132 THE LIFE STORY OF AN OTTER 



Of course, before he could dispose of the skins 

 he must find the otters, and shoot them when 

 found ; but what could be easier, he thought, 

 than to track them down with such a trail ; and 

 then even he, old and infirm though he was, 

 could hardly fail to hit the long-bodied creatures 

 as they left their couches and floundered through 

 the snow. So easy did the task seem in the first 

 flush of excitement, before the difficulties pre- 

 sented themselves, crowding upon him as if to 

 shake him from his purpose. The bitterness of 

 the wind, the depths of the drifts, the possibility 

 — nay, the probability, of the creatures having 

 sought the cliffs, his own physical debility : all 

 confronted him, but only to be made light of and 

 swept aside before he turned and hobbled back 

 to the cottage, determined at all costs to make 

 the attempt. 



On crossing the threshold he went straight to 

 the hearth, his eyes raised to the two guns and 

 a brass blunderbuss that rested on wooden pegs 

 above it. The flintlock was within easy reach ; 

 but it was the modern gun he meant to use and, 

 standing on tiptoe, he managed to grasp the 

 hammers and take it down. A little over a year 

 before, when he had put the wonderful piece 

 there, he thought he should never use it again, 



