The air was keen and frosty, and the snow crunched and squeaked under their snowshoes. The lads had become so expert in the use of the “webs” that they found little difficulty in holding the stiff pace set by the guide. They soon came to the place where they had deserted the tracks the night before, and, eager and impatient, they sped along on the trail.
“Say, he can certainly go some,” said George, looking at the great tracks in the snow.
“I should say so,” added Ed.
“Yes, and remember he’s not traveling like he could if he didn’t have that bad leg,” Ben reminded them.
The trail led along the edge of the lake for some distance, then it turned abruptly to the right and crossed a ridge of heavy timber. Still the bear had continued his pace, and the boys marveled at his strength and agility.
After a time the tracks changed, and the trailers saw that the bear had settled into a walk. Ben pointed out the drag of the damaged limb, which he thought was one of the fore paws. Farther back on the trail he had drawn their attention to marks which showed that several times one of the animal’s front legs had doubled under him.
“He certainly is giving us a run,” Ben declared, when they had gone several miles.
The trail zigzagged down the side of an almost perpendicular hill, and entered the confines of a small swamp. Here they followed it over a bit of partly frozen marsh which vividly recalled to George his experience in that other swamp. He was more careful this time, though there was slight danger of a repetition, for the bog was solid, and consequently less dangerous to walk over. The trail led them out on the opposite side and up over a rough, rock-strewn grade to higher ground. Noting this, Ben ordered a halt.
“He’s going to his den, boys, and we may as well take it easy, for we’re not likely to overtake him before he gets there.”
“Where do you suppose the den is?” asked Ed.