giving

way, had allowed him to fall inside.

It had been a bitter experience for Bandy-legs, and his chums never

mentioned it without him shivering, as memory again carried him back to

the hours of suffering he had spent in his woody prison.

As they advanced the cries grew louder:

"H-h-help! Boys, oh, b-b-boys, come q-q-quick! I can't h-h-hold on much

longer!"

"Say, he must be away up in a tree!" exclaimed Steve.

"No, his voice sounds closer to the ground than that," declared Max.

"Tell you what," panted Bandy-legs from behind, "he's just gone and fell

over some old cliff, that's what. You know how clumsy Toby is."

That sounded rather queer, since it was the speaker himself who had

always been getting into scrapes because of this trait.

"Cliff!" snorted Steve, "like to know how anybody could ever fall up a

cliff. You mean a precipice, silly."

"Guess I do," admitted Bandy-legs, "but it's all the same. If you're on

top it's a precipice, and if you're down below-"

"Listen to him holler, would you?" interrupted Steve. "Hold on, Toby,

we're coming as fast as we c'n sprint! Keep up a little longer! It's all

right! Your pards are on the job!"

Max thought he saw Trapper Jim laughing about this time. From this he

imagined the other must have guessed the true state of affairs, and that

poor Toby could not be in such desperate straits as they believed.

The darkness was intense there under the trees.

Several times did impulsive Steve stumble over obstacles which in his

eagerness he had failed to notice.

Trapper Jim was doubtless sizing the various boys up by degrees, and long

before now he had read most of their leading characteristics. But anyone

would be able to know the headstrong nature of Steve Dowdy, after being

in his company for an hour.

"Where are you, Toby, old fellow?" called Steve.

"H-h-here! L-l-lookout, or you'll f-f-fall over, too," came weakly from a

point just ahead of them.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" shouted Bandy-legs. "It is a precipice after

all, and p'r'aps an awful high one! Hold on, Toby, don't you dare let

loose when we're right at hand."

Max had felt a thrill again at the prospect of such a peril threatening

Toby. But another look at Trapper Jim reassured him.

"Yes," said Jim, "be mighty careful how you step, boys. Get down on your

hands and knees and creep up here to the edge of the awful chasm. Now,

hold the lanterns down, so we can all of us see."

Cautiously did the alarmed Steve do as he was told. Four pairs of eager

eyes took in the situation. Amazement staggered the boys for the space of

ten seconds. Then they burst out into loud laughter.

And no wonder.

Toby was hanging there all right, red of face from his long-continued

exertion, and looking appealingly up to his chums. He had caught hold of

a friendly stout root as he found himself going over, and to this he

clung, digging his toes from time to time into the face of the

"precipice," and in this way managing to sustain himself, though almost

completely exhausted by the alarm and strain combined.

"Ain't you g-g-goin' to h-h-help me?" he gasped, amazed no doubt to hear

his heartless chums laughing at his misfortune.

"Let go, Toby!" cried Max.

"Yes, drop down and take a rest!" added Steve, who could enjoy a joke to

the utmost when it was on Toby, with whom he often had words; though all

the same they were quite fond of each other.

"W-w-want me to get s-s-smashed, d-d-don't you?" answered back the

indignant boy, as he continued to clutch that root, as though he believed

it to be the only thing between himself and destruction.

"Look down, you loon!" cried Steve. "Call that a big drop? Why, I declare

the ground ain't more'n six inches down below your feet! Shucks; did I

ever hear the like!"

Toby did twist his neck the best he could and look. Then with a glad cry

he released his hold on the friendly root to fall in a heap.

"Let's get down to him," said Trapper Jim, "he must be pretty well used

up, I reckon. Perhaps he's been hangin' thar half an hour'n more."

"But whatever made him do such a silly thing?" asked Steve, as they

proceeded to go around the edge of the little "sink," led by the trapper,

who knew every foot of ground.

"Well, I don't know that it was so queer after all," declared Jim; "you

see, when he fell over here in the dark, how was Toby to know whether he

was hanging over a precipice ten feet deep or a hundred? All he could do

was to keep hold of that root and holler for help."

"And he did that to beat the band," declared Owen.

"I guess it was all real to him," the trapper went on to say; "and

chances are, when he heard the trickling of this little brook that runs

through the sink here, he thought it was a river away below him. Oh, I

can feel for Toby all right. I once had an experience myself something

like his. But here we are down. How're you feeling, son?"

