Why he took the gun, Bayard himself could hardly have told; yet it was lucky he did take it, as we shall presently see.
The sun's rays were so scorching, and he got so warm walking, that when he arrived at the creek he thought he would lie down and rest. How cool it was under the trees, and how still it seemed! Not a sound was heard save the twittering of the birds, the babbling of the water over the stones, and the sound of the cow-bells in the neighboring pasture.
"LOST."
How Bayard wished he could see something to shoot. To be sure there were the birds; but they looked so happy and sang so sweetly, that it seemed a pity to kill them, and then—they were so common! Anyone could shoot a bird, a squirrel, or a rabbit. Bayard wanted game of a larger kind. He would never waste powder on a bird. No, indeed!
Oh! if he were only in a country where there were plenty of lions and tigers! But then, he wasn't; yet he had heard his father tell about seeing bears in that neighborhood, and might be there was one roaming around even then.
What if one should come out of the woods! Wouldn't he kill it, though! The bear would be dead in less time than it takes to tell it. To doubt that would be rank heresy.
Halloa! What was that! Only a twig snapping. There it is again! Twig snaps some more,—heavy body. Bushes move! See there! See that brown thing! What's that, that gleams so,—eyes?
It—it's—a bear!