The chase led across the ravine, and of course over the bed of snow. The pursued was doing his best to escape. But the pursuer had the advantage—for while the man was breaking through at every step, the broad-pawed quadruped glided over the frozen crust without sinking an inch.

Pouchskin had got a little the start, but his pursuer was fast gaining upon him. Once or twice, indeed, the bear was close enough to touch Pouchskin's skirts with his extended snout; but the necessity of rearing up, before making a stroke with his paw, required him to get still nearer, and Bruin knew that.

He had, however, got near enough even for this; and had risen on his hind feet, with the intention of clawing down his victim. Ivan and Alexis simultaneously uttered a cry of dismay; but before the dangerous stroke could descend, he for whom it was intended had sunk out of sight!

At first, the young hunters believed the blow had been struck, and that Pouchskin had fallen prostrate under it. They saw the bear spring forward as if to cover the fallen man; but the next moment their terror was mingled with astonishment on seeing, or rather not seeing, either man or bear: both had suddenly disappeared!



CHAPTER TWELVE.

A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.

The sudden disappearance of both man and bear would no doubt have sadly perplexed our young hunters, had it not been for Pouchskin's previous adventure. With that still fresh in their memory, they were at no loss to comprehend what had occurred. While eagerly endeavouring to escape from his antagonist, Pouchskin had, no doubt, forgotten the dangerous snow-bridge; and, just as before, he had broken through it.

This time, however, it was no laughing matter. Pouchskin was no longer playing a solitary Jack-in-the-box, but, in all likelihood, he was under the huge body of the savage monster, in the act of being torn to pieces by his teeth, or perhaps drowned in the subnivean stream. Whether the bear had sprung voluntarily after him, or, in the impetus of charging, had been himself precipitated into the snow chasm without the power of preventing it, could not for the moment be known. The young hunters suspected that the bear had fallen in rather against his will; for certainly he had been seen to go down in rather an awkward and blundering manner, his hind legs pitching upwards as he broke through.

Whether the plunge had been voluntary or against his will could matter but little. He must be now upon top of the ex-guardsman; and, knowing the implacable fury of these animals when roused to resentment, his young masters had no other idea but that their attendant would be either drowned or torn to pieces.

As a last hope, however, Alexis rushed on over the snow, holding his ride before him, and prepared to fire its contents into the bear the moment he should get sight of the animal.

As he advanced, he could hear a plunging and splashing of water, with other noises,—as the snorting and growling of the bear, and the crashing of frozen snow, all mixed up in confusion of sounds. Concluding that these noises were caused by the struggle still going on between the man and the bear, he hurried forward. Strange! there came no voice from Pouchskin!

When within about three paces of the broken edge, an object came under his eyes, that caused him to halt in his track. That object was the snout of the bear, that was projected upward above the surface of the snow. The eyes of the animal were not visible, nor any other part of it, except the aforesaid snout, and about six inches of the muzzle.

The thought instantly occurred to Alexis, that the bear had reared upon his hind feet, and was endeavouring to clamber out; and this was true enough, for the instant after, he was seen to spring perpendicularly upward, until his whole head and part of his neck became visible. Only for an instant, however; for Bruin, who now appeared to be playing Jack-in-the-box, sank once more out of sight, snout and all.

The young hunter was just regretting that he had not taken a snap shot at the animal's head; but before ten seconds of time had elapsed, the snout was again popped up by the edge of the hole. In all probability the bear would make a second attempt to spring out.

Alexis was therefore waiting till the whole head should show itself; but quick as a flash of lightning, it occurred to him that the brute might at the second effort succeed in reaching the surface of the snow, and then he would himself be in danger. To avoid this contingency, he resolved to fire at once; not at the snout, for, although he could not have failed to send his bullet through it, he knew that that would not kill the bear, but only render him more desperately furious, if such a thing had been possible.

It was the bear's skull he meant to take aim at. From the position of the animal's snout, of course he could tell exactly where the head must be, though he could not see it.

Had Alexis been an unskilled marksman, he would have stood his ground; and, guessing the position of the bear's head, would have fired at it through the snow. But he did not act in this manner. He had scientific knowledge sufficient to tell him that his bullet, sent in a slanting direction, might glance off the frozen crust, and miss the mark altogether. To ensure its direction, therefore, he instantly glided two steps forward, poked the barrel of his piece through the snow, until the muzzle almost touched the head of the bear—and then fired!

