The
Hunting Season Over, All Past Tricks And Maneuvres Are Forgotten,
All Feuds And Bickerings Buried In Oblivion.
From the middle of
June to the middle of September, all trapping is suspended; for
the beavers are then shedding their furs and their skins are of
little value.
This, then, is the trapper's holiday, when he is
all for fun and frolic, and ready for a saturnalia among the
mountains.
At the present season, too, all parties were in good humor. The
year had been productive. Competition, by threatening to lessen
their profits, had quickened their wits, roused their energies,
and made them turn every favorable chance to the best advantage;
so that, on assembling at their respective places of rendezvous,
each company found itself in possession of a rich stock of
peltries.
The leaders of the different companies, therefore, mingled on
terms of perfect good fellowship; interchanging visits, and
regaling each other in the best style their respective camps
afforded. But the rich treat for the worthy captain was to see
the "chivalry" of the various encampments, engaged in contests of
skill at running, jumping, wrestling, shooting with the rifle,
and running horses. And then their rough hunters' feastings and
carousels. They drank together, they sang, they laughed, they
whooped; they tried to out-brag and out-lie each other in stories
of their adventures and achievements. Here the free trappers were
in all their glory; they considered themselves the "cocks of the
walk," and always carried the highest crests.
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