The gun fell from his shoulder; his jaw dropped; the eyes, but an instant before full of fire, were dull and listless. He seemed inches shorter as he staggered through the reeds and along the gully towards a small enclosure about which the banks rose almost sheer.
'Niver can be in the Piskies' Parlour to be sure; and yet how could they get out?
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when his eyes fell on the fresh marks against the face of the scarp. Then he saw the footprints left on the snow by the otters as they sprang to the lowest ledge.
'Has the frost touched my brain, or the little folks my eyes? Nonsense! nothin' of the kind; thee'rt seein' things as they are. Well, well,' he went on after drawing a long breath, 'I've been wanderin' about the ma'sh for wellnigh fifty year, and come on many tracks, but never prents like these. Lor mercy! must be a mighty big varmint as left 'em. What a catch if only I could ha' bagged un!'
The sight of the footprints had put fresh life into him; he determined to follow as far as he could.
'I'm bone-tired, but I'll see it through if I drop on the track.'
