"Damn it," said Darragh, disgusted, "-- that's what they've been trailing all the while across-woods, -- that devilish dog-otter yonder. ... And I had hoped they were on Quintana's trail----"
A mass rush and scurry of crazed dogs nearly swept him off his feet, and both men caught a glimpse of a large bitch-otter taking to the lake from a ledge of rock just beyond.
Now the sky vibrated with the deafening outcry of the dogs, some taking to water, others racing madly along the shore.
Crack! The echo of the dog-otter's blow on the water came across to them as the beat dived.
"Well, I'm in for it now," muttered Darragh, starting along the bank toward Clinch's Dump, to keep an eye on his dogs.
Stormont followed more leisurely.