"An' real glad I am, too, Dale! We ain't lost nothin' by it, an' it's done you a heap of good. Here's a bite to eat!"
Dale attacked it ravenously, then took a deep breath and stretched.
"I feel like a catamount! Come on, Jess—where'll we hunt?"
"I was jest thinkin'! Whilst you slept, I seen somethin' looked like a bar up on that-ar spur!"
Dale wheeled and watched the place for several minutes.
"I don't see nothin'," he said, at last.
"'Cause it ain't been over to our side yet, that's why! But it's thar, all right—or, leastwise, it was thar!"
"Jess," the mountaineer spoke quickly, "last spring I saw him there, too. Come on! Maybe—but I don't reckon it could be, if you thought it was a bear!"
"I don't neither; but thar ain't no tellin'! It's 'bout the only place we ain't been! I'll tie the dawg heah, so's if it is a b'ar he won't git cut up none!"
After a hard two-hour climb they reached a ledge seeming to run on a level with the spur, followed it a few hundred feet and, cautiously parting the branches, looked out. There was still too much foliage to permit them to see, and they crept nearer; this time coming to the base of the spur itself. But Jess, who was slightly in advance, drew back and silently cocked his rifle—an act which any mountaineer would rightfully interpret as a command for absolute silence. Together, now, they edged forward.