For some seconds he saw nothing. The smoke of the gunpowder, as well as the snow-dust blown up before the muzzle of the gun, formed a dense cloud over the spot. But though Alexis could not see the effect of his shot, he could tell by what he heard that his bullet had done good work. A loud "swattering" at the bottom of the hole proclaimed that the bear was struggling in the water; while his piteous whines and faint grunting told that his fierce strength was fast passing away.

As soon as the smoke had cleared off, Alexis upon his knees crept forward to the edge, and looked over it. There was blood upon the snow; the side against which the bear had stood was crimsoned with streams of it; and below, in the water, among the clumps of broken snow-crust, appeared a dark-brown mass, which Alexis knew to be the body of the animal.

It was still in motion; but as it was in a prostrate attitude, and making only feeble efforts, the young hunter knew that the life was nearly out of it.

It was not this that was now causing him to look down with such an anxious and troubled countenance. It was his apprehensions for Pouchskin. Where was he? At the bottom of the crater-like pit Alexis could see the body of the animal, but nothing of a man—neither arms, legs, nor body. Could he be under the bear, concealed by the shaggy hair? Was he hidden under the black water that filled the bottom of the ravine?—or, horrible thought! was he dead, and had his body been carried off by the current that rushed rapidly under the snow?

This was not improbable, for Alexis could see that there was a sort of arched tunnel between the snow and the water, quite large enough to have admitted the body of a man!

In agony he cried out, calling Pouchskin by name. He was repeating his despairing invocation, when all at once a loud laugh echoed in his ears, uttered close behind him. In the laughter he recognised the voice of Ivan.

Alexis suddenly leaped to his feet, wondering what on earth could be the cause of this ill-timed merriment. He turned towards Ivan with the intention of chiding him; but at that moment an object fell under his eye, that hindered him from carrying his intention into effect. On the contrary, the sight he saw caused him such joy, that he could not restrain himself from joining Ivan in his laughter. No wonder. The sight was odd enough to have drawn a smile from a dying man. A spectacle more ludicrous could scarce have been conceived.

A little further down the ravine, and about ten paces from where the boys were standing, an object was seen protruding above the snow. It was about ten inches in vertical diameter, something less horizontally, and of a roundish or oval shape. In colour it was almost white as the snow itself: for, indeed, it was sprinkled over with this material out of the bosom of which it had just emerged. A stranger coming upon the ground might have been sorely puzzled to make out what it was; but not so Ivan, who, on first beholding it, as it popped upward through the frozen crust, recognised it as the head of Pouchskin. Alexis also made it out at the first glance; and it was the comic twinkle of Pouchskin's eyes—denoting that no great damage had happened to him—that led Alexis to join his brother in the laughter.

Their merriment, however, was of short continuance—only an involuntary burst, for a moment's reflection told them that Pouchskin, although they saw him alive, might nevertheless have sustained some serious injury; and both at the thought hastened up towards the head.

On getting close to it, however, Ivan was unable to control himself, and once more gave way to a fit of involuntary laughter. The head of the old guardsman, standing up like a sphinx above the frozen surface,—his grizzled hair powdered all over with snow like the poll of some grand flunkey,—his long moustache loaded with it,—his eyes sparkling and twinkling, and his features set in a serio-comic expression,—all combined to form a picture that it was difficult to contemplate with seriousness.

Alexis, however, anxious to ascertain as to whether Pouchskin had received any dangerous wound, did not this time join in his brother's mirth; and, as soon as they came near enough, his inquiries were directed to that end.

"Only scratched a bit, masters!" answered the old guardsman,—"only scratched a bit—nothing much; but the bear—the bear! where has the brute gone?"

"To his long home," answered Alexis; "you need be under no further apprehension about him. I think your knife must have well-nigh settled his account, for he was unable to get out of the hole again; but, fortunately, I have finished him with a bullet, and it only remains for us to haul his carcass up and take the skin off it. First, however, let us endeavour to extricate you, my good Pouchskin; and then you can tell us by what means you have managed to make an escape that certainly appears miraculous!"