"P-p-pretty r-r-rocky," declared Toby, who was sitting up when they

reached him, and seemed to be trembling all over, as the result of the

nervous strain to which he had been subjected.

"Don't blame you a bit," declared Max, who saw that the poor chap had in

truth suffered considerably. "Lots of fellows would have thought the same

as you did, Toby. I might myself, if I'd slipped down that way in the

dark. Here, grab hold with me, Steve, and we'll help Toby home."

"Anyhow," admitted Toby, as they put their arms about him, "I'm g-g-glad

you did c-c-come. R-r-reckon I'd f-f-fainted if I just had to let

g-g-go."

"Rats! I don't believe it," scoffed the unbelieving Steve.

Once they reached the trapper's cabin, and came under the cheerful

influence of that crackling fire, even Toby's spirits rose again. He had

by this time recovered some of his usual grit, and could afford to laugh

with the rest at his recent experience.

It was about as Trapper Jim suspected.

Toby had been tempted to follow the lame rabbit for some little distance

into the woods. Finally, finding that he had gone pretty far, and with

night closing in rapidly all around him, the boy had started to return.

Becoming a little confused, he had stumbled one way and another, and in

the end fallen over the edge of the shallow sink.

Throwing out his hands even as he felt himself falling, he had caught

hold of the projecting root. Here he had hung, trying again and again to

climb up, but in vain; and quite sure that a terrible void lay beyond his

dangling legs.

At first Toby had been too alarmed to even think of calling for help. But

as time went by, and he realized the desperate nature of his predicament,

he tried to shout.

This was never an easy task to the stuttering boy, and doubtless he made

a sorry mess out of it.

But all's well that ends well. Toby had been gallantly rescued, and now

the five chums were doing their level best to assist Trapper Jim prepare

supper.

Would they ever forget the delights of that first meal under the roof of

the forest cabin? Often had they partaken of a camp dinner, but never

before had it seemed to have the same flavor as this one did, surrounded

as they were with those bunches of suggestive steel traps, the furs that

told of Jim's prowess in other days, and above all having the presence

of the grizzled trapper himself, a veritable storehouse of wonderful

information and thrilling experiences.

And after the meal was finished they made themselves as comfortable as

each could arrange it, using all Jim's furs in the bargain.

"Now, let's lay out the programme for tomorrow," suggested Max.

"Me to try for the first deer," spoke up Steve, quickly. "Squirrel stew,

like we had for supper to-night, is all very well, but it ain't in the

same class with fresh venison. Yum, yum, my mouth fairly waters for it,

boys!"

"Some like venison and some say gray nut-fed squirrels," remarked Trapper

Jim. "As for me, give me squirrel every time."

"But we ought to try and get one deer anyway, hadn't we?" Steve pleaded.

"Sure we will," replied the owner of the cabin, heartily, "and I hope it

falls to your gun, Steve, seeing you dote on venison so. But it might be

to-morrow I'd like to set a few of my traps, and reckoned that some of

you boys'd want to watch me do the job."

"That's right," cried Owen and Max together, their eyes fairly sparkling

with delight at the anticipated treat.

So they talked on, and Trapper Jim told lots of mighty interesting things

as he smoked his old black pipe and sent curling wreaths of blue smoke up

the broad throat of the chimney.

"Wonder if the moon ain't up long before now?" remarked Steve, finally.

"Go and find out," suggested Bandy-legs.

Whereupon Steve arose, stretched his cramped legs, and, going over to the

door, opened it. They saw him pass out, and as the trapper had started to

relate another of his deeply interesting experiences the boys devoted

their attention to him. But it was not three minutes later when Steve

came rushing into the cabin, his eyes filled with excitement, and his

voice raised to almost a shout as he cried out:

"Wolves; a whole pack of 'em comin' tearin' mad this way!"

CHAPTER III.

WHAT WOODCRAFT MEANT.

"Wolves! Oh, my gracious! You don't say!" cried Bandy-legs, making a dive

for the two sleeping bunks that Steve had built along one side of the

inside wall of the cabin.

Of course there was an immediate scurrying around. All the other boys

were on their feet instantly, even tired Toby with the rest.

