They had,
indeed, reached the land of plenty.
The stream increased as they marched; many springs and some
important rivulets joined on. They found some old beaver signs
but none new; and they left their deadfalls every quarter mile or less.
The stream began to descend more quickly until it was in a long,
narrow valley with steep clay sides and many pools. Here they
saw again and again the tracks and signs of otter and coming
quietly round a turn that opened a new reach they heard a deep
splash, then another and another.
The hunters' first thought was to tie up Skookum, but a glance
showed that this was unnecessary. They softly dropped the packs
and the sick dog lay meekly down beside them. Then they crept
forward with hunter caution, favoured by an easterly breeze.
Their first thought was of beaver, but they had seen no recent
sign, nor was there anything that looked like a beaver pond. The
measured splash, splash, splash -- was not so far ahead. It might
be a bear snatching fish, or -- no, that was too unpleasant -- a
man baling out a canoe. Still the slow splash, splash, went on
at intervals, not quite regular.
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