So saying, Alexis, assisted by Ivan, commenced digging away the hard crust that surrounded the neck of Pouchskin; and kept on at it, until they had uncovered his shoulders. Then seizing him by the arms—one on each side—they drew him up, till his feet once more rested on the surface of the snow.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A SUBNIVEAN ESCAPE.

Pouchskin proceeded to describe the manner of his escape—his young masters listening to him with great interest—although they already guessed pretty nearly how it had been accomplished. Still there were some points not so clear to them, which the old guardsman detailed.

In the first place, he had retreated from the bear, not because he believed himself vanquished, but because he had lost his knife. Its handle, wet with blood, had slipped from his grasp; and he could not tell what had become of it! Finding himself unarmed, of course his next thought was to get out of Bruin's way, for what could an unarmed man do in the embrace of a bear—and such a bear?

He then turned and ran; but he had quite forgotten the dangerous character of the snow-bed—the bridge that had refused to carry him before; though, indeed, over it was the only direction he could have taken. Had he attempted to run to the right or left, his course must have been up-hill; and the bear would have been certain to overhaul him in a couple of leaps. After all, he had taken the proper direction; and, as it proved in the end, his breaking through was the most fortunate accident that could possibly have happened to him. Had it not chanced so, he would, in all probability, have fallen into the clutches of the bear, and been torn to shreds by the infuriated animal.

Well, on touching bottom, he felt the water among his feet, and just then remembered how it had been before. He remembered the hollow archway under the snow, and, seeing the bear above, and in the act of being precipitated on top of him, he suddenly ducked his head, and pushed himself into the tunnel. He could feel the bear falling upon him behind, and the weight of the animal's body, as it was precipitated downwards, forced him still further under the snow-bridge.

Once in, he continued on down the stream, working both with head and arms, and clearing a space that would allow his body to pass. The soft snow was easily pressed out of the way; and, after going as far as he deemed necessary, he turned to the right, and worked his way upward to the surface.

It was while he was thus engaged that Alexis had been squaring accounts with the bear. The fierce creature had not followed Pouchskin under the snow. In all probability, his sudden "souse" into the water had astonished Bruin himself;—from that moment all his thoughts were to provide for his own safety, and, with this intention, he was endeavouring to get back to the surface of the snowdrift, when Alexis first caught sight of his snout.

At the moment that Alexis fired the final shot, or just a little after it, Pouchskin had popped up his head through the congealed crust of the snow, and elicited from Ivan those peals of laughter that had so much astonished his brother. Pouchskin, however, had not come unscathed out of the "scrimmage." On examining the old guardsman, it was found that the bear had clawed him severely; and a piece of skin, of several inches square was peeled from his left shoulder. The flesh, too, was rather badly lacerated.

Alexis was not without some surgical skill; and, without suffering a moment to be lost, he dressed the wound in the best manner possible under the circumstances. A clean handkerchief, which Ivan chanced to have, served as a covering for the scar; and this being tied on securely, with a strip torn from the sleeve of Pouchskin's own shirt, left the wounded guardsman in a condition to recover, as soon as it might please nature to permit. Nothing more could have been done by the most "skilful practitioner."

Their next business was to look after the bear. On going back to the hole, and, gazing into it, the animal, as Alexis had anticipated, was quite dead; and the water, partially dammed up by the huge carcass, was flowing over it.

Ivan, who had hitherto done least of all to secure the prize, now became the most active of the three; and, leaping down upon the body of the great brute, he looped the rope around one of its hind legs, and then stood on one side to help the rest in raising it upward.

Alexis and Pouchskin commenced hauling on the other end of the rope, and the vast mass slowly ascended upward, Ivan pushing from below, and guiding it past the inequalities of the snow. It would have been a different sort of a task, to have hauled Bruin out of such a hole three months earlier in the season; that is, about the time he had lain down for his winter siesta. Then he would have turned six or seven hundred pounds upon the scales, whereas at this time he was not more than half the weight. His skin, however, was in just as good condition as if he had been fat; and it was this, and not his carcass, that our hunters cared for.

