warm flood, and it was so comfortable that after a time he had
difficulty in keeping his eyes open to watch the pond. Then he fell
asleep.

Just how Beaver Tooth sensed this fact is a mystery. Five minutes later
he came up quietly, without a splash or a sound, within fifty yards of
Baree. For a few moments he scarcely moved in the water. Then he swam
very slowly parallel with the dam across the pond. At the other side he
drew himself ashore, and for another minute sat as motionless as a
stone, with his eyes on that part of the dam where Baree was lying. Not
another beaver was moving, and it was very soon apparent that Beaver
Tooth had but one object in mind--getting a closer observation of
Baree. When he entered the water again, he swam along close to the dam.
Ten feet beyond Baree he began to climb out. He did this with great
slowness and caution. At last he reached the top of the dam.

A few yards away Baree was almost hidden in his hollow, only the top of
his shiny black body appearing to Beaver Tooth's scrutiny. To get a
better look, the old beaver spread his flat tail out beyond him and
rose to a sitting posture on his hindquarters, his two front paws held
squirrel-like over his breast. In this pose he was fully three feet
tall. He probably weighed forty pounds, and in some ways he resembled
one of those fat, good-natured, silly-looking dogs that go largely to
stomach. But his brain was working with amazing celerity. Suddenly he
gave the hard mud of the dam a single slap with his tail--and Baree sat
up. Instantly he saw Beaver Tooth, and stared. Beaver Tooth stared. For
a full half-minute neither moved the thousandth part of an inch. Then
Baree stood up and wagged his tail.

That was enough. Dropping to his forefeet. Beaver Tooth waddled