Not so with the big weasel. He instantly followed his antagonist, clumsily but surely clawing his way up the trunk. It took him some time to reach the top, but he got there at last. Another grapple ensued among the very topmost boughs, and they both came tumbling to the ground, catching at the limbs as they fell; but grappling afresh they rolled down the steep bank to the edge of the water.
Meanwhile it had grown so dark that I could but just see their writhing forms. The growling, grappling sound continued, however, and I could hear them splash in the water. Then there came a lull. One or the other had "given in," I felt sure. Which was the victor?
Cocking my gun, I crept to the bank. As nearly as I could make out the situation, the fisher was holding the 'coon by the throat.
I took a step forward. A twig snapped under my foot. Instantly a pair of fiery eyes glared up at me in the gloom; and with a harsh snarl the fisher raised himself. But the 'coon didn't stir; he was dead.
It seemed almost too bad to shoot the victor of so desperate a fight; but thinking of my traps I hardened my heart and fired. The fisher reared up, fell over, then recovering its legs, leaped at me with all the ferocity of its bloodthirsty race. But the heavy buckshot had surely done its work, and with another attempt to spring at me the animal fell back dead.
I had no more trouble with my traps.
THE END.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST IN THE CAÑON ***