Polly and Eleanor Part 11

The tree in question, stood on the sh.o.r.e and was about six inches in diameter and about sixteen feet in height. The boss of another group of beavers tested the tree by placing his fore-paws against the trunk and spreading out his hind legs as a bracer. He sat upon his tail and took a deliberate bite from the bark. No wonder Eleanor thought he was eating the tree!

After gnawing at one side, he thumped the ground with his extended tail and ran away. Other beavers took his place and began cutting in much the same manner. Then the boss beaver, who was superintending the work, pushed the workers away and showed them how to work in a better way.

This done, the boss thumped the ground with his tail--just as a policeman strikes the walk with his night-club--and the cutters went back to work.

Suddenly the boss thumped the ground repeatedly and the cutters ran to a safe distance. A moment later, the tree began swaying and crashed down into the pond. It had been so cut and planned that labor and time would be saved by throwing it directly into the stream.

It was towed down into the general harvest-pile and left for other colonists to saw into required shape and length for the additions to their huts.

Soon after this, a number of beavers came forth and swam to the extreme upper end of the pond. Here they climbed up on the bank and disappeared from sight in the aspen-covered forest.

"Where are they going?" asked Eleanor, anxiously.

"We'll soon find out!" declared Polly.

As Polly spoke, a beaver swam along the bank and scrambled out quite near the spot where the two girls sat quietly watching. He sniffed and then plunged back to hurry to the huts where he must have reported the result of his trip. Immediately after, the boss commanded him to lead the way, and both returned to the place for a thorough investigation.

The scout brought his boss up the bank and sniffed. Polly and Eleanor were quivering with excitement, as they saw the beavers making for the trail.

"Let's see what is wrong?" whispered Polly, c.o.c.king her rifle in case of emergency.

"Oh, don't do that!" cried Eleanor, catching hold of Polly's arm.

"Stop! Let go--that is how accidents happen. You drag on one's arm and the trigger, all ready to fire, is pulled accidentally. I know what I am about, so you need have no concern."

Eleanor felt chagrined and meekly followed Polly after this. They crept through the woods without making a sound.

The two beavers reached the clearing where Noddy and Choko were grazing, and the moment the boss saw the burros, he turned and snapped at the foolish scout that had brought him this journey for naught! But the subdued laughter from the girls made the beavers rush pell-mell into the pond to wonder whether burros could laugh like that!

On the way back to their rock of observation, Polly said, "Beavers are slow and awkward on land so that the agile panther, the alert wildcat, or wolves and bears, form a constant menace to them. Because of their unwieldy and short legs, they cannot escape quickly, but in water they are wonderful swimmers, so, water being necessary to their safety, they build their huts on the dams that will not bear up other wild animals.

If their dams were constructed solidly, the beavers would soon be extinct, as forest savages would crawl over and glut on the helpless prey."

"Didn't you say we could follow those other ones that went up-stream?"

asked Eleanor.

"Yes, come on," replied Polly, leading the way for some distance before seeing a sign of a beaver again. Then suddenly, she clutched hold of Eleanor's arm.

"Ah, there's Grandfather, hard at work!"

"Where--which?" cried Eleanor, eagerly.

"The one with a limp and a twisted back!"

The girls had reached a place where the stream widened and here they found a great number of beavers at work. Some cutting, some dragging, others swimming with aspens, willows and alders, and all ordered about by an old crippled beaver.

But despite his twisted back and decided halt in gait, he moved about quicker than the others, showing them where to place, how to saw, when to cut the aspens, and other important details of construction.

"There are a lot of pines, Polly--why doesn't he use them?"

"A beaver doesn't like the smelly, pitchy wood, so they never cut them unless they have to clear a roadway from an aspen grove to the stream of water."

"Then they ought to use all those trees already down. There are lots that have been felled by forest fires, I guess."

"There again they show their wisdom," explained Polly. "A beaver never cuts dead wood as it dulls and injures his teeth. And dead wood does not last like live trees, either."

At this moment, Grandfather Beaver seemed to sniff a familiar as well as a doubtful presence. He lifted his nose high and thumped his tail for an a.s.sistant. Leaving commands with this beaver, the Grandfather went into the stream and swam away.

Eleanor was sorry to lose sight of him, but almost before she could speak, the old fellow rose laboriously from the water just in front of her. He waited, sniffing anxiously, but found a stranger with his friend, so he half-slid back into the stream.

Polly made strange sounds and ran down towards him. To Eleanor's amazement the old fellow actually expressed joy at seeing a friend. He emitted peculiar sounds and Polly stood a few feet away uttering queer sounds, too. Then he sent her a look of love--if there ever was one--and after this welcome he slid back into the water to continue the work as overseer.

"Polly Brewster--I never in all my life!" gasped Eleanor.

Polly laughed as she watched her beaver join the workers and scold them for laziness while he was absent visiting a friend.

"Let's get the burros, now, and I'll show you a place where we can lunch while I tell you how Grandfather and I got to know each other so well,"

suggested Polly.

As the girls rode along the up-trail, Polly told the story.

[A]"A few years ago, while out adventuring, I found this colony of beavers. I wanted father to come with me and see them, but he was too busy that year.

[Footnote A: A true story.]

"The following Summer, however, he came and we sat on the same rock where you and I sat to-day.

"We had to wait for ten minutes or more, before a beaver came out of his hut in the dam. It was not as large or strong a dam, then, as now. The beaver was anxious to reach a spot in the aspen grove where we could hear the other beavers at work.

"To reach the grove, he had to come up out of the stream and cross some land to the other pond. Just as he climbed up from the water, he sniffed danger. He was directly opposite us and we could see everything very plainly.

"Father lifted his rifle slowly and very carefully, and I looked intently to see what it was that he saw.

"On a bough of a tree almost directly over the beaver, I saw a lithe serpentine thing twitching as if a snake was trying to curl up. But I knew it wasn't a snake. It must be the long tail of a panther who was crouching for a leap, but I could not distinguish a body back of the foliage of the tree.

"The beaver stood uncertain of action for a moment, and as he turned to dive again to safety, the mountain-lion sprang. At the same instant, father pulled the trigger. But the panther landed almost on top of the beaver's back, while the shot must have grazed his head, making him rage furiously.

"The beaver, who was on the verge of the stream, fought valiantly with teeth and his powerful strength, but the lion had the upper hold on him.

Slowly the two squirmed and rolled, the beaver trying to drag his enemy into the stream, and the panther fighting to keep his prey on land.

"'Father--shoot--shoot! Even if you kill the beaver!' I yelled, as I closed my eyes from the awful sight.

"But daddy already had taken aim and even as I spoke, he pulled the trigger. This time his shot took effect for we saw the beast loose his hold on the beaver and roll over writhing in agony.

"Father rushed along the bank and crept over the beaver-dam to the other side. Then he put the lion out of pain with a third shot, and stooped to examine the beaver.

"We always take a doctor's pocket-case when going on a trip, and father now took it out, so I knew the beaver was not dead.

"'Poll, try to come over here and bring a pan, sheath-knife, and some hartshorn from the pack.'

"I did as I was told, and stood helping father when the beaver came too--after getting a big whiff of hartshorn. We washed the torn flesh with water, and father poured on something from a bottle that made the old fellow squirm, but he sensed that we were helping him and he offered no resistance.