Max instinctively threw a glance toward the corner where his faithful gun

stood. He did not jump to secure it, however, because something caused

him to first of all steal a quick look at Trapper Jim. When he discovered

that worthy with a broad smile upon his face, Max decided that after all

the danger could hardly be as severe as indications pointed.

Meanwhile Steve had managed to slam the door shut, and was holding it so

with his whole weight while he tried to adjust the bar properly in its

twin sockets.

Steve was trembling all over with excitement. A thing like this was apt

to stir him up tremendously.

"Why don't some of you lend a hand here?" he kept calling out. "Plague

take that clumsy old bar, won't it ever take hold? Get my gun for me,

can't you, Bandy-legs? Listen to the varmints a-tryin' to break in, would

you. Wow! Ain't they mad I fooled them, though? Say, I wonder now if

they'd think to get on the roof and come down the chimbly. Hand me my

gun, Bandy-legs! Get a move on you!"

By this time Jim was doubled up with laughter.

"Hold on you cannon-ball express boy," he remarked, as he stepped over

and began to take away the bar which Steve had managed to get in place

with so much trouble; "I guess we'll have to let these critters come in.

They look on Uncle Jim's cabin as their home."

"What, wolves!" gasped Steve.

"Well, hardly, but my two dogs, Ajax and Don," replied the trapper. "You

see, I didn't want them along when I borrowed that buckboard and team to

fetch you all here. So I left 'em with a neighbor three miles off, and

told him to set 'em loose to-night. So you thought they were wolves, did

you, Steve? Well, I guess they look somethin' that way, and the moonlight

was a little deceivin', too."

With that he threw open the door.

Immediately a couple of shaggy dogs bounded in and began barking

furiously as they jumped up at their master, showing all the symptoms of

great joy.

"Sho, one'd think they hadn't seen me for a whole month, instead of only

a few hours," laughed Trapper Jim, as he fondled the dogs.

Then the five boys in turn were introduced, as gravely as though Ajax and

Don might be human beings.

"They're quick to catch on," remarked Trapper Jim. "They know now you're

all friends of mine, and you can depend on 'em to stand by you through

thick and thin."

"What are they good for?" asked Bandy-legs.

"This smaller one is reckoned the best 'coon dog in the woods," replied

the other, patting the head of Don. "If there's a striped-tail in the

district and I set him to working, he'll get him up a tree sooner or

later. And when the animal is knocked to the ground Don knows just how to

get the right grip on his throat."

"But his ears are all slit, and his head looks like it had been scratched

and gouged a whole lot," remarked Steve.

"Well, old 'coons, they've got pretty sharp claws sometimes, ain't they,

Don?" continued the old trapper. "And in the excitement a dog can't

always just defend himself, eh, old fellow! They will get a dig in once

in a while, spite of us."

Don barked three times, just as if he understood every single word his

master was saying.

"And how about Ajax?" Bandy-legs continued.

"He's a general all-around dog, and ain't afraid of anything that walks.

Why, boys, I've known him to tackle and kill the biggest lynx ever seen

in these parts, and that's something few dogs could do."

"What's a lynx?" asked Bandy-legs.

"A species of wildcat that sometimes strays down this way across the

Canada border," replied the trapper. "Generally speaking, he's bigger'n

the other and fierce as all get out. Fact is, I believe I'd sooner have a

panther tackle me than a full-grown, ugly tempered lynx. Some people call

it the 'woods devil,' and they hit it pretty near right, too."

"Hasn't a lynx got some sort of mark about him that makes him look

different from the ordinary bobcat?" asked Owen.

"Why, yes," replied Trapper Jim, "there's some difference in the beasts;

but I reckon the little tassels that kinder adorn the ears of the lynx

mark him most of all."

"Looks like a full house, now," remarked Max, who had not hesitated to

make up with both the dogs, being very fond of their kind.

"Oh, while I have company Ajax and Don'll have to sleep in the shed or

lean-to outside," remarked the master of the dogs. "Of course, when I'm

here all by myself they stay indoors with me. And I tell you, lads, they

make a fellow feel less lonely in the long winter days and nights. Dogs

are men's best friends-that is, the right kind of dogs. They become

greatly attached to you, too."

