A BOBBERY PACK 



" Look ! if that's not the * spur ' of an otter, I'm a 

 Dutchman." 



I was out of my saddle in a moment and examining 

 the patch of grey, greasy-looking mud which my friend 

 Mervin had pointed out to me while making the above 

 ejaculation. Yes ; there could be no doubt about it, the 

 pad-prints on the ooze were those of Lutra capensis, and 

 upon searching the banks of the stream a little lower down 

 we discovered the half-eaten remains of a yellow fish 

 which had probably afforded him a breakfast that very 

 morning, for the fish had not been out of the water many 

 hours. 



" Tell you what, D ," went on Mervin, as he puffed 



out great clouds of rank Boer tobacco smoke until the 

 pure morning air simply reeked of " burned rags," 

 " we'll get together a bobbery pack and hunt that 

 otter ; I'm simply dying to see a bit of hound- work of 

 some sort." 



I agreed that the suggestion was an excellent one, 

 but wondered where the material for the pack was to 

 come from. Jack Mervin cast all objections to the 

 winds, however. " Oh, don't worry your noble head 

 over details," said he, as we cantered across a wide 

 stretch of veld that lay between the river and his 

 bungalow. " We'll go into town this evening, and if we 

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