water, and
evening light peering through the willow-stoles, a number of unfamiliar
moving objects. He heard quick, uneven footsteps, and, now and then, a
voice; and was aware of an unmistakable scent, such as he had already
often noticed in the shallows and amid the grass.

On several occasions, at dusk, Brighteye, like Lutra the otter, had seen
a trout splashing and twisting convulsively in terror and pain. Each
time the trout had been irresistibly drawn through the shallows towards
a peculiar, upright object on the opposite bank, and after this object
had passed into the distance the vole had found that the familiar scent
of which he was now conscious was mingled, at the edge of the
river-bank, with fresh blood-stains and with the strong smell of fish.

To all animals, whether wild or domesticated, fresh-spilt blood has a
significance that can never be disregarded. It indicates suffering and
death. Ever since, in far distant years, blood first welled from a
stricken creature's wounds, Nature has been haunted by the grim presence
of Fear. The hunting weasel, coming unexpectedly to a pool of blood,
whence a wounded rabbit has crawled away to die in the nearest burrow,
opens mouth and nostrils wide to inhale with fierce delight the pungent
odour. Once I caught sight of a weasel under such circumstances, and was
startled by the almost demon-like look of ferocity on the creature's
face.

But the hunted weaklings of the fields and woods read the signs of death
with consternation. When the scent of the slayer is mingled with that of
the victim it is noted with care, and, if often detected in similar
conditions, is committed to memory as inseparable from danger.

Brighteye had been repeatedly warned by his mother to avoid the presence
of man, and had also learned to fear it because of his experiences with
the angler and the trout. Alarmed at the approach of men and hounds, he
waded out, swam straight up-stream to a tiny bay, and hid beneath a
willow-root to wait till the danger had passed. He strained his ears to
catch each different sound as the "thud, thud" and the patter of feet
came nearer. Then the gravel rattled, a stone fell into the stream, and
a shaggy spaniel poked his nose into a hole between the willow-roots.
The dog drew a long, noisy breath, and barked so suddenly and loudly,
and so close to Brighteye's ear, that the vole involuntarily leaped
from his resting place.

In full view of the spaniel, Brighteye