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  BLACK BEAVER
  THE TRAPPER

  The Only Book Ever
  Written by a Trapper

  TWENTY-TWO YEARS WITH
  BLACK BEAVER

  LEWIS AND CLARK
  A HUNDRED YEARS LATER

  _FROM THE AMAZON_
  _TO THE MACKENZIE RIVERS_



COPYRIGHTED BY GEO. EDWARD LEWIS.

YEAR 1911.

[Illustration: "THE FOUNDERS OF THE FIRST ARCTIC ALASKAN EDUCATIONAL
EXHIBITION."]

[Illustration: BLACK BEAVER AS ARCTIC JIM AT CAMP NEAR MT. McKINLEY]




THE AUTHOR'S EXCUSE.


I am both sorry and glad to inform my readers--that I can neither read
nor write.

It would seem absurd for a blind man to study the stars, Or for a deaf
man to study music; so it might seem to you absurd for a man who cannot
write to write a book. But I have an excuse for writing these events.
The President of Mexico; and the Governor of Alaska together with
several hundreds between, equally as popular have urged me to write my
history. I am sorry I cannot write this with my own fingers but I have a
substitute in my old back-woods chum--The Kidd. Who by the way--neither
writes very flourishing, because he like myself has done the most of his
writing with his six-shooter; because you know this a more expressive
way of talking and a more impressive way of writing. I have a brother
who is a real educated gentleman, he tried to dissuade me from
publishing my history because I think he is afraid he will be outshone
by literary merit. I have no ambition to outshine him, nor William
Shakespere nor any other erudite. I have a very limited vocabulary, and
since swearing and smoking are not allowed in print, I shall have to
loose the biggest half of that. I shall omit foreign language, I could
assault you with Mex--or Siwash but I fear you could not survive the
battery. So I shall confine myself to simple speech, such as I have used
in all lands. From Gotch my bronco to Arctic my dog. It has served me
since I was six summers old It served me amid the bells of Peru and then
afar amid the Agate Eyed squaws of The Kuskokwim; and this ought to be a
good excuse.--Yours truly

  J.C. LEWIS.




INTRODUCTORY.


I have undertaken the arduous task of rewriting that which was never
written. My charge was "fix it up but do not change it." These words
were hurled at me one morning at four o'clock in the month of April, as
my big brother boarded the Overland Limited bound for the Iditarod
Alaska. He had in that far-away region five-hundred skins in cache which
he had taken from the backs of the costiliest animals that ran in
northland world. In various parts of Alaska Black Beaver had treasures
which he was now intent upon gathering to fit up an outfit to be known
as "The Arctic Alaskan Educational Exhibition" Perhaps no other man in
this country can tell such amusing and beneficial stories about travels,
fatigue and furs As the Author of this book. This was the creative force
which suggested the organization of this party. Black Beaver has
traveled as no other man ever traveled in Alaska, four times in as many
years he crossed the entire country by dog-team in a diagonal way from
Dawson to Point Barrow and from Gnome to The mouth of the Mackinzie
river. Being able to speak several indian dialects, he was able converse
with Siwash, Mucklock, Malimouth and other types getting the most
valuable kind of information. You have never read a book written by a
trapper. Usually some smooth gent makes up a romance and puts them in
other mouths--but this is not true of this book. It is a true experience
of the life and labors of the Author. Respectfully submitted Sept 1911.

GEO. EDWARD LEWIS.




BLACK BEAVER THE TRAPPER.


At the age of four years I began to pick up arms against small birds and
animals. At the age of five I began to trap around my father's
corn-shocks. When I reached my sixth year my father bought me a dog and
he was my constant companion for many years. At the age of five years I
began to make Bows and arrows, and cross guns, likewise sling shots. My
first experience was with by bros, George and Lee in killing a
woodchuck. And from this time my adventures began to multiply. All kinds
of small animals fell before my accurate aim.

My adventursome father had crossed the great plains as early as 1846. He
was thrilled to the core with the bold and desperate experiences of the
wild western world. On his way he met and formed the acquaintance Of
several of the noted trappers and explorers, as well as the acquaintance
of the most daring and dangerous savages that ever rode the arena of the
Great American Desert.

