We ran to the edge and looked over. The water was six or seven feet deep.
"Stamp on the ground," said I.
Rod did so; and a moment after I saw a long, slim animal glide out from under the bank and dart off beneath the ice--then another.
"Yes, here he is; two of them."
They didn't come up in the open water, but must have gone off under the ice. I suppose there were air-holes through it, where they came up to breathe.
They were otters; no doubt of it. But how to catch them; that was the next question.
"Hughy spoke of setting traps for them," said Rod.
"So we can! Your father's old bear-trap! Set it down under the bank here, where their burrow opens out into the water."
"Agreed."
And home we went after the trap. It was nearly three miles, but we were soon there, and took the trap from the garret, where it had been resting for a dozen years. It was heavy, and must have weighed sixty or seventy pounds. But we hung it on a pole, and resting the ends of the pole on our shoulders, started for the pond; and a fine sweat it gave us before we reached our destination.