The bear kept crawling out, and as the Frenchman had to keep out of his reach, he had to keep edging away until at length he was as far as he dared to go.
Then, greatly to the surprise of his friends, he rose to his feet, holding onto the handle of his umbrella with both hands.
What was he about to do?
This question which the three asked themselves did not remain long unanswered, for the Frenchman began to move.
“Look at the pesky leetle cuss. He’s dancing on the limb, by the highfalutin’ gimcracks. He’s tryin’ ter bu’st it!— Thar she goes. He’s a dead man, by heavens,” said Ralph.
The Frenchman had by his jumping broken the limb, and like a flash, both bear and limb came to the ground, the former killed, and the latter broken into a thousand pieces.
The three men followed the large body in its descent with their eyes.
That the naturalist was dead, they felt certain. He could never survive that fall.
The three men looked at the body on the ground, but to their surprise could see no Frenchman.
Where could he be? He could not have saved himself by catching hold of any of the branches, for there were none on that side of the tree.