m-sa was an expert in forest-craft, but she was a woman. So
he hasted.
The world about him might have been bathed in the blackness of night for
all he heeded it; only the track of footsteps stood out to his gaze like
a trail of fire. His speed was great; nor was he conscious how great. He
no longer walked, but ran, and thought nothing of distance, nor the
passing of time. The trail of pursuer and pursued still lit, red-hot,
before him, and the cry of his heart still rang out--On! On!
It was noon when his speed slackened. Nor was it weariness that checked
him. Once in the echoing wood he had heard the distant sound of breaking
undergrowth. The prospect about him had changed. The forest had become a
tangled maze of low-growing shrub, dotted with giant growths of maple,
spruce, and blue-gum. It was a wider, deeper hollow than any hitherto
passed, and the air was warmer. It was the valley of a wide,
swift-flowing river.
The declivity was abrupt, and the rush of the river, too swift to
succumb to the grip of winter, sounded faintly up from below. Suddenly
he halted listening, and the sound of breaking undergrowth came to him
again and again; he waited for the cry of the human, but it did not
come. With beating heart he hurried on, his mind was easier and his
thoughts centred upon the killing of the grizzly. His rifle was ready to
hand and he looked for a sight of the dark fur through the bush ahead.
Now his movements became almost Indian-like in their stealth. Bending
low to avoid the rustling branches, he crept on, silently and swiftly.
He no longer followed the tracks. He had turned off, meaning to come up
with his quarry against the wind. At every opening in the bush he
paused, his keen eyes alert for a sign of his prey. But the leafless
branches of the scrub, faintly tinged with the signs of coming spring,
alone confronted him; only that, and the noise of breaking brushwood
ahead.
It quickly became plain to him that the bear was no longer advancing,
but was moving about uncertainly; and as he realized this, his heart was
gripped with a terrible fear. Had the brute come up with his prey? Had
the tragedy been played out? He dashed forward, throwing all caution to
the winds; but ere he had gone fifty yards he came to a halt, like one
paralyzed.
His eyes, which had been peering ever ahead, had suddenly dropped to the
ground. It seemed as though they could no longer face that which they
looked upon. For a moment
|