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This morning Capt Clark set out early having previously dispatched some hunters ahead. it was cool and cloudy all the forepart of the day. at 8 A.M. they had a slight rain. they passed a number of shoals over which they were obliged to drag the canoes; the men in the water 3/4ths of the day, they passed a bold runing stream 7 yds. wide on the Lard. side just below a high point of Limestone rocks. this stream we call McNeal's Creek after Hugh McNeal one of our party. this creek heads in the Mountains to the East and forms a handsome valley for some miles between the mountains. from the top of this limestone Clift above the creek The beaver's head boar N 24° E. 12 Ms. the course of Wisdom river or that which the opening of it's valley makes through the mountains is N. 25 W. to the gap through which Jefferson's river enters the mountains above is S 18° W 10 M. they killed one deer only today. saw a number of Otter some beaver Antelopes ducks gees and Grains. they caught a number of fine trout as they have every day since I left them. they encamped on Lrd. in a smooth level prarie near a few cottonwood trees, but were obliged to make use of the dry willow brush for fuel.
With customary liberality toward the Indians, whom they assiduously cultivated, the French, in 1756, built for them, on this site, a substantial town, which the English indifferently called Sarikonk, Sohkon, King Beaver's Town, or Shingis Old Town.
And in that way he knew exactly when Saturday came. That was probably the longest day in Brownie Beaver's life. At least, it seemed so to him. Whenever he saw a bird soaring above the tree-tops he couldn't help hoping it was Mr. Crow. And whenever he heard a caw caw far off in the distance Brownie Beaver dropped whatever he happened to be doing, expecting that Mr.
Grey Beaver had intended camping that night on the far bank of the Mackenzie, for it was in that direction that the hunting lay. But on the near bank, shortly before dark, a moose coming down to drink, had been espied by Kloo-kooch, who was Grey Beaver's squaw.
It was a big beaver swimming down the pond with a sapling timber for the new dam that was under way. Instantly he loosed his hold and faced the shore. And then, like the report of a rifle, there came the crack of his big flat tail on the water the beaver's signal of danger that on a quiet night can be heard half a mile away. "DANGER," it warned.
But as for the beaver's renowned industry it wasn't! "I thought beavers were busy animals," I complained to the Parson. "I've heard industrious folks called beavers all my life. I don't see how they got their reputation. Why, it wouldn't be hard for me to be busier'n these beavers!" The old man laughed. "Now, you're rather hard on the little critters," he defended.
"The Beaver's young men will drive the horses and cattle out," said the Beaver, in tones of quiet confidence, "and bring them back again quite safe."
White Fang was too helpless to defend himself, and it would have gone hard with him had not Grey Beaver's foot shot out, lifting Lip-lip into the air with its violence so that he smashed down to earth a dozen feet away. This was the man-animal's justice; and even then, in his own pitiable plight, White Fang experienced a little grateful thrill.
I cal'lated to give him a few myself." Mr. Beaver's face was purple. His words would probably have been of the same hue had there been any possibility of releasing them. "Let him go, Cap'n, you're strangling him." "He'd otter be choked, if he's as deep in this thing as I think he is. But he ain't in no condition for a lesson to-night, he's a mite too worked up.
But might not the ant-hill be torn from the ground and overthrown by the inundation, to the extreme danger of those within it? No, no more than a beaver's hut, so firmly did it adhere by its base. Then, the event most to be feared was the persistence of the storm, and, consequently, the increase of the inundation.
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