It was a small footprint.
Like a boy's. He noticed, then, with slowly shifting eyes, that Baree
was bristling and growling over another track. A bear track, huge,
deeply impressed in the sand. The beast's great spoor crossed the outer
edge of the sand, following the direction of the moccasin tracks. It
was thrillingly fresh, if Baree's bristling spine and rumbling voice
meant anything.
David's eyes followed the direction of the two trails. A hundred yards
upstream he could see where gravel and rock were replaced entirely by
sand, quite a wide, unbroken sweep of it, across which those clawed and
moccasined feet must have travelled if they had followed the creek. He
was not interested in the bear, and Baree was not interested in the
Indian boy; so when they came to the sand one followed the moccasin
tracks and the other the claw tracks. They were not at any time more
than ten feet apart. And then, all at once, they came together, and
David saw that the bear had crossed the sand last and that his huge paws
had obliterated a part of the moccasin trail. This did not strike him as
unusually significant until he came to a point where the moccasins
turned sharply and circled to the right. The bear followed. A little
farther--and David's heart gave a sudden thump! At first it might have
been coincidence, a bit of chance.
Pages:
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231