Toby just then seemed to become greatly excited. Finding it difficult to

express himself as he wanted, he pointed straight at Steve, and was heard

to say:

"A-a-attached to you! S-s-sure they do; S-s-steve knows! Saw one attached

to h-h-him once. Wouldn't h-h-hardly let go."

At that there were loud shouts, and even Steve himself could hardly keep

from grinning at the recollection of the picture Toby's words recalled.

"'Spose you fellers never will get over that affair," he remarked, as

he put his hand behind him, just as if after all these months he still

felt a pain where the dog had bitten him. "Cost me a good pair of

trousers, too, in the bargain. It was a bulldog," he added, turning

toward Trapper Jim, "and he was so much attached to me that he followed

me halfway 'over a seven-foot fence. Would have gone the whole thing only

the cloth gave way and he lost his grip."

"Well, that showed a warm, generous nature," remarked Trapper Jim; "some

dogs are marked that way."

"This one was," declared Steve. "But I got even with the critter."

"How was that?" asked the other, looking a little serious; for, himself a

lover of dogs, he never liked to hear of one being abused.

"I got me one of those little liquid pistols, you know, and laid for my

old enemy," Steve continued; "he saw me passing by and came bouncing out

to try my other leg. But he changed his mind in a big hurry. And, say,

you just ought to 'a' heard him yelp when he turned around and faced the

other way."

"You didn't blind the poor beast, I hope?" remarked Jim.

"Oh, nothin' to speak of," said Steve, gayly. "He was all right the next

day. Ammonia smarts like fun for awhile, but it goes off. But, listen,

whenever I passed that house, if old Beauty was sitting on the steps like

he used to do, as soon as he glimpsed me, would you believe it, he'd turn

tail and run quick for the back yard and watch me around the comer of the

house."

"You had him tamed, all right," said Max.

"We called it an even break, and let it go at that," said Steve.

When the boys began to yawn, and betrayed unmistakable evidences of being

sleepy, their host showed them how he had arranged it so that they could

all sleep comfortably.

There were only two wooden bunks, one above the other. Trapper Jim was to

occupy the lower one, and turn about, the five boys were to have the

other.

This necessitated four of them sleeping on the floor each night. But as

there were plenty of soft furs handy, and the boys announced that they

always enjoyed being able to stretch out on the ground, Jim knew he would

have no trouble on this score.

So the first night passed.

Perhaps none of them slept as well as usual. This nearly always turns out

to be the case with those who go into the wilderness for a spell. The

change from home comforts and soft beds to the hardships that attend

roughing it can be set down as the principal cause.

However, nothing serious occurred during the night calculated to disturb

them. It is true Toby did fall out of the upper berth once, landing on a

couple of the others with a thump, but then such a little matter was

hardly worth mentioning between friends.

And they could understand how Toby must be dreaming of his recent

trouble, as he hung over that terrible abyss by his hold on a single

root.

Perhaps the root gave way in his dreams, and Toby made a frantic effort

to save himself.

Morning came at last.

Breakfast was cooked and eaten with considerable eagerness, for

immediately it was over the boys expected to accompany their host while

he made his first tour of the season, intending to set a few traps in

places that had been marked as favorable to the carrying out of his

business.

They could hardly wait for Trapper Jim to get through his chores.

Presently Jim went over several lots of hanging traps and selected those

he wished to use on the first day.

How he seemed to handle certain ones fondly, as though they carried with

them memories of stirring events in the dim past.

They all looked pretty much alike to the boys, but Jim undoubtedly had

certain little familiar marks by means of which he recognized each

individual trap. He mentioned some of their peculiar histories as he

picked out his "lucky" traps.

"This one held two mink at a pop twice now, something I never knew to

happen before," he remarked.

"And this old rusty one was lost a whole season. When I happened to find

it, there was a piece of bone and some fur between the jaws, showing that

the poor little critter had gnawed off its own foot rather than die of

starvation. Made me fell bad, that did. A good trapper seldom allows such

a thing to happen."

"Do mink really set themselves free that way?" asked Owen.

"They will, if given half a chance," was Jim's reply. "That's one reason

we always try to fix it so that mink, otter, muskrats, fisher, and all

animals that are trapped along the edge of streams manage to drown

themselves soon after they are caught. It saves the pelt from being

injured, too, by their crazy efforts to break away."

"And what of that trap over there? You seem to be taking mighty good care

of it," said Max, who was deeply interested in everything the trapper was

doing.