After some tough pulling, accompanied by a good deal of shouting from Ivan at the bottom of the hole, the huge carcass was dragged forth, and lay at full length along the frozen snow. It was still necessary to raise it to the branch of a tree, in order that it might be skinned in a proper manner. This however, could be easily accomplished by means of the rope.

Up to this time Pouchskin had been puzzled about the loss of his knife. Everywhere he looked for it; but it was nowhere to be found. All the surface over which he had danced with the bear was carefully examined, and the snow scraped up to the depth of several inches. There was the blood of the bear, and some of Pouchskin's own too, but no knife! Could it have got into the water? No. Pouchskin declared that he had dropped it near the edge of the snow-bed: for this accident, as already stated, had been the cause of his retreat from the conflict.

It was only when the great carcass was being hauled up to the branch, that the lost knife made its appearance. Then, to the astonishment of the young hunters, as well as to Pouchskin himself, the knife was seen sticking in the shoulder of the bear! There it had been when the haft slipped from his hands, and there had it remained. No doubt that stab would have given the bear his death-blow; but still more fatal had been the bullet from the rifle of Alexis, which had passed through Bruin's brain, crushing his skull like a shell!

The skinning of the animal was accomplished with great care; for the coat was one of the finest, and the boys knew with what interest it would be regarded on its arrival at the palace Grodonoff. They spared no pains, therefore, in removing it from the carcass; and after the work was finished, it was neatly folded up, tied with the rope, and placed like a knapsack on Pouchskin's shoulders.

Of the carcass they took no heed; but leaving it to the wolves, the gluttons, or any other carnivorous creatures that might chance to stray that way, they turned back up the ravine; and, striking off on a path that led towards the tent of the Laplander, reached their smoky quarters in good time for dinner.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

RINGING THE BEAR.

The bear thus killed was the true ursus arctos, or brown bear—the latter name being given to him from the colour of his fur, which, in ninety-nine cases out of every hundred, is a uniform brown. The name, however, is not appropriate, since there are other brown bears belonging to very different species.

Having secured his robe, as we have seen, the next call of our hunters was to obtain a skin from the body of his black brother. They were well aware that this would not be so easy of accomplishment, from the simple fact, that the ursus niger, or "European black bear," is one of the rarest of animals—indeed, so few of them are obtained, that out of a thousand skins of the European bear that pass through the hands of the furriers, not more than two or three will be found to be of the black variety.

It is true that they were just in the country where they would be most likely to fall in with one; for it is only in the northern zone of Europe (and Asia also) where the black ones are found. This variety is not encountered in the southern ranges of mountains in the Alps, Pyrenees, and Carpathians. Whether this black bear is a distinct species was not a question with them. They knew that by most naturalists he is recognised as a variety—by some a permanent one. It was therefore certainly included in the conditions of their father's letter; and a skin must be procured coute qui coute. This done, they would have no further business in Lapland, but might proceed at once to the Pyrenees.

It was not necessary to procure skins of the grey or silver bear, nor that with the white ring round its neck—known as the ringed or collared bear. As Alexis had said, it is acknowledged by all who know the ursus arctos his native haunts, that these are mere accidental varieties. The true "collared bear" (ursus collaris) is not found in Lapland,— only in northern Asia and Kamschatka, and it is he that is known as the "Siberian bear." The boys therefore were not "bound" by their covenant to procure these varieties; but for all that, they were gratified at going beyond the strict letter of their agreement, which good luck enabled them to do; for while scouring the country in search of the ursus niger, they chanced upon another brown bear, a female, with three cubs, one of which was brown, like the mother; the second had the white ring round its neck, and the third was as grey as a little badger! All four were taken; and the young hunters not only had the gratification of being able to send the different varieties of skins to their father's museum, but an additional satisfaction was afforded to Alexis, the naturalist, by this grand family capture. It proved incontestably, what he already suspected, and what, moreover, the native peasants and hunters had told him, that the "silver" and "ringed" bears were identical with the ursus arctos.

Notwithstanding their joy at the capture of the old she, and her parti-coloured pets, they were yet very anxious about the black bear. They had hunted all the forests and mountains for miles around, and had even succeeded in killing several other specimens of "Brownie," but no "Blackie" was to be met with.

