“Ha! you think so? Where?”
Alexis pointed to the dead-wood under his eyes—upon the bark of which were visible, not the tracks of a bear, but dabs of mud, that must have been recently deposited there, either by the feet of a bear, or some other animal.
“By the Great Peter!” said Ivan, speaking cautiously, notwithstanding his innocent adjuration; “that must be his tracks? It’s the same sort of mud as that in which we’ve just been tracing him—black as ink nearly. It has come off his great paws—not a doubt of it, brother?”
“I think it is likely,” assented Alexis, at the same time that both looked to the locks of their guns, and saw that the caps were on the nipples.
A little further along the log, the bark was smoother, and there the track was still more conspicuous. The print was better denned, and answered well for the footmark of a bear. There was the naked paw, and the balls of the five toes, all complete. They no longer doubted that it was the track of a bear.
It was just a question whether the animal had gone over the log and returned again. But this was set at rest, or nearly so, by a closer scrutiny. There was no sign of a return track. True, he might have washed his paws in the interval, or cleaned them on the dead-wood; but that was scarce probable, and our hunters did not think so. They felt perfectly sure that the bear was before them; and, acting upon this belief, they cocked their guns, and continued their approach towards the wood pile.