“Wal, tumble him out of thar,” said Hiram Bent.
With a natural impulse to shoot I raised my rifle, but the cub looked so attractive and so helpless that I hesitated.
“I don't like to do it,” I said. “Oh, I wish we could catch him alive!”
“Wal, I reckon we can.”
“How?” I inquired, eagerly, and lowered my rifle.
“Are you good on the climb?”
“Climb? This tree? Why, with one hand. Back in Pennsylvania I climbed shell-bark hickory-trees with the lowest limb fifty feet from the ground. .. But there weren't any bears up them.”
“You must keep out of his way if he comes down on you. He's a sassy little chap. Now take this rope an' go up an' climb round him.”
“Climb round him?” I queried, as I gazed dubiously upward. “You mean to slip out on the branches and go up hand-over-hand till I get above him. The branches up there seem pretty close—I might. But suppose he goes higher?”
“I'm lookin' fer him to go clean to the top. But you can beat him to it—mebbe.”