The trapper went cautiously forward, stepping around the log, from the top of which the snow had been partly blown away.
"Nary a thing," he announced, after a moment's inspection.
"Better luck at the next one, perhaps," said Bob.
"I ain't a-worryin'—we'll git back on the ice."
They followed the winding stream for some distance, when Yardsley again slackened his pace.
"Easy, cap'n!" he exclaimed. "'Round here is regular otterville. See that there hole in the ice? Well, the critters has used it ter come out on shore. So I sinks my trap, an'—"
"And what?"
"Wal—I'll show yer in a minute—if I've struck luck."
From back of a mass of underbrush close by, Yardsley pulled a stout stick curved at the end. This he pushed through the hole in the ice, and a grunt of satisfaction escaped his lips.
With a couple of vigorous pulls, he brought to the surface a fine large otter.