Travellers and tourists who have only seen European forests, cannot imagine the grand, majestic, and sublime view offered by a virgin forest in the New World. There are none of those glades four or five yards wide, stretching out before you, straight and stiff for miles, but everything is abrupt and savage. There is no prospect, for the eye cannot see more than thirty or forty paces at the most in any direction. The primitive soil has disappeared beneath the detritus of trees dead from old age, and which time, rain, and sunshine have reduced to dust.

The trees grow very freely, enveloped by thick lianas, which twine around the stems and branches in the strangest curves, dashing in every direction, plunging into the ground to reappear again a yard further on, and chaining the trees together for enormous distances. The wood varies but slightly in certain districts, and hence, one tree serves the repetition of all. Then again, a grass, close and thick like the straw of a wheat field, grows to a height of five and often six feet.

Suddenly immense pits open beneath the feet of the imprudent traveller, or bogs covered by a crust scarce an inch in thickness, which swallow up in their fetid mud the man who ventures to put a foot on them; further on, a stream runs silent and unvisited, forming rapids, and forcing a path with difficulty through the heaps of earth and dead trees which it collects and deposits on the banks. From this short description it may be understood that it is not so difficult as might be supposed to pass from one tree to another for a long distance.

In order, however, to explain this thoroughly to the reader, we will tell him what he is probably ignorant of: that in certain parts of the prairie this mode of travelling is employed, not, as might be supposed, to escape the obstinate pursuit of an enemy, but simply to get on the more rapidly, not to be obliged to cut a path with the axe, and run no risk of falling down a precipice, the more so as most of the trees are enormous, and their solid branches so intertwined, that they thus form a convenient flooring, at eighty feet above the ground.

Hence Red Cedar's proposition had nothing extraordinary in itself, when made to men who had probably tried this mode of locomotion before. But what would have been an easy and simple thing for the adventurers, became serious and almost impossible for a girl like Ellen, who, though strong and skillful, could not take a step without running a risk of breaking her neck, owing to her dress catching in every branch. A remedy for this must be found, and the three men reflected on it for an hour, but discovered nothing which offered the necessary security. It was Ellen again who came to their help, and relieved them from the trouble.

"Well," she asked her father, "what are we doing here? Why do we not start? Did you not say we had not a moment to lose?"

Red Cedar shook his head.

"I said so, and it is true; each moment we lose robs us of a day of life."

"Let us be off, then."

"It is not possible yet, my child, till I have found what I am seeking."

"What is it, father? Tell, me, perhaps I can help you."

"Bah!" Red Cedar said, suddenly making up his mind, "Why should I make a secret of what concerns you as much as myself?"

"What is it, then, father?"

"Hang it all, your confounded gown, which renders it impossible for you to leap from one branch to another as we shall do."

"Is that all that troubles you?"

"Yes, nothing else."

"Well then, you were wrong not to speak to me sooner, for the evil would have been repaired, and we on the road."

"Is it true?" the squatter exclaimed joyfully.

"You shall see how quickly it will be done."

The girl rose, and disappeared behind a clump. In ten minutes she returned; her gown was so arranged that while allowing her the free use of her limbs, it no longer floated, and consequently ran no risk of being entangled in the trees.

"Here I am," she said, with a laugh; "how do you find me?"

"Admirable."

"Well, then, we will start when you please."

"At once."

Red Cedar made his final preparations; these were not long, for he had but to remove all traces of his encampment. More difficult still, none of the pursuers, if they happened to pass that way, should be able to discover the road taken by the adventurers. In consequence, Red Cedar took his daughter on his muscular shoulders, and heading the party in Indian file he followed for about an hour the road taken by Nathan. Then, he and his comrades returning, marching backwards, gradually effacing the footprints, not so carefully that they could not be discovered, but sufficiently so for those who found them not to suppose they had been left expressly.

After two hours of this fatiguing march, during which the adventurers had not exchanged a syllable, they reached a granite plateau, where they were enabled to rest for a few moments without any fear of leaving a trail, for the rock was too hard to take their footprints.

"Ouf!" Fray Ambrosio muttered, "I am not sorry to take breath, for this is the devil's own work."

"What, are you tired already, señor Padre?" Sutter replied with a grin; "You are beginning early; but wait a while; what you have done is nothing compared with what you have to do."

"I doubt whether the road we shall now follow can present so many difficulties; if so, we had better give it up."

