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Grey, Zane, 1872-1939

"Tales of lonely trails"

My body
burned as with fire. Hot sweat ran in streams down my chest. At last we
reached the bare flat projecting cape of rock, and indeed it afforded an
exceedingly favorable outlook. I had to sink down on the rock; I could
not talk until I got my breath; but I used my eyes to every advantage.
Neither Copple nor I could locate the black moving object we had seen
from above. We were much closer to the hounds, though they still were
baying a tangled cross trail. Fortunate it was for me that I was given
these few moments to rest from my tremendous exertions.
My eyes searched the leaf-covered slope so brown and sear, and the
shaggy thickets, and tried to pierce the black tangle of spruce
patches. All at once, magically it seemed, my gaze held to a dark
shadow, a bit of dense shade, under a large spruce tree. Something
moved. Then a big bear rose right out of his bed of leaves, majestically
as if disturbed, and turned his head back toward the direction of the
baying hounds. Next he walked out. He stopped. I was quivering with
eagerness to tell Copple, but I waited. Then the bear walked behind a
tree and peeped out, only his head showing. After a moment again he
walked out.
"Ben, aren't you ever going to see him?" I cried at last.
"What?" ejaculated Copple, in surprise.
"Bear!" and I pointed. "This side of dead spruce."
"No!.


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