Now it seemed but thirty yards ahead and in the creek.
With the utmost care they crawled to the edge of the clay and
opposite they saw a sight but rarely glimpsed by man. Here were
six otters; two evidently full-grown, and four seeming young of
the pair, engaged in a most hilarious and human game of tobogganing
down a steep clay hill to plump into a deep part at its foot.
Plump went the largest, presumably the father; down he went, to
reappear at the edge, scramble out and up an easy slope to the
top of the twenty-foot bank. Splash, splash, splash, came three
of the young ones; splash, splash, the mother and one of the cubs
almost together.
"Scoot" went the big male again, and the wet furslopping and
rubbing on the long clay chute made it greasier and slipperier
every time.
Splash, plump, splash -- splash, plump, splash, went the otter
family gleefully, running up the bank again, eager each to be
first, it seemed, and to do the chute the oftenest.
The gambolling grace, the obvious good humour, the animal
hilarity of it all, was absorbingly amusing. The trappers gazed
with pleasure that showed how near akin are naturalist and
hunter.
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