The bank beaver
is a solitary old bachelor living in a den, like a mink, in the bank
of a stream. He does not build a house, because a den under a cedar's
roots is as safe and warm. He never builds a dam, because there are
deep places in the river where the current is too swift to freeze. He
finds tender twigs much juicier, even in winter, than stale bark
stored under water. As for his telltale tracks in the snow, his wits
must guard him against enemies; and there is the open stretch of river
to flee to.
There are two theories among Indians and trappers to account for the
bank beaver's eccentricities. The first is that he has failed to find
a mate and leaves the colony, or is driven out, to lead a lonely
bachelor life. His conduct during the mating season certainly favors
this theory, for never was anybody more diligent in his search for a
wife than he. Up and down the streams and alder brooks of a whole wild
countryside he wanders without rest, stopping here and there on a
grassy point to gather a little handful of mud, like a child's mud
pie, all patted smooth, in the midst of which is a little strong
smelling musk. When you find that sign, in a circle of carefully
trimmed grass under the alders, you know that there is a young beaver
on that stream looking for a wife.
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