The tree was a very singular-looking one. One side was entirely destitute of branches, except at the top. Here a pretty large limb shot straight out, and as this was bare and half dead, it looked like an arm. This limb was very nearly eighty feet from the ground. The other side of the tree had limbs, large and small in abundance, up to the dead limb. Above this the tree was rotten, and full of the holes made by wood-peckers.
The bear came slowly up to the spot where the monsieur had been seated, and began smelling around.
The Frenchman, for the first time, began to realize that he was hungry, and so he took out his meat and began to eat it, taking care not to attract the notice of the huge bear.
Five minutes passed and then the Frenchman happened to cast his eyes upon the bear. A shrill cry of rage came from his lips as he saw Bruin rolling his precious case around, and trying to break it open. His unfinished dinner dropped to the ground, and he yelled at the bear with all his might, using all the French words he could manage to get out, and mingling them with English in a terrible way.
This jargon had no more effect on Bruin than a fly would.
He took a look at the speaker, as if astonished to hear such a jumbling of languages, and then proceeded with his fun, as he deemed the rolling the case around, but to the little naturalist it was agony.
Suddenly the other bethought himself of his revolver.
Drawing it out, he took aim at the big bear and fired.
Again and again he shot, and at length the little pistol was empty.
The effect upon the bear was about the same as a small load of shot would have been. The bullets drew blood but they did not disable the bear in the least.