When they finally got where they were going—a shallow meadow about three miles wide and ten miles long, leading away from the canyon—Francis could see the reason for caution. Down the middle of the meadow was a long string of beaver ponds, one joined to the next by a short neck of water. Francis knew nothing of beaver, but he guessed there were probably hundreds of them.

Mr. Grimes led the way up the meadow, and it took them one whole day of slow riding to get to the northern end, and the sound of the beaver, slapping their tails against the water, stayed ahead of them all the way.

“Well, Mr. Tucket,” the mountain man said, when they finally stopped, “I make it out to be a pretty fair season for us. What say we make a home?”

First they had to build a house, and although it wasn’t much more than a large lean-to, it seemed like a house by the time the roof was finally finished. Mr. Grimes gave Francis an ax from one of the mule packs, and he cut all the poles for the lean- to while the mountain man did what he called the “count” on the beaver stream. It took Francis the better part of a week to cut enough long timbers for the walls and roof, and during that time, he saw Mr. Grimes only in the evenings and early mornings.

At first it didn’t bother him. There was a job to be done, and Francis, with his two good arms, was better equipped to do it. But by the fourth day he felt irritated because it seemed to him that the mountain man was just taking a vacation while he put up the house. Over morning coffee, he said, “What are you doing out there all day? Not that I really care, understand. But a guy has to learn—”

Mr. Grimes snorted and then sipped his coffee. “Seems to me you ought to care. I mean, I’m out there just resting on my stomach along the creek while you slave away on our castle. I’d care. But if I tell you, will you promise not to laugh?”

“Sure.”

“I’m counting the grown beaver in each pond, one at a time.”

Francis didn’t laugh, because he didn’t understand. “Why are you counting them?” he asked.

“So when we start taking ’em, we’ll know how many we can take out of each pond without ruining it. Of course, trapping all the beaver in the world won’t help us if we don’t have a house to dry the pelts in …”