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.
Following the stream they soon came to a beaver dam, a long,
curving bank of willow branches and mud, tumbling through the top
of which were a dozen tiny streams that reunited their waters
below to form the rivulet they had been following.
Red-winged blackbirds were sailing in flocks about the pond; a
number of ducks were to be seen, and on a dead tree, killed by
the backed up water, a great blue heron stood. Many smaller
creatures moved or flitted in the lively scene, while far out
near the middle rose a dome-like pile of sticks, a beaver lodge,
and farther three more were discovered.
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