The trail led us from our path, and we had followed it some hundred yards into the woods. Most of us were of the opinion that the creature had never halted after seeing the doctor, but had run off to a great distance. If left to ourselves, we should have given over the chase.
The trappers, however, knew what they were about. They asserted that the bear had gone away slowly—that it had made frequent halts—that they discovered “sign” to lead them to the conclusion that the animal’s haunt was in the neighbourhood—that its “nest” was near. We were, therefore, encouraged to proceed.
All of us rode after the trackers. Jake and Lanty had been left with the waggon, with directions to keep on their route. After a while we heard the waggon moving along directly in front of us. The road had angled as well as the bear’s trail, and the two were again converging.
Just at that moment a loud shouting came from the direction of the waggon. It was Lanty’s voice, and Jake’s too.
“Och! be the Vargin mother! luck there! Awch, mother o’ Moses, Jake, such a haste!”
“Golly, Massa Lanty, it am a bar!”
We all heard this at once. Of course we thought of the trail no longer, but made a rush in the direction of the voices, causing the branches to fly on every side.
“Whar’s the bar?” cried Redwood, who was first up to the waggon, “whar did ye see’t?”
“Yander he goes!” cried Lanty, pointing to a pile of heavy timber, beset with an undergrowth of cane, but standing almost isolated from the rest of the forest on account of the thin open woods that were around it.
We were too late to catch a glimpse of him, but perhaps he would halt in the undergrowth. If so we had a chance.