Jerry picked up the drowned muskrat and examined it.

“Pretty soft fur it has.  Lots of it used nowadays I understand,” he observed.

“Yas, but mostly under other names.  Fur is a-gittin’ skeercer all the time, an’ they hev to come to stuff they used to larf at.  Now watch me sot her, boys.”

They were all interested in the manner in which the trap was set, for much care and ingenuity is required in order to outwit the cautious instincts of the animal; though muskrats are not half so timid as some other animals whose fur is coveted by the trappers.

“Now fur the next trap.  Hope I don’t find a thief has be’n thar too,” said Jesse.

Evidently Pet Peters had just started in to follow up the line of traps, as described to him by Bud Rabig the rival of old Jesse, for they saw no more evidences of a visit.

When an hour had passed they were carrying five victims of the steel traps.

Jerry did not much fancy the business.

He tried to be a thorough sportsman all the time, and anything that savored of the habits of a game butcher, or trapping and shooting for the market, grated on his nerves.

After this Jesse led them to where he had a bear trap located, and here they were compelled to exercise considerable caution, because Bruin is a suspicious beast, and easily frightened away.

But the trap was not sprung; and Jesse from a little distance explained to his young friends how it lay concealed under the fallen leaves at a place where he knew a bear frequented in passing to and fro.

“I’m goin’ to look up his den in a few days, before he shuts in fur the winter, an’ sot my trap, whar he’s jest bound to tread in it goin’ or comin’.  Now, if so be ye feels that way, let’s git back to camp an’ hatch up some sorter dinner Ever eat musquash, boys?”

“What, eat muskrats?” exclaimed Jerry, in disgust.

“I never have, but would like to try the dish,” remarked Frank.  “Up in Maine the trappers told me they were fine in winter weather.”

Will said not a word, but his lip curled, as though nothing could tempt him to even take a taste of such a queer dish.

It was high noon when they arrived at the shack of the old trapper, and all of the boys felt sharp pressed with hunger.

“I hope he’s got something else besides muskrat—­ugh!” said Jerry to Will.

“I saw part of a deer hanging up before we left here,” replied the other.

Jerry licked his lips in anticipation.

“Venison, real venison, fresh in the woods!  Tell me about that, will you?  I’m in on that deal every time.  I hope he cooks enough of it.”

There was little danger of the trapper allowing any of his guests to go hungry.

“Boys, I want you all to help me git a fine dinner.  Frank, I knows you are used to makin’ up a good cookin’ fire, you ’tend to that part Jerry, see that ere haunch o’ venison hangin’ from the limb o’ that tree—­jest git her down an’ cut off some slices, all this here big fry-pan’ll hold, an’ put some pieces o’ salt pork in along with it, ’cause ye see venison is mighty dry.  Bill, p’raps ye kin look arter the coffee part o’ the bizness.”