The Preposterous Adventures of Swimmer by Alexander Key Page A

an’ heads this way.” The youth turned and started down to the water’s edge. “C’mon, Joe. There’s a mess of holes around here. If I poke the critter out, you gotta be ready to bop ’im on the head. You gonna help us, Weaver?”
    â€œNo,” Weaver muttered. “Daggone! Two thousand dollars! I better tell Pa about this.” He moved away suddenly and began to run back the way he had come.
    Tattle returned a moment later, but instead of following Weaver, the dog began leaping about the tree, yapping in a frenzy.
    Oh, blatts! Swimmer thought despairingly. It was my trail he was following all the time. Now, he’s trying to find out if I’m here. That sneaky little hunk of buzzard bait!
    Down at the creek’s edge one of the hunters cried, “Shaddup, you fool dog! You tryin’ to scare everything away?”
    â€œMebbe he’s tryin’ to tell us there’s something in the tree,” the other said.
    They waded over and began thrusting their sticks down under the roots. Almost immediately they found the underwater entrance to the den, but the exploring sticks could reach no farther than a rock around which the passageway curved.
    â€œIf anything was here,” grumbled one, “it got scared away earlier.” He pointed to the remains of Clarence’s fire. “Somebody camped there last night. We’d better go on down the creek.”
    The two hurried away. But Tattle remained, yapping, snarling, and finally breaking into an urgent high-pitched barking that could be heard for a great distance.
    At the sound of it Swimmer chilled. As soon as Weaver or his father became aware of that telltale barking, they’d come on the run and there would be real trouble. At the thought of what could happen to Willow and Ripple, his lips drew back in a snarl and the hair began to rise on his neck. He crept down from his perch.
    I must get rid of the nuisance , he told Ripple.
    I will help you , she said instantly.
    Thoughts flashed between them. His bell was the main problem. Because of it he couldn’t make an attack until the last possible instant, when the dog was within easy reach. Nor must they touch the ground and leave a fresh scent for other dogs to find.
    We will make a game of it , she said. I will attract his attention. You do the rest .
    So it became a game. Ripple swam out first and flashed into the current, moving and turning with a grace and speed that no fish could equal. Swimmer followed slowly and crept with the utmost stealth to the edge of a pebbly spot just beyond the largest rock. Here he flattened in the shadow, with only his face above the surface. At a glance he might have been only a part of the rock itself.
    Now Ripple darted in close and spun about in the shallows chirruping gaily. Tattle saw her on the instant, and for a second his mouth hung open as if he could not believe his eyes. Then he dashed down to the pebbly spot, snarling.
    A wiser dog than Tattle, even if he had been twice the size, would have hesitated at the water’s edge and would not have taken another step. For in the water, as Swimmer well knew, an otter is supreme. Nothing could have touched Ripple, so she was entirely without fear as she paused in the shallows and laughed. This infuriated Tattle, and he made the mistake of his life—he sprang into the shallows after her.
    Swimmer had been hoping for this. Instantly, with all the power he could force into his three good legs, he lunged for Tattle’s throat.
    Unfortunately his harness caught on a spur of rock, throwing him off-balance. He missed the throat entirely but was quick enough to sink his teeth into a leg. It was sufficient. Tattle had time only for a frightened shriek before he was jerked down into deep water.
    Swimmer held on grimly and let the swift current carry them downstream. The dog struggled violently at first, then its motions became feeble.
    Suddenly from Ripple, who was