"Well, if you prefer making a present of your scalp to those demons of Comanches, it is the easiest thing in the world; you need only remain quietly, where you are, and you may be certain they will soon pay you a visit. You know that the redskins are like vultures; fresh meat attracts them, and they scent it for a long distance."

"Canarios! I would sooner be roasted at a slow fire than fall into the hands of those accursed pagans."

"Come, come," Red Cedar interposed, "all that talking is of no use – what is written is written – no one can escape his destiny; hence, troubling oneself about what is going to happen is folly, take my word for it."

"Well said, Red Cedar; you have spoken like a man of great good sense, and I am completely of your opinion. Well, what have you to say to us?"

"I believe that, thanks to the manoeuvre we have employed, we have managed to hide our trail so cleverly, that the demon himself could not guess the direction we have taken. The first part of our task has been accomplished without an obstacle; now let us not betray ourselves by imprudence or extreme precipitation. I have brought you here, because, as you see, the virgin forest begins at the end of this platform. The most difficult task is to climb the first tree without leaving a trail; as for the rest, it is merely a question of skill. Leave me to act as I think proper, and I warrant you will have no cause to repent it."

"I know it; so, for my part, I assure you that you are quite at liberty to act as you please."

"Very good; that is what we will do; you see that enormous branch jutting out about thirty feet above our heads?"

"I see it – what next?"

"I will seize its end with my lasso, and we will pull it down till it touches the ground; we will hold it so while daughter mounts and reaches the higher branches; you will pass next, then Sutter, and myself last; in that way we shall leave no sign of our ascent."

"Your idea is very ingenious, I approve of it highly, especially as that way of mounting will be easy for your daughter and myself, while Sutter will not have much trouble. Still one thing bothers me."

"Out with it."

"So long as anyone is here to hold the branch, of course it will remain bent; but when we are up and you remain alone, how will you follow us? That I do not understand, and I confess I should not be sorry to learn it."

Red Cedar burst into a laugh.

"That need not bother you, señor Padre; I am too much used to the desert not to calculate my slightest actions."

"As it is so, we will say no more it. What I said was through the interest I take in you."

The squatter looked him in the face.

"Listen, Fray Ambrosio," he said as he laid his hand lightly on his shoulder, "we have known one another for a long while, so let us have no falsehoods; we shall never manage to divine each other, so let us remain as we are. Is that agreed, eh?"

The monk was upset by this harsh address; he lost countenance, and stammered a few words. Red Cedar had taken his lasso, and row whirled it round his head. He had measured so exactly, that the running knot caught the end of the branch.

"Help, all!" the squatter shouted.

Under their united efforts the branch gradually bent down to the level of the platform, as Red Cedar had foreseen.

"Make haste; Ellen, make haste, my child!" he shouted to the maiden.

The latter did not need any repetition of the invitation; she ran lightly along the branch, and in a twinkling was leaning against the stem. By her father's request she mounted to the upper branches, among which she disappeared.

"It is your turn, Fray Ambrosio," the squatter said.

The monk disappeared in the same way.

"It is yours, lad," the squatter said.

Sutter rejoined the other two. When left alone, Red Cedar put forth all his strength to hold the branch down, while he clung to its lower surface with his hand and feet. So soon as the branch was no longer held down, it rose, with a shrill whistle and a rapidity enough to make him giddy. The tree trembled to its roots. Ellen uttered a cry of terror and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw her father astride on the end of the tree engaged in unfastening the running knot of his lasso, after which the squatter rose with perfect calmness, and while rolling the lasso round his loins, joined his companions.

"Well," he said to them, "you see it is finished; now we must continue our journey; are you ready?"

"Quite," they all said.

We repeat our assertion, that with the exception of the strangeness of the road, this way of travelling had nothing dangerous or even inconvenient about it, owing to the immense network of lianas that twined capriciously round the trees and the interlaced branches. The party proceeded, almost without perceiving it, from one tree to the other, constantly suspended over an abyss of sixty, even eighty, feet in depth.

Beneath them they at times perceived the wild beasts which they troubled in their mysterious lairs, and which, with outstretched necks and flashing eyes, watched them pass in surprise, not understanding what they saw. They marched thus the whole day, stopping for a moment to take breath, and starting again immediately. They had crossed, still on their floating bridge, a rather wide stream, and would soon find themselves in the lowlands.

It was about five in the evening; the beams of the setting sun lengthened the shadows of the trees; the owls, attracted by the startled flight of the beetles, of which they are excessively fond, were already flying about; a dense vapour rose from the ground, and formed a mist, in which the four persons almost disappeared: all, in a word, announced that night would soon set in.

