Pluck on the Long Trail | Page 9

have been drowned for a week or more. The trap had no brand on
it. Usually traps are branded on the pan, but this wasn't and that went to
show that whoever was trapping knew better. The sight of that beaver,
killed uselessly, made us sick and mad both. But we couldn't do
anything about it, except to dig a hole and bury trap and all, so that the
creek would wash clean, as it ought to be. Then we climbed up the
steep hill, over rocks and flowers, and on top followed a ridge, until
ahead we saw the creek again. It was in a little meadow here, and down
we went for it.
This was a beautiful spot. On one side the pines and spruces covered a
long slope which rose on and on until above timber line it was bare and
reddish gray; and away up were patches of snow; and beyond was the
tip of Pilot Peak. But on our side a forest fire had burned out the timber,
leaving only black stumps sticking up, with the ground covered by a
new growth of bushes. There was quite a difference between the two
sides; and we camped where we were, on the bare side, which was the
safest for a camp fire. It would have been a shame to spoil the other
side, too.
We were tired, after being up part of the night and climbing all the
morning, and this was a good place to stop. Plenty of dry wood, plenty

of water, and space to spread our beds.
The creek was smooth and wide, here, about the middle of the park.
The beaver had been damming it. But although we looked about, after
locating camp and unpacking the burros, we couldn't find a fresh sign.
We came upon camp sign, though, two days old, at least. Somebody
had trapped every beaver and then had left.
That seemed mean, because it was against the law to trap beaver, and
here they weren't doing any harm. But the fire had laid waste one shore
of the pond, and animal killers had laid waste the pond itself.
We decided to have a big meal. There ought to be wild raspberries in
this burnt timber; wild raspberries always follow a forest fire--and that
is a queer thing, isn't it? So, after camp was laid out (which is the first
thing to do), and our flags set up, while Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand and
Major Henry built a fire and got things ready for dinner, General
Ashley and Kit Carson went after berries and little Jed Smith and I
were detailed to catch trout.
We had lines and hooks, but we didn't bother to pack rods, because you
almost always can get willows. (Note 18.) Some fellows would have
cut green willows, because they bend. We knew better. We cut a dead
willow apiece. We were after meat, and not just sport; and when we
had a trout bite we wanted to yank him right out. A stiff, dead willow
will do that. Grasshoppers were whirring around, among the dried
trunks and the grass. That is what grasshoppers like, a place where it's
hot and open. As a rule you get bigger fish with bait than you do with a
fly, so we put on grasshoppers. I hate sticking a hook into a
grasshopper, or a worm either; and we killed our grasshoppers quick by
smashing their heads before we hooked them.
It was going to be hard work, catching trout around this beaver pond.
The water was wide and smooth and shallow and clear, and a trout
would see you coming. When a trout knows that you are about, then the
game is off. Besides, lots of people had been fishing the pond, and the
beaver hunters must have been fishing it lately, according to sign. But
that made it all the more exciting. Little trout are caught easily, and the

big ones are left for the person who can outwit them.
After we were ready, we reconnoitered. We sat down and studied to see
where we'd prefer to be if we were a big trout. A big trout usually
doesn't prowl about much. He gets a lair, in a hole or under a bank, and
stays close, eating whatever comes his way, and chasing out all the
smaller trout. Sometimes he swims into the ripples, to feed; but back he
goes to his lair again.
So we studied the situation. There was no use in wading about, or
shaking the banks, and scaring trout, unless we had a plan. It looked to
me that if I were a big trout I'd be in a shady spot over across, where
the water swept around a low place of the dam