It had now got known among the native hunters what they were in search of; and, as they had offered a liberal reward to any one who could guide them to the haunt or den of a real black bear, it was not unlikely they should soon hear of one.

In this expectation they were not deceived. About a week after the offer had been proclaimed, a Finnish peasant (one of the Quans, as they are called) made his appearance at their headquarters, add announced that he had "ringed" a black bear. It was welcome tidings; and the young Russians at once proceeded to the indicated place.

It may be necessary to explain what the man meant when he told them he had "ringed" the bear; since that is a phrase of specific meaning throughout the countries of Scandinavia. In these countries, when the track of a bear is observed in the snow, it is followed up by the person who has discovered it, with the intention of "ringing" the animal—that is, ascertaining as near as maybe, the locality in which it may have halted from its rambles, and lain down to rest. Of course, if the person thus trailing the bear be a hunter—or if it be a party of hunters actually engaged in the chase, they will keep on until they have found the bear in his den. But in nine cases out of ten, bears are not pursued in this fashion. Generally, their haunt—whether temporary or otherwise—has been ascertained beforehand, by some shepherd or woodcutter, and a party of hunters then proceeds to the spot, and makes a surround of the animal before rousing him from his lair.

This "surround," however, has nothing whatever to do with the "ringing" of the bear, which is an operation of a different character, and is performed by the party who has first chanced upon the tracks. The mode of proceeding is simply to follow the trail, or spar, of the bear as silently as possible—until the tracker has reason to believe that the animal is not far off. This he discovers by observing that the spar no longer trends in a direct line, but doubles about in zigzags, and backward turnings, upon itself; for when a bear intends to lie down, it is his habit to quarter the ground in every direction, precisely as does the hare before squatting in her form.

Many other animals observe a similar caution before going to rest.

The bear-tracker having reached this point, then leaves the track altogether, and makes a circuit round that part of the forest within which he suspects Bruin to have couched himself. This circuit is of greater or less diameter, according to circumstances—depending on the season of the year, nature of the ground, and a variety of other considerations. While going round this circle, if it should be seen that the track of the bear leads beyond it, then that "ring" is given up, and another commenced further forward. If, on the other hand, the tracker gets round to the place whence he first started, without again coming upon the spar, he concludes that the bear must be lying somewhere within the circumference which he has traced, and will there be found. This, then, is termed "ringing" the bear.

You may wonder why the man does not follow up the spar until he actually reaches the den or lair of the animal. That is easily explained. The tracker is not always a bear-hunter, and even if he were, it would not be prudent for him to approach a bear without assistants, who, by surrounding the animal, should cut off its retreat. Were he to go forward direct to the bear's hiding-place, Bruin would, in all probability, discover him before he could approach within shot; and, making a bolt, might carry him a chase of ten or twelve miles before stopping. The brown bear often does so.

The tracker, having ascertained the circle within which the animal has made its temporary resting-place, next proceeds to warn the hunters of his village or settlement; and then a large party go out for the destruction of the common enemy. They deploy around the ring, and closing inward, are pretty sure to find the bear either asleep in his den, or just starting out of it, and trying to get off. The "ring" will usually keep for several days—sometimes for weeks—for the bear, especially in winter time, will remain in the vicinity of his lair for long spells at a time. Frequently several days will elapse before any hunters arrive on the ground; but, if the bear should have strayed off in the mean time, his tracks in the snow will still enable them to follow and find him. If, however, fresh snow should have fallen, after the bear has made his exit from the marked circle, then, of course, the search will prove a blank, and Bruin make his escape—at least out of that "ring."

One of the most singular features of this custom is, that he who has succeeded in "ringing" a bear, is regarded as the lawful proprietor of the animal—or rather of the "ring"—and can dispose of his right to any hunting party he pleases. Of course he cannot guarantee the killing of the bear: that is left to the skill of the hunters, who must take their chance. The tracker only answers for a bear being found within a prescribed circle, of which he gives proof by pointing out the spar. With such conditions, established by long and well-observed custom, it will easily be believed that the woodcutters and other peasants make a market by ringing bears, frequently disposing of the "ring" to the more ardent hunters for a very considerable price! It was just with this view that the Finnish peasant had put himself in communication with our young Russians; and as the bounty they had already offered far exceeded the usual purchase-money in such cases, the Quan at once closed with their offer, and conducted them to the "ring."