Red Cedar had taken the lead of the little party for fear lest his companions might take a wrong direction in the inextricable labyrinth of the virgin forest; for at the height where they were the outlines of the ground entirely disappeared, and only an immense chaos of tufted branches and interlaced creepers could be seen.

"Hilloa, gossip!" Fray Ambrosio said, who, little accustomed to long walks, and weakened by the lengthened privations he had gone through, had walked for some time with extreme difficulty, "Shall we soon stop? I warn you that I can go no further."

The squatter turned sharply and laid his large hand on the monk's mouth.

"Silence!" he hissed; "Silence, if you value your scalp!"

"Cristo, if I value it!" the other muttered, with a movement of terror; "But what is happening fresh?"

Red Cedar cautiously moved a mass of leaves, and made a sign to his comrades to imitate him.

"Look," he said.

In a second the monk drew himself back with features convulsed with terror.

"Oh," he said, "this time we are lost!"

He tottered, and would have fallen, had not the squatter seized him by the arm.

"What is to be done?" he said.

"Wait," Red Cedar coldly answered: "our position for the present is not so desperate; you see them, but they do not see us."

Fray Ambrosio shook his head sadly,

"You have led us to our ruin," he said, reproachfully.

"You are an ass," Red Cedar answered with contempt; "do I not risk as much as you? Did I not warn you that we were surrounded? Leave me to act, I tell you."

CHAPTER XXVIII
THE FIGHT WITH THE GRIZZLY

The New World has no reason to envy the Old in the matter of ferocious animals of every description and every species. The family of the plantigrades has obtained an enormous development in America, and possesses races of a ferocity before which all the wild beasts of our continent turn pale.

We will speak here of the animal endowed with a prodigious strength, blind courage, and unbounded cruelty, which the learned call ursus cinereus, and the Americans the grizzly bear. Most travellers draw a terrific feature of this animal, saying that it combines with the stupidity of the Polar bear the ferocity and courage of the great carnivora. Though a traveller myself, I am forced humbly to confess that the stories of these gentry must be accepted with some reserve, who, often placed in perilous situations, or ill-disposed mentally and bodily, have seen badly, and, in spite of themselves, yielding to the influence of the moment, have unconsciously indulged in exaggerations, which have gradually become articles of faith, and are now accepted as such.

I have no intention to rehabilitate the grizzly bear in the minds of my readers; still, I will ask them not to be more unjust to it than they are to other animals sent into the world by the Creator. Hence, laying aside all exaggerations, and confining ourselves to the strictest truth, we will, in a few words, describe the grizzly bear and its habits. During our long stay in America, we saw enough of these animals, and in sufficient proximity to be accepted as a credible witness.

My readers will see from the portrait of this animal, correct, if not flattering though it be, that it is naturally ugly enough, both morally and physically, not to require to be rendered more hideous and converted into a monster. The grizzly, when it has reached its full growth, is about ten feet in length; its coat is woolly, very thick, and perfectly grey, excepting round the ears, where it is brown. Its face is terrible; it is the most ferocious and dangerous of all the American carnivora. In spite of its clumsy shape and heavy appearance, its agility is extreme. It is the more to be feared, because its indomitable courage emanates from the consciousness of its prodigious strength, and is always akin to fury. The grizzly attacks all animals, but chiefly the larger ruminants, such as buffaloes, oxen, &c. What has probably given rise to the exaggerated stories of travellers, is the fact that the grizzly bear does not hibernate, and as during winter it starves among the snow-covered mountains, it descends to the plains to find food. The redskins carry on a deadly warfare with it, in order to obtain its long sharp claws, of which they form collars, to which they set great value.

It was with one of these formidable animals that Valentine suddenly found himself face to face. The rencontre was most disagreeable; still when the first emotion had passed off, the hunters boldly made up their minds.

"It is a combat to death," Valentine said laconically; "you know the grizzly never draws back."

"What shall we do?" Don Miguel asked.

"See what he does first," the hunter continued. "It is evident that this animal has fed, else it would not return to its lair. You know that bears go out but little; if we are lucky enough to deal with a bear that has had a good dinner, it will be an immense advantage for us."

"Why so?"

"For the simple reason," Valentine said with a laugh, "that, like all people whose meal hours are irregular, when bears sit down to dinner, they eat with extreme gluttony, which renders them heavy, sleepy, and deprives them, in a word, of one half their faculties."

"Hum!" Don Miguel observed; "I fancy what is left them is quite enough."

