134 THE LIFE STORY OF AN OTTER 



breath, aimed at the bird still bunched up on the 

 swaying branch. As the sight kept fairly true 

 to the mark, confidence returned, the old man's 

 face brightened, and resting the weapon against 

 the table, he set about his preparations. He 

 fetched from a drawer in the dresser powder- 

 flask, shot-pouch, caps and wads ; he loaded both 

 barrels, and replaced the ramrod. Then he 

 turned up the collar of his worn velveteen coat, 

 pulled the badger- skin cap over his ears and, 

 telling the child he should not be away long, 

 sallied out with the gun at half-cock under his 

 arm. 



The trail led past the frozen-in boat towards 

 the tossing withy-bed, but just before reaching it, 

 swerved unexpectedly, as if the creatures had 

 caught a glimpse of some forager who had fore- 

 stalled them, or had all at once thought it best 

 to make without delay for the farther side of the 

 marsh. Bending his bowed figure as he turned, 

 the old man set his face to the gale and plodded 

 bravely along by the side of the tracks, the snow 

 in places reaching half-way up his leather leggings. 

 The depth of it made him hopeful that the otters 

 had not gone far before lying up ; so, as he drew 

 near each bit of cover that offered harbourage, 

 he raised the hammers and held the gun at the 



