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The Beaver Pond.
AT THE noon halt they were about ten miles from home and had made fifteen deadfalls for marten, for practice was greatly reducing the time needed for each.
In the afternoon they went on, but the creek had become a mere rill and they were now high up in a more level stretch of country that was more or less swampy.

As they followed the main course of the dwindling stream, looking ever for signs of fur-bearers, they crossed and recrossed the water.

At length Quonab stopped, stared, and pointed at the rill, no longer clear but clouded with mud.

His eyes shone as he jerked his head up stream and uttered the magic word, "Beaver." They tramped westerly for a hundred yards through a dense swamp of alders, and came at last to an irregular pond that spread out among the willow bushes and was lost in the swampy thickets.