The beaver, eager to investigate that semifriendly smell, sets foot in the trap; instinctively when in danger he dives for the deep water; the ring slips along the pole till at the bottom and there it jams so that the beaver cannot rise again and is drowned.
In an hour the six traps were set for the beavers; presently the hunters, skirmishing for more partridges, had much trouble to save Skookum from another porcupine disaster.
They got some more grouse, baited the traps for a couple of miles, then camped for the night.
Before morning it came on to snow and it was three inches deep when they arose.

There is no place on earth where the first snow is more beautiful than in the Adirondacks.

In early autumn nature seems to prepare for it.

Green leaves are cleared away to expose the berry bunches in red; rushbeds mass their groups, turn golden brown and bow their heads to meet the silver load; the low hills and the lines of various Christmas trees are arrayed for the finest effect: the setting is perfect and the scene, but it lacks the lime light yet.

It needs must have the lavish blaze of white.