"Perhaps it might be a bear instead of an otter," he replied,
evading my question. "They are all great fellows for any kind of
metal. If it's a bear he'll just get hold of that screw on your
bed and take it right off. You'd better put a bullet inside, and
then when he takes off the screw it will blow into his mouth.
He'll think a fly flew down his throat, and cough. Then you could
run." George's eyes were dancing with amusement at his own
pictures. Presently he went on: "I think--oh! you keep a rifle in
there though, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Don't you think you could handle salt a little better than a
rifle?"

This was insulting; but I was laughing too heartily to be properly
indignant, and he continued: "You might put a little salt on his
tail. Maybe you could put that otter out of business, too, if you
had enough salt."

A duck flew past, dropping into the water a little way above our
camp, and George sprang for a rifle. He shot, but missed, which I
assured him was only proper punishment for the slighting
insinuations he had made in regard to my shooting. Job, and Joe
went fishing after supper but got nothing. It was a fine evening
with a glorious sunset, beautiful evening sky, and a splendid moon.
George said: "Fine day and fine breeze to-morrow."

My sleep was not disturbed that night by either bear or otter, and
we were up and started on our way the next morning at 7.30. A