"Well, I hadn't ought to complain about that trap," came the answer.

"Year before last it caught me a silver fox, as the black fox is called.

And perhaps you know that a prime black fox pelt is worth as high as

several thousand dollars."

"Hear that, will you!" exclaimed Steve.

"H-h-how much d-d-did you g-g-get for it?" asked Toby.

"Well," Jim went on to say, "it wasn't a Number One, but they allowed I

ought to get eight-fifty for it; which check was enclosed in the letter

I'll show you some day. I keep it to prove the truth of my story."

"A bully good day's work, eh?" remarked Steve.

"Best that ever came my way," admitted the other.

"Gee, wonder now if we'd be lucky enough to set eyes on a silver fox

worth a cool thousand or more?" ventured Bandy-legs.

"It is barely possible you may, boys," remarked the trapper; "because I

saw a beauty two or three times during the summer. And I'm kind of hoping

there may be some sort of magic about this same trap to coax him to put

his foot in it."

"A single fox skin fetching thousands of dollars!" remarked Steve, as if

hardly able to grasp it as the truth. "Whew, that beats finding pearls in

the shells of mussels all hollow!"

"Yes," Owen broke in, "and even Ted Shafter and his crowd hunting wild

ginseng roots and selling it to the wholesale drug house at big money

doesn't cut so much of a figure after all, does it?"

"One thing I want to ask you, boys, right in the start," the trapper took

occasion to say; "while you're up with me you must promise never to shoot

at a fox, a mink, a marten, an otter, or in fact any small fur-bearing

animal."

"We give you our word, all right, Uncle Jim," said Steve, readily.

"Of course," continued the old trapper, "my one reason for asking this is

to keep you from ruining good pelts. It would be pretty tough now if

after I caught that black fox I found that his skin had been so badly

torn by birdshot that it wasn't worth handling."

"That's right, it would," admitted Owen.

"You can depend on us to hold back," Max added, sincerely.

"Well, this is about all the traps I care to put out to-day," and as he

spoke Jim made them up in two bundles, one of which he gave to Toby and

the other to Bandy-legs.

He saw that, ordinarily, these two were the least important members of

the club. And in the kindness of his heart he wished to make them feel

that he needed their especial help.

So Toby and the other chum slung the traps over their shoulders with

ill-concealed pleasure in that they had been singled out for such

attention by the old trapper.

"Then you don't mean to set Old Tom to-day," asked Owen, pointing to a

big trap, whose weight and grim-looking jaws announced that it was

intended for large game.

Old Jim smiled and shook his head, as he replied:

"Hardly any use, unless we run across bear tracks. Such a thing might

happen, you know; because it did snow last night, and there's a good inch

on the ground right now."

"But, hold on," said Owen, "I understood that bears always went to sleep

in the fall and stayed in some cave or a hollow tree till spring came."

"They do," answered the trapper, "but generally hang around till the

first real hard blizzard comes along. This little snow don't count, and

every day a bear is able to be around hunting roots and such things, why,

the less he has to live on his own fat, you know, But we're all ready

now, so come along, boys."

The dogs were left at the cabin, which Jim did not even shut up. He knew

Ajax and Don would stay close at home; for the sight of the strings of

traps told the intelligent dogs they could not be allowed to accompany

their master on this expedition.

An hour later, and Jim was showing the eager and curious boys who

remained at a little distance, so that their scent might not cause the

cautious mink to abandon his usual trail, just how he set a trap in order

to catch the cunning little animal, and make him drown himself with the

weight of the trap.

The snare was set at the mouth of a hole in the bank of a creek, and

which, Jim informed them, was one of many visited by the male mink each

night as they wandered up and down the stream.

He used some animal "scent" contained in a small bottle to help attract

his prey. Then, after destroying all evidences of his having been there

as much as he possibly could, Trapper Jim rejoined the boys.

"Now we'll head for the marsh where I put several traps day before

yesterday and mean to add a few more to-day," he remarked. "As we go,

I'll try to explain just why a man has to be so very careful whenever he

matches his wits against those of a wily and timid little beast."

They hung upon every word Jim uttered, for these secrets of the woods

were things all of them had long wanted to know. What could musty old

school books teach them that could equal the knowledge they imbibed

straight out of the fountain of experience.