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

OLD NALLE.

While proceeding towards the ground where they expected to find the bear, their guide informed them that he had not only ringed the animal, but actually knew the den in which it was lying. This was still better: it would not only save them a search, but enable them to encompass the beast on all sides and cut off his retreat—should he attempt to bolt before they could get near.

On approaching the place, therefore, Pouchskin proposed that the three should separate, and, after having deployed into a circle, proceed inward from different directions.

But the guide opposed this suggestion—saying, with a significant smile, that there was no need of such precautions, as he would answer for the bear not leaving his den, until they had all got up as near as they might wish to be.

The hunters wondered at this confidence on the part of their guide, but in a few minutes' time they had an explanation of it. Going up to a sort of cliff that formed the side of a little stony knoll, the Quan pointed to a hole in the rocks, saying, as he did so:—

"Old nalle is in there."

Now "nalle" is the nickname of the bear throughout the Scandinavian countries, and our Russian hunters knew this well enough; but that a bear could be inside the little hole, to which their guide had pointed, appeared utterly incredible, and Ivan and Alexis burst into a loud laugh, while Pouchskin was rather inclined to show a little anger about the matter.

The hole which the Quan had pointed out was a crevice between two great boulders of rock. It was about a yard above the ground, upon which they stood; and was certainly not more than six or eight inches in diameter. All round the orifice the rocks were thickly coated with ice; and from the top of the cliff on both sides huge icicles projected downwards, until their tips touched the earth, looking like enormous trunks of elephants, or such as even mammoths might have carried. One of these immense icicles was directly in front of the aperture; while on the ground just below its point stood up a huge mass of an irregular conical shape, the convex surface of which was coated with snow that had lately fallen.

The first impression of the hunters was, that they had been deceived by the cunning Quan. Pouchskin declared that they would not stand being tricked; and at once demanded back the ten rix-dollars which his young masters had paid for the "ring" of the bear.

"It was all nonsense," he said; "even if there was a cave, no bear could be inside, for the simple reason that none, even the smallest, could possibly have squeezed his carcass through a hole like that;—a cat could hardly have crept into such an aperture. Besides, where were the tracks of the bear? There were none to be seen—neither by the mouth of the hole, nor in the snow outside."

There were old tracks of the peasant himself and of a dog, but not of a bear.

"It's a decided take-in," grumbled Pouchskin.

"Patience, master!" said the Quan. "There is a bear inside for all that; and I'll prove it, or else return you your money. See my little dog! he'll tell you old nalle is there. It was he that told me."

As the Quan said this he let slip a diminutive cur, which he had hitherto held in the leash. The animal, on being set free, rushed up to the hole, and commenced scratching at the ice, and barking in the most furious and excited manner. It certainly proved there was some living creature inside; but how could the Quan tell it was a bear? and, above all, a black bear!

He was interrogated on this point.

"By it," replied the peasant, taking from his pouch a tuft of long black fur, which was evidently that of a bear; "that is how I know that old nalle's in the cave, and the colour of the hair tells me that it's black nalle who's inside."

"But how came you by that?" inquired all three in a breath, as the man held the tuft before their eyes.

"Well, masters!" answered the Quan, "you see some jaggy points on the rock, at the top of the hole, there. I found it sticking there, where the bear must have left it, as he was squeezing himself into his cave— that's how it was."

"But surely," said Alexis, "you don't mean to assert that a bear could pass through such a hole as that? Why, a badger couldn't get in there, my man!"

"Not now," said the Quan, "I admit; it's three months since he went in. The hole was bigger then."

"Bigger then?"

"Certainly, masters! the heap you see below is only ice. It's the drip of that great icicle that has frozen up as it fell, and if it were not there you'd see a place big enough for a bear to get in. Ah! sirs! he's there, I can assure you."

"Why, he couldn't get out of himself?"

"That is very true," replied the peasant; "he'd be safe enough there till a good bit on in the spring. If we hadn't found him, he would have been obliged to stay in his cave till the sun had thawed that great heap out of his way. It often happens so with the bears in these parts," added the Quan, without seeming to think there was anything unusual about the circumstance.

