“Then this is a bear’s den, after all!” Roger commenced; “yet not one of us ever thought of such a thing, did we?”
“I saw nothing that would tell it,” admitted Mayhew, “and, if the beast was in the habit of coming in by way of the opening that we used we would have known it. A bear’s den always has a smell that you will notice as soon as you enter; that has been my experience in all my hunting, and I’ve run across a few.”
“Then there must be another entrance more convenient to the hunting grounds of the bear,” Dick observed. “The beast may not have been in its den when we arrived. Coming along, just a little while ago, our fire attracted attention, and then the discovery of human beings here rendered it furious.”
“It beats anything I ever met with,” commented Mayhew. “No black bear would ever dash upon a fire unless first terribly wounded. But this beast was as wild as if we had been filling her hide with lead.”
“All we have been hearing from the Indians and the French trappers about these silver-tip bears of the mountains seems to be true,” remarked Dick.
“They are fearful enemies,” said Roger. “We have been lucky to kill the two we have met; but, if a shot should fail, the hunter would never escape being torn into ribbons.”
He took up one of the immense paws of the dead beast as he spoke, and exhibited the claws that decorated it. They were terrible enough to send a shudder through the bravest heart, especially when one considered the titanic strength possessed by the steel muscles of the animal.
“Well,” ventured Dick, “it turns out that there is danger hovering over those who invade this strange country, even when they believe themselves securely quartered in a cave!”
“But I hope this little adventure is not going to make us think of leaving here, to spend the night under the stars, and in the cold wind?” Roger hinted, a little fearful lest his comrade should consider this the wisest policy.