“What is it? what is it?” eagerly inquired Ivan; though from what the izzard-hunter had said, he already half comprehended the design.
“Patience, young monsieur! in a minute you shall see!”
All three now gathered around the chasseur, and watched his movements.
They saw him pour a quantity of gunpowder into the palm of his hand; and then tear a strip of cotton rag from a large piece which he had drawn out of his pouch. This he saturated with saliva and then coated it over with the powder. He next proceeded to rub both rag and powder together—until, after a considerable friction between the palms of his hands, the cotton became once more dry, and was now thoroughly saturated with the powder, and quite blackened with it.
The next proceeding on the part of the chasseur was to procure a small quantity of dead moss, which was easily obtained from the trunks of the surrounding trees; and this, mixed with a handful or two of dry grass, he rolled up into a sort of irregular clew.
The man now felt in his pouch; and, after a little fumbling there, brought forth a small box that was seen to contain lucifer-matches. Seemingly satisfied with their inspection, he returned the box to its place, and then made known the object for which all these preliminary manoeuvres had been practised. Our young hunters had already more than half divined it, and it only confirmed their anticipations when the hunter declared his intention to climb the tree and set fire to the nest. It is needless to say that one and all of them approved of the scheme, while they admired its originality and cunning. Its boldness, too, did not escape their admiration, for it was clearly a feat of daring and danger. The bottom of the nest might be reached easily enough; for though a tall tree, it was by no means a difficult one to climb. There were branches all along its trunk from bottom to top; and to a Pyrenean hunter, who, when a boy, as he told them, had played pigeon vidette in one of the “crows’ nests” they had seen, the climbing of such a tree was nothing. It was not in this that the danger lay, but in something very different. It was in the contingency, that, while up in the branches, and before he could effect his purpose, the bear might take a fancy to come down. Should he do so, then, indeed, would the life of the venturesome hunter be in deadly peril.
He made light of the matter, however, and, warning the others to get their guns ready and stand upon their guard, he sprang forward to the trunk, and commenced “swarming” upward.
Almost as rapidly as a bear itself could have ascended, the izzard-hunter glided up the tree, swinging himself from branch to branch, and resting his naked feet—for he had thrown off his shoes—on knots and other inequalities, where no branch offered. In this way he at length got so close to the nest, that he could without difficulty thrust his hand into the bottom of it.
He was now seen drawing forth a number of the dry sticks, and forming a cavity near the lower part of the huge mass. He operated with great silence and circumspection—taking all the care he could not to make his presence known to the bear, nor in any way disturb whatever dreams or reflections Bruin might then be indulging in.
In a short time he had hollowed out a little chamber among the sticks—just large enough for his purpose,—and, taking the ball of dry grass out of his pouch, he loosened it a little, and then placed it within the cavity.