Bruin: The Grand Bear Hunt

by Mayne Reid

At one of these he was seen to make an abrupt halt, at the same instant turning his face upward. The young hunters, who were close behind him, could see that there were scratches upon the soft succulent bark, as if caused by the claws of some animal; but, almost as soon as they had made the observation, their eyes were directed to the animal itself.

Away up on the tall tapang—just where its lowest limbs parted from the main stem—a black body could be distinguished. At such a distance it appeared not bigger than a squirrel; but, for all that, it was a Bornean bear; and the spot of vivid orange upon its breast could be seen shining like a coal of fire. Close by its snout a whitish mass appeared attached under the branches. This was the waxen domicile of the lanyeh bees; and a slight mist-like cloud, which hung over the place, was the swarm itself—no doubt engaged in angry conflict with the plunderer of their hive.

The little bear was too busy in the enjoyment of his luscious meal—that is, if the stings of the lanyehs allowed him to enjoy it—to look below; and for some minutes the hunters stood regarding him, without making a movement.

Satisfied with their inspection, they were at length preparing to fire at him; when they were hindered by the Dyak—who, making signs to them to be silent, drew them all back from the tree.

When out of sight of the bear, he counselled them to adopt a different plan. He said—what was true enough—that at such a height they might miss the bear; or, even if they should hit him, a bullet would scarce bring him down—unless it should strike him in a vital part. In the contingency of their missing, or only slightly wounding him, the animal would at once ascend further up into the tapang; and, hidden behind the leaves and branches, might defy them. He would there remain till hunger should force him down; and, since he was just in the act of having his meal, and had, no doubt, been eating from the time he was first espied—or longer, perhaps—he would be in a condition to stay in the tree, until their patience should be more than exhausted.

True, they might fell the tree: they had an axe, and could soon cut the tree down—as the wood was soft; but the Dyak alleged that the bruang in such cases usually contrives to escape. The tapang rarely falls all the way, but only upon the tops of the trees that stand thickly round; and as the Bornean bear can climb and cling like a monkey, he is never shaken out of the branches, but springs from them into some other tree—among the thick leaves of which he may conceal himself; or, by getting to the ground, manage to steal off.

His advice, therefore, was, that the hunters should conceal themselves behind the trunks of the surrounding trees; and, observing silence, wait till the bruang had finished his mellifluous repast, and feel inclined to come down. The Dyak said he would make his descent stern foremost; and, if they acted cautiously, they might have him at their mercy, and almost at the muzzles of their guns.

There was only one of the three who was not agreeable to this plan; and that was the impatient Ivan; but, overruled by the advice of his brother, he also gave his consent to it.

The three now took their respective stands behind three trees—that formed a sort of triangle around the tapang; and the guide, who had no gun, placed himself apart—holding his kris in readiness to finish off the bear, should the animal be only wounded.

There was no danger to be dreaded from the encounter. The little bear of Borneo is only dangerous to the bees and white ants—or other insects—which he is accustomed to lick up with his long tongue. The human hunter has nothing to fear from him, any more than from a timid deer—though he will scratch, and growl, and bite, if too closely approached.