And good was their reason, for, as they knew, "He has eleven men's wit and twelve men's strength," and of all foes to meet, none was so terrible, none so full of craft. Men tell of two hunters who saw one by a pool and stole up behind a rock. When they peered over there was no bear there, nothing but a brown leaf drifting across the pool. Then, as they looked, the leaf disappeared behind the bank, and without a sound the head of that bear slipped out of the water right there, and rose inch by inch to get a good look at the watchers. Then back it slipped again, down, down, till only the tip of the nose was left, and once more there was nothing to be seen but what seemed a brown leaf drifting across the water. Well the great beast on the floe knew what was to be found in good time beneath that snow crust, and his long-haired paws had made no sound when he first had crept like a shadow to the spot. Now at last the time had come. The first faint tinkle of water lapping in the hole had caught his watchful ear. Yet still he waited; waited while the breathing grew plainer as the snow grew thin; raised himself ever so slowly and rustleless, and until the first little whiff of steam burst through; then--then--down on each side plunged the resistless sets of curved daggers! down between plunged the wolf-trap mouth, and with an ease that would make one forget how heavy a seal is, this one was flirted out of his hole and sent rolling yards away, only to be pounced on a second later, with an exultant roar that echoed from berg to berg until a great fragment split off from one and crashed into splinters at its base. Then the echoes were fine indeed as they rumbled along the glittering plain. The bear enjoyed his dinner. He had waited long for it and so perhaps deserved it. But it was not wise of him to pay it quite such close attention, and for the moment fail to keep ears or eyes alert to other things. Even as it was, however, a sound caught his attention--an odd, hissing, whistling noise,--and he raised his long, snaky neck and head, now dyed a brilliant red, and dripping frightfully. Yes, he was not mistaken. Something was coming, and he stirred uneasily. Not that he was afraid,--of what living creature in those days was a Rider of the Berg ever afraid?--but he might have to fight for his dinner. Perhaps he remembered meeting such a creature once before and the fight that came of it. It was a good dinner that followed, but it was many days before certain wounds of his own had healed; at all events, it was well to be ready.