"And so do I; but, quiet, I fancy the beast has made up his mind."

"That is to say," Don Pablo remarked, "that it is making its arrangements to attack us."

"That is what I meant to say," Valentine replied.

"Well, we will not let it make the first demonstration."

"Oh, don't be frightened, Don Miguel, I am used to bear hunting; this one certainly does not expect what I am preparing for it."

"Providing you do not miss your shot: in that case we should be lost," Don Miguel observed.

"By Jove! I know that: so I shall take my measures in accordance."

Curumilla, stoical as ever, had cut a piece of candlewood, and concealed himself in the shrubs only a few paces from the wild beast. The bear, after a moment's hesitation, during which it looked round with an eye flashing with gloomy fire, as if counting the number of foes it had to fight, uttered a second growl, as it passed a tongue as red as blood over its lips.

"That is it," Valentine said with a laugh; "lick your chops, my fine fellow; still, I warn you that your mouth is watering too soon – you have not got us yet."

The bear seemed to notice the bravado, for it made an effort, and its monstrous head entirely appeared above the level of the platform.

"Did I not tell you it had eaten too much?" the hunter went on. "See what difficulty it finds in moving. Come, sluggard," he said, addressing the terrible animal, "shake yourself up a little."

"Take care," Don Miguel shouted.

"The brute is going to leap on you," Don Pablo said in agony.

In fact, the bear, by a movement swift as lightning, had escaladed the platform with a gigantic bound, and was now scarce twenty yards from the intrepid hunter. Valentine did not move, not one of his muscles shook: he merely clenched his teeth as if going to break them, and a white foam appeared at the corner of his lips. The beast, surprised by the intrepidity of the man, cowed by the electric fluid that flashed from the hunter's haughty eye, fell back a step. For a moment it remained motionless, with hanging head; but it soon began tearing up the ground with its formidable claws, as if encouraging itself to begin the attack.

Suddenly it turned round. Curumilla profited by the movement, of the torch he held in readiness for the purpose, and at a signal from Valentine, made the light flash before the bear. The animal, dazzled by the brilliant glare of the torch, which suddenly dissipated the darkness that surrounded it, savagely rose on its hind legs, and turning toward the Indian, tried to clutch the torch with one of its forepaws, probably in order to put it out.

Valentine cocked his rifle, stood firmly on his legs, aimed carefully, and began whistling softly. So soon as the sound reached the bear's ears, it stopped, and remained thus for some seconds as if trying to account for this unusual noise. The hunter still whistled: the witnesses of the scene held their breath, so interested were they in the strange incidents of this duel between intellect and brute strength. Still they kept their hands on their weapons, ready to hurry to their friend's help, should he be in danger.

Valentine was calm, gently whistling to the bear, which gradually turned its head toward him. Curumilla, with the lighted torch in his hand, attentively watched all the animal's movements. The bear at length faced the hunter; it was only a few paces from him, and Valentine felt its hot and fetid breath. The man and the brute gazed on each other; the bear's bloodshot eye seemed riveted on that of the Frenchman, who looked at it intrepidly while continuing to whistle softly.

There was a moment, an age of supreme anxiety. The bear, as if to escape the strange fascination it suffered under, shook its head twice, and then rushed forward with a fearful growl. At the same instant a shot was fired.

Don Miguel and his son ran up. Valentine, with his rifle butt resting on the ground, was laughing carelessly, while two paces from him the terrible animal was uttering howls of fury, and writhing in its dying convulsions. Curumilla bending forward, was curiously watching the movements of the animal as it rolled at his feet.

"Thank Heaven," Don Miguel eagerly exclaimed. "You are safe, my friend."

"Did you fancy that I ran any danger?" the hunter answered simply.

"I trembled for your life," the hacendero said with surprise and admiration.

"It was not worth the trouble, I assure you," the hunter said carelessly; "grizzly and I are old acquaintances; ask Curumilla how many we have knocked over in this way."

"But," Don Pablo objected, "the grizzly bear is invulnerable; bullets flatten on its skull, and glide off its fur."

"That is perfectly true; still, you forget there is a spot where it can be hit."

"I know it, the eye; but it is almost impossible to hit it at the first shot; to do so a man must be endowed with marvellous skill, not to say admirable courage and coolness."

"Thank you," Valentine replied with, a smile; "now that our enemy is dead, I would ask you to look and tell me where I hit it."

