Quonab had not seen a bear since childhood, when he and his father hunted along the hardwood ridges back of Myanos, and now he was excited. He stopped paddling, warned Rolf to do the same, and let the canoe drift backward until out of sight; then made for the land. Quickly tying up the canoe he took his gun and Rolf his hunting arrows, and, holding Skookum in a leash, they dashed into the woods. Then, keeping out of sight, they ran as fast and as silently as possible in the direction of the bears. Of course, the wind was toward the hunters, or they never could have got so near. Now they were opposite the family group and needed only a chance for a fair shot. Sneaking forward with the utmost caution, they were surely within twenty-five yards, but still the bushes screened the crab-eaters. As the hunters sneaked, the old bear stopped and sniffed suspiciously; the wind changed, she got an unmistakable whiff; then gave a loud warning “Koff! Koff! Koff! Koff!” and ran as fast as she could. The hunters knowing they were discovered rushed out, yelling as loudly as possible, in hopes of making the bears tree. The old bear ran like a horse with Skookum yapping bravely in her rear. The young ones, left behind, lost sight of her, and, utterly bewildered by the noise, made for a tree conveniently near and scrambled up into the branches. “Now,” Rolf thought, judging by certain tales he had heard, “that old bear will come back and there will be a fight.” “Is she coming back?” he asked nervously. The Indian laughed. “No, she is running yet. Black bear always a coward; they never fight when they can run away.” The little ones up the tree were, of course, at the mercy of the hunters, and in this case it was not a broken straw they depended on, but an ample salvation. “We don't need the meat and can't carry it with us; let's leave them,” said Rolf, but added, “Will they find their mother?” “Yes, bime-by; they come down and squall all over woods. She will hang round half a mile away and by night all will be together.” Their first bear hunt was over. Not a shot fired, not a bear wounded, not a mile travelled, and not an hour lost. And yet it seemed much more full of interesting thrills than did any one of the many stirring bear hunts that Rolf and Quonab shared together in the days that were to come. Chapter 19. The Footprint on the Shore Jesup's River was a tranquil stream that came from a region of swamps, and would have been easy canoeing but for the fallen trees. Some of these had been cut years ago, showing that the old trapper had used this route. Once they were unpleasantly surprised by seeing a fresh chopping on the bank, but their mourning was changed into joy when they found it was beaver-work.