A KECORD OTTER HUNT 69 



the yapping, howling pack. " Chain the stream below ! " 

 cries the leggy youngster, who comes rushing towards 

 us pointing to a " chain " of air-bubbles which rise to the 

 surface from below the turbid stream. The youngster, 

 a West-countryman, and no novice at the sport in hand, 

 is right. The otter finds he has made a mistake in 

 leaving the main stream, and is trying to double back to 

 it under cover of water. 



In a moment half-a-dozen of us were up to our 

 breasts in water, hand in hand, and with our feet moving 

 from side to side to stop the gallant animal's passage. 

 The motley pack are now yapping all around us, some on 

 the bank and some in the water, amongst the latter the 

 three-legged spaniel. 



" Look out ! here he comes ! " shouts someone from 

 the bank, as a volume of bubbles rise to the surface, not 

 a dozen yards away. 



" Gad ! he touched my leg ! " cries the centre man 

 in a half -scared manner. A great swirl of churned-up 

 water as the otter, frightened by the moving legs, turns, 

 tells us that the " middle -Hnk " does not err in the 

 statement. 



" Hieu gaze ! " and begad old three-legs has him ; 

 but the old spaniel's collared him too far astern, and the 

 otter, turning, fastens on to his canine enemy, and the 

 pair disappear from view into the oozy depths of the 

 stream. 



" For heaven's sake, save my dog ! " cries the 

 weighty horseman, as he rolls himself out of the saddle. 