It was while Jim was holding forth in his most effective manner, so as to

thrill every one of his boy friends, that they saw him come to a sudden

stop.

His eyes were fastened upon the white ground just in front of them, and

as he pointed with his gun he electrified the boys by saying:

"Mebbe after all we might have use of Old Tom to-morrow, for there's the

tracks of a big bear."

CHAPTER IV.

THE SECRETS OF TRAPPING.

"Bully!" cried Steve, looking almost as happy as he did on that

never-to-be-forgotten day when they found their first lovely pearl in a

mussel taken from the Big Sunflower River.

"A b-b-bear!" exclaimed Toby. "L-l-let me s-s-see."

All of them were soon eagerly examining the marks so plainly described in

the light snow. Bruin had evidently shuffled along here, heading for some

favorite place in the neighboring marsh, where he knew food was still to

be found.

"We'd better leave the old chap alone for a bit," announced Jim. "When I

can make sure by his coming back to his den the same way that he's got a

regular trail, we'll lay for him."

"I'd like to get in a shot with my gun," declared Steve.

"H-h-ho! Much g-g-good your N-n-number Seven shot'd d-d-do against his

t-t-tough old hide!" jeered Toby.

"Get out! You don't think I'm such a ninny as that, I hope," answered

Steve, indignantly. "Hey, take a look at that shell, and this one, too,

will you? Know why that black cross is on them? Course you don't. Well,

I'll tell you."

"H-h-hurry up then and t-t-tell me."

"They're buckshot shells," declared Steve. "Each one's got just twelve

buckshot inside, all as big as pistol bullets. And at short range they're

calculated to bring down a deer like fun. I'd be willing to take my

chances against a black bear, given a good opening to hit him back of his

foreleg. Now you know a heap more'n you did before, Toby Jucklin."

"S-s-sure," answered the other, nodding his head good-naturedly.

"But remember," said Jim at this juncture, "a good bearskin is worth all

the way from five to twenty dollars to me. But after you've made a sieve

out of it with twelve or twenty-four buckshot from that scatter gun, why,

I hardly think I could give it away."

"So Steve, please restrain your bear-killing feeling just now," said Max.

"Whether we get him in a trap or shoot him on the run the bear steaks

will taste just as good; won't they, Uncle Jim?"

"I reckon you're right," replied the trapper, without any great

animation; for doubtless he had found bear meat pretty tough eating, and

given his choice would any day have much preferred the porterhouse steak

which Steve had so often at home that he turned up his nose at it.

When they arrived at the marsh where the countless muskrats had their

homes, a new species of interest was aroused.

Jim showed them how he had to employ entirely new tactics when dealing

with the muskrats than in connection with the mink. The former were

banded together in colonies, and the trapper had to be constantly on the

alert lest in capturing one prize he frighten the whole family away.

"But I learned my business many years ago," the old trapper declared,

with considerable pride, "when beaver lived in the North Woods. There

never were more wary little animals than those same beaver, and the man

who could circumvent 'em had a right to call himself smart."

After setting three traps he led the way to a place where he had left one

baited on the occasion of his previous visit to the marsh.

"You see, here's where I set it on the bank," he remarked, "and the chain

ran down there to a stake in deep water."

"But it ain't here now, Uncle Jim," said Steve.

"Because a curious and hungry musquash, anxious to reach the bait I stuck

on a splinter of wood just above the trap, set it off."

"And then sprang back into the water, because that was his natural way of

doing when alarmed, and soon drowned there. Was that the way it worked,

Uncle Jim?" asked Max.

The old trapper looked fondly at him and answered:

"Exactly as you say, son. Men who trap these cunning small fur-bearing

animals never get tired of studying their habits; and the one who enters

most fully into the life and instincts of mink, 'coon, marten, otter,

fisher, or even the humble muskrat, is the fellow who succeeds best in

his business."

"B-b-but all the m-m-muskrats I ever saw could swim and s-s-stay under

w-w-water's long as they p-p-pleased," Toby broke out with.

"That's a mistake," said Trapper Jim. "None of these animals can live

under water all the time like a fish. They have to come up to breathe

just so often. Beaver have houses made of mud and sticks. The entrances

to these are always down below: but you find the tops of all beaver

houses above the surface."

