[Illustration:  “It was dangerous work”]

Though the ice was fully four feet thick Sishetakushin soon reached the water.  Then the other poles that Mookoomahn had cut were driven in close to the house.

Bob understood that this was done to prevent the escape of the animals, and that they were closing the door, which was situated so far down that it would always be below the point where ice would form, so that the beavers could go in and out at will.

After these preparations were completed the Indians cleared the snow from the top of the beaver house, and then broke an opening into the house itself.  Into this aperture Sishetakushin peered for a moment, then his hand shot down, and like a flash reappeared holding a beaver by the hind legs, and before the animal had recovered sufficiently from its surprise to bring its sharp teeth into action in self-defense, the Indian struck it a stinging blow over the head and killed it.  Then in like manner another animal was captured and killed.  It was dangerous work and called for agility and self-possession, for had the Indian made a miscalculation or been one second too slow the beaver’s teeth, which crush as well as cut, would have severed his wrist or arm.

There were two more beavers—­a male and a female—­in the house, but these were left undisturbed to raise a new family, and the stakes that had closed the door were removed.

This method of catching beavers was quite new to Bob, who had always seen his father and the other hunters of the Bay capture them in steel traps.  It was his first lesson in the Indian method of hunting.

That evening the flesh of the beavers went into the kettle, and their oily tails—­the greatest tidbit of all—­were fried in a pan.  The Indians made a feast time of it, and never ceased eating the livelong night.  This day of plenty came in cheerful contrast to the cheerless nights with scanty suppers following the weary days of plodding that had preceded.  The glowing fire in the centre, the appetizing smell of the kettle and sizzling fat in the pan, and the relaxation and mellow warmth as they reclined upon the boughs brought a sense of real comfort and content.

The next day they remained in camp and rested, but the following morning resumed the dreary march to the westward.

After many more days of travelling—­Bob had lost all measure of time—­they reached the shores of a great lake that stretched away until in the far distance its smooth white surface and the sky were joined.  The Indians pointed at the expanse of snow-covered ice, and repeated many times, “Petitsikapau—­Petitsikapau,” and Bob decided that this must be what they called the lake; but the name was wholly unfamiliar to him.  In like manner they had indicated that a river they had travelled upon for some distance farther back, after crossing a smaller lake, was called “Ashuanipi,” but he had never heard of it before.