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Page 2
* * * * * *
Silverwater was fed by many brooks from the deep-wooded surrounding
hills. Toward one of these, on a certain golden afternoon, Uncle Andy
and the Babe were betaking themselves along the shadowy trail, where
the green-brown moss was soft under foot and their careful steps made
no noise. When they spoke it was in quiet undertones; for the spirit
of the woods was on the Babe, and he knew that by keeping very quiet
there was always the chance of surprising some fascinating mystery.
The two were going fishing--for Uncle Andy, with a finely human
inconsistency, was an enthusiastic fisherman, and the stream toward
which they were making their way was one of deep pools and cool
"stillwaters" where the biggest fish were wont to lie during the hot
weather. Uncle Andy had a prejudice against those good people who were
always sternly consistent, and he was determined that he would never
allow himself to become a crank; so he went on enthusiastically killing
fish with the same zest that he had once brought to the hunting of
beast and bird.
While they were yet several hundred yards from the stream, suddenly
there came to their ears, unmistakable though muffled by the
intervening trees, the sound of a brisk splash, as if something had
fallen into the water. Uncle Andy stopped short in his tracks,
motionless as a setter marking his bird. The Babe stopped likewise,
faithfully imitating him. A couple of seconds later came another
splash, as heavy as the first; and then, in quick succession, two
lighter ones.
For a moment or two the Babe kept silence, though bursting with
curiosity. Then he whispered tensely--"What's that?"
"Otter," replied Uncle Andy, in a murmur as soft as the wind in the
sedge-tops.
"Why?" continued the Babe, meaning to say--"But what on earth are they
doing?" and trusting that Uncle Andy would appreciate the
self-restraint of the monosyllable.
"Sliding down hill," muttered Uncle Andy, without turning his head.
Then, holding up his hand as a sign that there were to be no more
questions asked, he crept forward noiselessly; and the Babe followed at
his heels.
After two or three minutes the sounds were repeated in the same
succession as before--first two heavy splashes, and then two lighter
ones. Unable to ask questions, the Babe was obliged to think for
himself.
He had only a vague idea what otters were like, but he knew a good deal
about sliding down hill. He pictured to himself a high, rough bank
leading down to the water; but as not even Bill's daring imagination
would have represented the gamesome beasts as employing toboggans or
hand-sleds, he thought it must be rather bumpy and uncomfortable work
coasting over the roots and rocks on one's own unprotected anatomy.
The sounds continued, growing louder and louder, till the two
adventurers must have been within thirty or forty feet of the stream;
and they were creeping as noiselessly as a shadow slips over the grass,
in the hope of catching the merrymakers at their game. But suddenly
there came one great splash, heavy and prolonged, as if all the sliders
had come down close together. And then silence. Uncle Andy crouched
motionless for several minutes, as if he had been turned into a stump.
Then he straightened himself up with a disappointed air.
"Gone!" he muttered. "Cleared out! They've heard us or smelt us!"
"Oh!" exclaimed the Babe in a voice of deep concern; though, as a
matter of fact, he was immensely relieved, the strain of the prolonged
tension and preternatural stillness having begun to make him feel that
he must make a noise or burst.
Two minutes later they came out on the banks of the stream.
The stream at this point was perhaps twenty-five feet in width, deep,
dark, and almost without current. Only by noting the bend of the long
watergrasses could one tell which way it ran. The hither bank was low
and grassy, with a fallen trunk slanting out into the water. But the
shore opposite was some twelve or fifteen feet high, very steep, and
quite naked, having been cut by the floods from a ridge of clay. Down
the middle of this incline a narrow track had been worn so smooth that
it gleamed in the sun almost like ice.
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