The Preposterous Adventures of Swimmer by Alexander Key

after he got rid of the bell and harness, he would be able to move a little faster and snag an occasional horny-head chub. They weren’t as quick as trout. And there were the cases of canned fish that were always carried for him in the van. Clarence had promised to bring some tins of tuna, after the van was driven around from the bridge. That would be a big help, of course, except that he couldn’t expect Clarence to be on hand every time he got hungry.
    A bit enviously he watched Willow slip into the water and dart out into the brightening pool to catch her breakfast. Ripple started to follow, but paused before him and playfully tapped his bell. Again, at its tinkling, she gave the little sound of delight that was so much like Penny’s laughter. Impulsively, she touched her nose to his and darted outside.
    Swimmer was still tingling from that touch when Ripple returned, bringing two fish, one in her mouth and the other firmly grasped in her nimble “hands.” She placed the larger fish before him and settled down beside him to eat the other.
    Swimmer overflowed with an emotion he had never felt before, and his heart went out to her.
    Penny did not appear that morning, nor did Clarence return. Swimmer’s uneasiness grew. According to his figuring—and he had a flawless sense of time to go with his abhorred training in mathematics—Clarence should have been back before the sun was three hours high. That was making all sorts of allowances, like an extra fifteen minutes to climb to the county road that went past the trout farm, plus an extra half hour to hike to the bridge.
    But when Clarence did not appear by noon, Swimmer twisted worriedly in his harness and came to an unhappy conclusion: The delay was caused by something unforeseen and decidedly unpleasant.
    It was less than an hour later that a new feeling of danger sent him up to keep watch at his peephole. He was hardly settled when Willow and her daughter slipped back into the den with the news that several young humans and a dog were approaching.
    Swimmer almost groaned when he heard a familiar yapping. Presently Tattle dashed past, hard upon a scent. Behind him, carrying his gun, came Weaver Sykes. With him were two gangling youths armed with some sticks, a gunny-sack, and a piece of rope.
    â€œYeah, Pa claims all this land down here,” Weaver Sykes was saying as they paused under the tree. “But I reckon he won’t mind your hunting if it’s an otter you’re after—that is, as long as you don’t hunt upstream from here. He wouldn’t like that.”
    â€œBut what about the reward?” the taller youth asked. “If we catch the critter, reckon he’d want us to give ’im part of the money?”
    â€œReward? Who said anything about a reward? How much is it?”
    â€œWell, we heard at church this morning it was twenty thousand dollars. But right off folks figgered that was a mistake, an’ that somebody’d just put the decimal point in the wrong place. They said that more’n likely it was two thousand. But that’s plenty.”
    â€œTwo thousand dollars for a danged dirty fish-stealin’ varmint?” Weaver exclaimed. “Why, anybody who’d pay that is clean out’n his cotton-pickin’ mind!”
    â€œBut, Weaver, it’s a famous otter. They say it even wears a silver harness an’ a bell.”
    â€œI don’t care what it wears. It’s still a danged varmint an’ it ain’t worth that much.”
    â€œShucks, nobody said it was. But you know them rich flatlanders. They’d pay anything for something they want.”
    â€œReckon you’re right,” Weaver admitted. “But how come you’re looking here for the varmint? They say it escaped ’way across the ridge on Red Dog Creek.”
    â€œAw, there ain’t no fish in Red Dog. An’ the warden says a traveling otter always leaves the lower part of it