Of course, they had some covetous thought connected with
those glossy hides, but this was September still, and even otter
were not yet prime. Shoot, plump, splash, went the happy crew
with apparently unabated joy and hilarity. The slide improved
with use and the otters seemed tireless; when all at once a loud
but muffled yelp was heard and Skookum, forgetting all caution,
came leaping down the bank to take a hand.
With a succession of shrill, birdy chirps the old otters warned
their young. Plump, plump, plump, all shot into the pool, but to
reappear, swimming with heads out, for they were but slightly
alarmed. This was too much for Quonob; he levelled his flintlock;
snap, bang, it went, pointed at the old male, but he dived at the
snap and escaped. Down the bank now rushed the hunters,
joined by Skookum, to attack the otters in the pool, for it was
small and shallow; unless a burrow led from it, they were trapped.
But the otters realized the peril. All six dashed out of the
pool, down the open, gravelly stream the old ones uttering loud
chirps that rang like screams. Under the fallen logs and brush
they glided, dodging beneath roots and over banks, pursued by the
hunters, each armed with a club and by Skookum not armed at all.
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