"But," said Steve, "I've seen muskrats dive just as Toby says, and waited

with a club to have 'em come to the top of the water again; but lots of

times I'd have to chuck it up as no good. How did that happen, Uncle

Jim?"

"That is easily explained," answered the trapper. "Just as alligators do,

so mink, otter, and muskrats have holes that run up into the bank of a

stream, their nest being always above ordinary high water. When you

missed seeing your rat it was because he happened to be near enough to

dive down, enter his tunnel, and make his way up to his nest. You see,

there are lots of queer things to be learned, if you only keep your eyes

and ears open when in these woods."

"But show us if you really did get one in your trap," urged Bandy-legs,

who knew much less about all these things than any one of the chums, yet

felt considerable eagerness to learn.

So with a stick that had a fork at the end Jim felt around in the water

at a point he supposed he would find something.

And, sure enough, he presently caught the chain and speedily pulled out

the trap. It was not empty. A plump-looking muskrat was caught by both

forelegs.

"You got him, all right, sure," commented Steve.

Trapper Jim was taking the victim out, and carefully resetting the trap

in the same place it had been before; after which he renewed the bait.

"Like as not I'll have another to-morrow, and for days to come," he

remarked; "unless they get suspicious on account of the scent we leave by

touching things. I try to kill that all I can. But when animals are

unusually timid, it's often necessary to come in a boat, and do it all

without setting a foot on shore, because, you know, water leaves neither

trail nor scent."

"Yes, the sharpest-nosed hound in the world is knocked out, I've read,

when the game takes to the water."

It was Owen who made this remark, and the trapper nodded his head in

approval as he added:

"I see you are a great reader, my boy. That's a mighty fine thing.

There's only one that's better-proving the truth of things by actual

experience. And while you're up here in the grand old North Woods with me

I hope you'll pick up a lot of useful information that you never would

find in any school books. Now we're ready to visit the second trap that

was set a little farther along."

To the satisfaction of the trapper this furnished a victim equal in size

to the first one.

"I didn't know muskrats counted for much, Uncle Jim," remarked Steve, who

saw the sparkle in the old man's eyes as he handled the second prize.

"Oh well, the skins didn't pay for the trouble years ago," he said in

reply, "but of late years good furs are getting so scarce that they are

using heaps of muskrat pelts, generally dyed and sold under another name.

It is a good serviceable fur, and if taken up North answers the purpose

very well."

"Why do you say 'up North'?" asked Owen.

"Max there can tell you, I'm sure," laughed the trapper.

"Oh, well," remarked the one mentioned, "I do happen to know that the

farther north you go the better the fur. And, of course, that means a

higher price in the market, since all pelts are graded according to size

and quality."

"That means, I suppose," said Owen, "that a muskrat skin taken away up in

Northern Michigan or Canada is more valuable than the same sized pelt

that was captured down, say, in Florida."

"Often worth twice or three times as much," remarked the trapper. "Stands

to reason, too, since the little critters don't have much need of thick

hides where the weather is generally warm."

"I can see through that all right," Steve admitted, "but ain't they queer

lookin' little rascals, though! Some plump, too!"

"Fat as butter this season," observed Jim. "And I'm just longing to see

how they taste. Last year they didn't just seem to suit my particular

brand of appetite."

"What's that?" almost shouted Steve, "say, Uncle Jim, you're just trying

to give me taffy now, sure you are."

"That's where you're mistaken Steve," said the trapper, smiling at the

horrified expression on the boy's face.

"But-you don't mean to say you _eat_ muskrats?" demanded Steve.

"Do I? Well, you wait and see how I'll tackle these this very evening.

And if we're lucky enough to find a third one in my other set trap, why,

you boys can have a look in, too."

"Me eat rats?" cried Steve, scornfully. "Mebbe I might if I had to do it

or starve to death; but not when I've got other stuff to line my stomach

with, I'm no Chinaman, Uncle Jim."

"Well, you'll change your tune before long," remarked the other, "and

it's a mistake to class these clean little animals with common rats. The

Indian name for him is musquash, and thousands of people appreciate the

fact that his meat is as sweet as that of a squirrel."

"And I've been told," said Max, "much more tender."

"That's a fact," declared Jim, "I've got so I never try to fry a squirrel

nowadays unless he's been parboiled first. They're the toughest little

critters that run around on four legs."

