“I don’t get it,” Jerry said to Sandy. “What’s he so excited about? That’s the whole idea, isn’t it, to shoot the bear?”
“Sure, but once you wound an animal, it’s your obligation to finish him off. That’s the first commandment of hunting. First of all, it’s cruel to let an animal suffer. And when you’re dealing with big game, it’s downright dangerous. A pain-crazed bear, for instance, can be a menace to anything that comes anywhere near him.”
“That’s right,” Chris Hanson agreed. “We’re going to have to stay on our toes from here on.”
Professor Stern swung back into the saddle and they followed the bear’s trail into the woods. There were great, towering ancient pines, clustered together so that their heavy foliage meshed to form a solid roof above the forest floor. Only a fine dusting of snow had filtered through their heavy branches onto the thick carpet of pine needles that cushioned the earth. The horses’ hoofbeats were barely audible as they picked their way between the trees, which were bare for at least twenty feet up.
“It’s like being in a cathedral,” Sandy said reverently. The voices of the men ahead sounded embarrassingly loud in the silence beneath the pines.
A pine cone skittered out from under the hoof of Jerry’s horse and rattled across the dry needles. Jerry started and almost slipped out of the saddle.
“Watch it, boy,” Sandy cautioned him. “How is it going, anyway?”
“I’ll be okay, once old Dobbin and I get ourselves co-ordinated. Every time he goes up, I’m coming down and vice versa.”
Sandy grinned. “You’re too tense. Relax and try to imagine you’re part of the horse.”
“I know what part I feel like,” Jerry said wryly.