My chief joy from in fancy was to have my father tell me his dangerous
travels and exploits in the early west. I was continually begging my
older brother to read about Kit Carson Daniel Boone and other pioneers.
At the age of seven years I took a notion that I wanted a gun. Bows and
arrows, cross-bows sling-shots knives and hatchets were too tame for me.
I sought an occasion when my father was away, to get from my mother the
needed information, how to load and discharge a gun. One day when all
were away I stole my fathers gun. It was a double barreled muzzle
loader, one barrel shot and the other rifle. I had quite an
experience--I saw a partridge just as I entered the woods budding in the
top of an old birch tree. I leveled the gun up against an old ash tree
and fired I had never before fired a gun, I held it rather loosely
aginst my shoulder and the recoil lamed my arm and bloodeyed my pug
noose. But this was soon forgotten when I saw I had plugged my meat. In
haste I began to load to prepare for another bird--I seized The patch
put mr ball on the patch took mr ramrod and rammed home the ball alas!
just as I was pounding her home I remembered I had forgotten something
quite necessary in loading a gun--it was the powder. I was in a
terrorable fix then--I first thought I would hasten home put up the gun
and let father get out of the fix the best he could. But after taking a
second thought I concluded that I would not be a whit behind the Father
of his country--but while I had stolen I could not tell a lie--so I
repeated the reckless boy's adage--Scolding don't hurt you whipping
don't last long killing they dare not"--After considering the whole
predicament--I concluded that I rather have a flogging than deny my
pluck and luck by killing my game. So I related to father my deed; he
simply laughed and took the gun in the back yard pricked some fine
powder in the tube--put on a cap and shot the ball out slick and easy.
The winter of my sixth year I had planed on trapping small fur bearing
game--but my parents had planned on me going to school. So they bought
me some books and the first of October I was drilled off to school. I
soon got into trouble at school and the third day traded off my books
for an old gun. the next day I started for school as usual, but after I
was over the hill I turned from the path of duty and education for the
adventurous path of hunting and trapping. I would go to the place I had
hidden my gun the night before and go into the woods and spend the day
returning as school let out. I worked this for about three weeks without
being discovered. I had an older brother who suspected me and finally he
found me in the woods, took my gun from me and broke it around a
tree--he did this because the gun was unsafe it was all tied up with
wire and strings to bind the barrel to the stock--my first gun was a
bloomer.

The following fall I killed my first <DW53>. My brother Lee who is two
years older than myself and I were shooting at a mark in the wood-shed
one rainy fall day, and lo and behold to our surprise a <DW53> came
walking in on us--instantly we flew at the fellow, I, with an ax he with
a club--the <DW53> lasted about two seconds--the yells and disturbance
brought my father and brother to the scene, I was declaring that I had
killed it and my Brother Lee was making the same statements both of us
were talking at the limit of lung power--when my brother who was older
discovered that there was a ribbon around the <DW53>s neck and a gold ring
attached showing us this he said "this is a pet <DW53>." At once we
reversed our arguments each declaring that we did not kill the <DW53>.

The beginning of my eight year I coaxed father to allow me to spend the
winter trapping with a man named Walker on the head waters of the
Manistee river. finally he consented and I was the happiest boy on
earth. Hastily I made my toilet for the winter and set out on snow shoes
the middle of November. After several days of brisk and difficult
walking we reached Wild goose creek. Here we made a camp and began to
set traps. I had no gun for it was intended that I was to cook and skin
game. This proved to be my first experience with larger game. Five days
after we struck camp we caught a black bear in a deadfall. It was here
at wild goose creek that I first began running trap lines under an old
rocky mountain trapper. And here where I also learned to skin, bait
traps, make dead falls and cut and sew up my own clothes, make snow
shoes and paddle canoes, build camps and learn the various tricks of
indians and trappers, also how to doctor myself when sick and to avoid
the dangers of the wilderness. All too soon the mid-winter came and
there being no high line game to trap The trapper made up his mind to
move homeward. On the sixteenth day of January we began our march for a
town called South Boardman. We had to pack about thirty pounds apiece it
was thirty five miles to our destination. The first night we camped in
the snow the next evening a half hour after