Nothing daunted, however, he resumed his pursuit, and was gaining quite rapidly on the creature, when he saw something that alarmed him.
In hurrying along the path it was frequently only barely discernible, and then when reaching a place where the moonlight streamed down upon it, it could be distinguished with great distinctness.
On one of these occasions Hans saw the bear run on its hind feet in a style such as no bear in the world could be trained to do, and in just such a posture as a man would take who was tired of running in a stooping position on his hands and knees.
The conclusion was inevitable; he was chasing an Indian disguised as a black bear.
"Doonder and blitzen!" muttered Bungslager, as a cold chill of terror ran through him at the discovery, "dat ish—dat ish—fooney!"
Obtuse and reckless as he was at times, the Hollander had brains enough to perceive the deadly peril into which he had run. The Comanche had adopted this artifice to draw him away from his friends, and to encompass his destruction.
He was in a quandary as to what he should do.
If he kept on his pursuit, one result was inevitable, and if he turned to retreat, following the path back again, the cunning red-skin would know that his stratagem had been detected, and he in turn would become pursuer and assailant.
Hans was never a good shot with a rifle, and he was pretty certain that this bear was protected in some such a way that he could not be injured by any rifle however well aimed, so he gave over all thought of injuring the savage by means of his gun.
He could see only one thing that offered any hope, and that was to give the Indian the slip. He was now quite a distance ahead, and still seeking to allure him on. They were entering a part of the wood that looked quite dense and dark, and here Hans resolved to make the effort to get out of an exceedingly bad scrape.