d, by a piece
of fishing line, a small cross-bar, which swung loosely, like the stick
handle which a schoolboy fastens to the string of his pegtop. Forcing
the ends of the saplings thus prepared into the holes, he filled in and
stamped down the earth all around them. The saplings, thus anchored as
it were by the cross-pieces of stick, not only stood firm, but resisted
all his efforts to withdraw them. To the thin ends of these saplings
he bound tightly, into notches cut in the wood, and secured by a
multiplicity of twisting, the catgut springes he had brought from the
camping ground. The saplings were then bent double, and the gutted ends
secured in the ground by the same means as that employed to fix the
butts. This was the most difficult part of the business, for it was
necessary to discover precisely the amount of pressure that would hold
the bent rod without allowing it to escape by reason of this elasticity,
and which would yet "give" to a slight pull on the gut. After many
failures, however, this happy medium was discovered; and Rufus Dawes,
concealing his springes by means of twigs, smoothed the disturbed sand
with a branch and retired to watch the effect of his labours. About two
hours after he had gone, the goats came to drink. There were five goats
and two kids, and they trotted calmly along the path to the water. The
watcher soon saw that his precautions had been in a manner wasted. The
leading goat marched gravely into the springe, which, catching him round
his neck, released the bent rod, and sprang him off his legs into the
air. He uttered a comical bleat, and then hung kicking. Rufus Dawes,
though the success of the scheme was a matter of life and death, burst
out laughing at the antics of the beast. The other goats bounded off at
this sudden elevation of their leader, and three more were entrapped at
a little distance. Rufus Dawes now thought it time to secure his prize,
though three of the springes were as yet unsprung. He ran down to the
old goat, knife in hand, but before he could reach him the barely-dried
catgut gave way, and the old fellow, shaking his head with grotesque
dismay, made off at full speed. The others, however, were secured and
killed. The loss of the springe was not a serious one, for three traps
remained unsprung, and before sundown Rufus Dawes had caught four more
goats. Removing with care the catgut that had done such good service, he
dragged the carcases to the shore, and proceeded