The Mexicans stooped down quickly; the bear was really dead. Its gigantic corpse, which Curumilla was already preparing to strip of its magnificent coat, covered a space of nearly ten feet. The hunter's bullet had entered its right eye; the two gentlemen uttered a cry of admiration.

"Yes," Valentine said, replying to their thought, "it was not a bad shot; but be assured that this animal enjoys an usurped reputation, owing to the habit it has of attacking man, whom, however, it hardly ever conquers."

"But look, my friend, at those sharp claws; why, they are nearly six inches long."

"That is true; I remember a poor Comanche, on whose shoulder a grizzly let his paw fall, and completely smashed it. But, is it an interesting sport? I confess that it possesses an irresistible attraction for me."

"You are quite at liberty, my friend," said Don Miguel, "to find a delight in fighting such monsters, and I can account for it; the life you lead in the desert has so familiarised you with danger, that you no longer believe in it; but we dwellers in towns have, I confess, an invincible respect and terror for this monster."

"Nonsense, Don Miguel, how can you say when I have seen you engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with tigers?"

"That is possible, my friend; I would do so again, if necessary – but a jaguar is not a grizzly."

"Come, come, I will not tease you any longer. While Curumilla prepares our breakfast, I will go down into the ravine. Help my friend to roast a piece of my game, and I am sure when you have tasted it, the exquisite flavour will make you quite alter your opinion about friend Grizzly."

And carelessly throwing his rifle on his shoulder, which he had reloaded, Valentine then entered the chaparral, in which he almost immediately disappeared.

The game, as Valentine called the grizzly, weighed about four hundred weight. After flaying it with that dexterity the Indians possess, Curumilla, aided by the two Mexicans, hung up the body to a branch, that bent beneath its weight; he cut steaks from the loin, and took out the pluck, which regular hunters consider the most delicate part of the beast; and then, while Don Miguel and Don Pablo lit the fire, and laid the steaks on the ashes, the Indian entered the cave.

Don Pablo and his father, long accustomed to the Araucano chief's way of behaving, made no remark, but went on with the preparations for breakfast actively, the more so because the night's fatigues and their long privations had given them an appetite which the smell of the cooking meat only heightened.

Still, the meal had been ready some time, and Valentine had not returned. The two gentlemen were beginning to feel anxious. Nor did Curumilla emerge either from the cavern in which he had now been upwards of an hour. The Mexicans exchanged a glance.

"Can anything have happened?" Don Miguel asked.

"We must go and see," said Don Pablo.

They rose; Don Pablo proceeded toward the cave, while his father went to the end of the platform. At this moment Valentine arrived on one side, Curumilla on the other, holding two young bearskins in his hands.

"What does that mean?" Don Pablo in his surprise could not refrain from asking.

The Indian smiled. "It was a she-bear," he said.

"Are we going to breakfast?" Valentine asked.

"Whenever you like, my friend," Don Miguel answered; "we were only waiting for you."

"I have been gone a long time."

"More than an hour."

"It was not my fault. Just fancy, down there it is as dark as in an oven. I had great difficulty in finding our friend's body; but, thanks to heaven, it is now in the ground, and protected from the teeth of the coyotes and the other vermin of the prairie."

Don Miguel took his hand and pressed it tenderly, while tears of gratitude ran down his cheeks.

"Valentine," he said, with great emotion. "You are better than all of us; you think of everything; no circumstance, however grave it may be, can make you forget what you regard in the light of a duty. Thanks, my friend, thanks, for having placed in the ground the poor general's body; you have made me very happy."

"That will do," Valentine said, as he turned his head away, not to let the emotion he felt in spite of himself, be noticed; "suppose we feed? I am fearfully hungry; the sun is rising, and we have not yet quitted that frightful labyrinth in which we so nearly left our bones."

The hunters set down round the fire, and began sharply attacking the meal that awaited them. When they had finished eating, which did not take long, thanks to Valentine, who continually urged them to take double mouthfuls, they rose and prepared to start again.

"Let us pay great attention, caballeros," the hunter said to them, "and carefully look around us, for I am greatly mistaken if we do not find a trail within an hour."

"What makes you suppose so?"

"Nothing, I have found no sign," Valentine answered, with a smile; "but I feel a foreboding that we shall soon find the man we have been seeking so long."

"May heaven hear you, my friend! Don Miguel exclaimed.

"Forward! Forward!" Valentine said, as he set out.

His comrades followed him. At this moment the sun appeared above the horizon, the forest awoke as if by enchantment, and the birds, concealed beneath the foliage, began their matin hymn, which they sing daily to salute the sun.