84 THE LIFE STORY OF AN OTTER 



Not by mere chance, after rounding the base of 

 Lone Tarn, was the beast's antlered head set for 

 the ravine. It was there he had first seen the 

 light. The early weeks of his life had been spent 

 in the ferny clearing where the otter's trail ran, 

 and his mother used to lead him, a dappled calf, 

 down the steep bank to drink at the shallows of 

 the otter's pool. Four years had passed since then ; 

 but the memory of the sombre, sequestered glen 

 and of the pool at the foot of the high fall was 

 still clear in his mind, and to them he turned his 

 wearied steps in the hour of his distress. After 

 crossing the rugged purlieus of the woodland, 

 he threaded his way between the stems of the 

 birches and, entering the ravine at its lower end, 

 made his way up and up along the shaded waters 

 until he came opposite the holt, where a sub- 

 merged rock permitted foothold. His wild rush 

 through the shallows had filled the startled 

 sleeper with alarm ; but the otter did not under- 

 stand the cause of the strange creature's distress 

 until the cry of the pursuers caught his ears — a 

 cry that swelled louder and louder until every 

 hound had splashed into the pool and swam 

 there, baying their quarry with deafening 

 clamour. More than once whilst the din was at 

 its height the otter was on the point of slipping 



