“He’s gone straight on, just in the track we want to follow.”
“Is there only one?” I whispered. “Only one, and it’s very awkward, for I was just thinking of making camp for the night.”
“But we needn’t be afraid of one Indian,” said Esau, boldly.
“No,” replied Gunson; “but we need be of one bear.”
“Bear?” I said. “Those are a man’s footsteps.”
“Those are the prints of a very large bear, my lad,” said Gunson; “and judging from their appearance, I should say it’s not very long since he passed. Now then, what had we better do?”
I did not feel myself capable of advising, and I suppose Esau was no more of an expert in bear, for he too was silent.
“Don’t speak. Follow me; and as we go, hold your packs loosely so that you can drop them in a moment and take to a tree.”
“But bears climb trees,” I whispered. “Not they,” said Gunson. “Come along.” And with the shades of evening closing in fast in that wild valley, we followed our companion as he went cautiously on, scanning every bush and rock, not knowing how soon the savage beast, whose prints continued right in the direction we seemed compelled to take, might rush out and dispute the way.