When they arrived at the third trap it was found to contain another

"victim of misplaced confidence," as Old Jim called it.

"Plenty to go around now, boys," remarked the trapper.

"You'll have to excuse me," said Steve, shuddering.

And yet before three days went by Steve had been induced to taste the

musquash, as Trapper Jim prepared them, and found the dish so good that

afterwards his tin pannikin was shoved forward for a second helping as

often as any of the others.

On the way home, after all the traps they had brought had been set,

Bandy-legs noticed a tree that stood up black and grim, as though a fire

had destroyed it at some time.

"Yes," said Jim, when his attention was directed that way, "quite a few

years ago we had a big fire up this way that did heaps of damage. And

I've noticed that the conditions this fall are just about the same as

that year. Why, we've hardly had any rain at all in the last two months."

"The woods must be pretty dry then, I should think," Max remarked.

"Dry as tinder," replied the other. "This little snow will all disappear,

and unless we get a heavy fall soon, it wouldn't surprise me if some

careless campers or deer hunters let their camp fire get into the brush

when the wind is blowing great guns. Then there'll be the mischief to

pay. But I hope it won't be any one of you boys."

"Why don't you get ready for bed, Freddy…" Fred whispered, interrupting his son from his reading,

"Papa. Do I haveta? I'm right in the middle of chapter four!"

"It's getting late, son….You can read more tomorrow."

"Yes sir." Freddy mumbled. But he gave his mother and father a hug goodnight. "Goodnight."

"Sleep well…" Frances smiled, after she gave him a little kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks…" He mumbled, walking into his little bedroom.

Helen came out of her room, she had been asleep since 9, and it was getting close to about 11 or so. Frances saw the nine year old had tears streaming down her cheeks. "Helen, what's the matter, sweetie? Are you okay?" She asked, as her daughter wrapped her arms around her waist and started to cry more.

"You're all right…." Frances soothed, wiping the tears from the girl's big brown eyes and smoothed her blonde hair. "Now, what's the matter?"

"I….I…I had…had a bad dream…." She sniffled.

"Oh, it's all right, honey…" Frances embraced her daughter. "It was just a bad dream….nightmares are never real…Remember that." She smiled.

"Do you want to come sit on Papa's lap and tell me your bad dream?" Fred asked.

Helen nodded and climbed onto her father's lap. He wrapped his strong arms around her tiny, little frame and felt her head lay on his chest. "Now, what did you dream that was so bad?" He whispered, and kissed the top of her head.

"I dreamt that a big mean rattlesnake was chasing me….rattling its rattler at me! I don't like snakes, Papa!"

"I like snakes…." Fred said.

"You do?" She looked up at him.

"Why sure! When they're made into a yummy rattlesnake chili!"

Helen laughed at that. Fred chuckled too and his blue-gray eyes seemed to laugh too. "So, the next time you dream about that mean old rattler…..just dream I come in and kill it."

"And make it into rattlesnake chili?" Helen giggled.

"You bet." Fred chuckled. He gave her a little squeeze and kissed her again. "Now, you get back to bed. All right?"

"I love you, Papa." Helen smiled. "Goodnight." She whispered and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"I love you too…Goodnight." Fred smiled.

A/N: "With Trapper Jim in the North Woods" is a book my Grandpa gave me when I was about 10 years old. I saw it on a shelf in his garage and picked it up and opened it. It thought it was cool….even though I'm a girl. Lol. He said if I wanted it, I could have it….So I took it home and started reading it, but never got through the whole book. Lol!..."With Trapper Jim in the North Woods" was published in 1913 and written by Lawrence J. Leslie.

In the later part of this chapter, as I've fast forwarded about two or three years, it would be November of 1897….but in real life, it would be the year 1923.

Joe and Nona Gruber's second child, Leonona "Snooky" Agnes Gruber was born September 7th, 1923. So, in this chapter, making her two months old.

Fred Lay Jr., otherwise known as Freddy, according to my Grandpa, was the most practical person he ever knew. He was a real perfectionist and a life long hunter, fisherman and a professional mink trapper.

Helen called her older brother "Moosejaw" because he had a cute little way of jutting his jaw out to one side when he would joke with her. He had a keen sense of dry humor, so he could see the funny side of things.

There really was a kid nicknamed "Chocolate Baby" and he was really dark-skinned. All the old timers called him the little nickname.