What the man said was literally true. The bear had gone into this cleft or cave to take his winter nap, and during the long weeks, while he was thus hybernating, the water, of rain and melting snow, dripping from the top of the cliff, had formed enormous stalactites of ice, with stalagmites as well: since it was one of the latter that had closed up the entrance to the den, and fairly shut him up in his own house!

Not only does this curious accident often occur to Scandinavian bears, but these animals, notwithstanding their proverbial sagacity, frequently become their own jailers. They have a habit of collecting large quantities of moss and grass in front of their caves, which they place right in the aperture; and not inside as a bed to lie upon. Why they do so is not clearly understood. The Scandinavian hunters allege that it is for the purpose of sheltering them from the cold wind, that would otherwise blow up into their chamber; and in the absence of any better explanation this has been generally adopted. The heap soon gets saturated by rain and melting snow, and congeals into a solid mass, so hard that it requires to be cut with an axe before it can be got out of the way; and the bear himself is totally incapable of removing it. The consequence is that it often shuts up the entrance to his winter chamber; and Bruin, on awakening from his sleep, finds himself caught in a trap of his own construction. He has then no other resource but to remain inside till the spring heats have thawed the mass, so that he can tear it to pieces with his claws, and thus effect an exit. On such occasions, he issues forth in a state of extreme weakness and emaciation. Not unfrequently he is altogether unable to clear away the obstacle, and perishes in his den.

On hearing these explanations from the Quan, who appeared to be well acquainted with Bruin's habits, the young hunters were satisfied that a bear was really in the cave. Indeed, they were not long upon the spot, till they had still more satisfactory evidence of this fact; for they could hear the "sniffing" of the animal, with an occasional querulous growl, as if uttered in answer to the barking of the dog. Beyond doubt, there was a bear inside.

How was he to be got out? That now became the important question.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE STAKED ENCLOSURE.

They waited, for a time, in hopes that he might show his snout at the little aperture, and all three stood watching it, with guns cocked and ready. A good while passed, however, and, as no snout made its appearance, they came to the conclusion that the bear was not to be caught in that simple way. By the snorting growl they could tell that he was at no great distance from the entrance, and they thought a pole might reach him. They tried this, but found that it could be inserted only in a diagonal direction; and although Pouchskin poised in the pole, and bent it round like a rattan, he could not touch wool anywhere; while the bear, though he gave tongue now and then, still kept his place at the further end of the cave.

No other plan offered, except to cut away the icy mass, and set open the mouth of the cavity. If this were done, would Bruin be then likely to come forth? The Quan was confident he would; alleging as his reason, that, in consequence of the spell of warm weather there had been, the bear must have fully shaken off his winter drowsiness, and would no doubt have been abroad long ago, but for the ice preventing his egress from the den. As soon as that should be removed, he would be pretty sure to sally out—for hunger, said the peasant, will bring him forth, if not just at the moment, certainly within an hour or so. At the worst they could wait a while. Moreover, were the ice removed, they might be able to reach him with a pole; and that would be certain to put him in such a rage as would at once tempt him to make a sortie.

With this idea, Pouchskin seized his axe, knocked the great icicle into "smithereens," and was about going to work upon the huge stalagmite that blocked up the entrance, when he was interrupted by the Quan.

"With your leave, master!" said the latter, as he laid his hand upon Pouchskin's arm to restrain him. "Not so fast, if you please?"

"Why?" asked the ex-guardsman, "don't you intend to unearth the brute?"

"Yes, master," replied the Quan; "but something must be done first. This is a black bear, you must know."

"Well, and what of a black one more than any other?" demanded Pouchskin, somewhat surprised, for in the forests of Russia, where he had hunted bears, there were no black ones.

"Don't you know," said the Finn, "that Black Nalle is always bigger and fiercer than his brown brother? Besides, just at this time he will be so savage with hunger, that he would eat one of us up the moment he got out. If that ice was away, I shouldn't like to stand here. Take your time, master! I think I can show you a better plan, at all events it is a safer one. It's a way we practise here—when we are sure that a bear is asleep, and won't interrupt us while we're making ready for him."

"Oh, well," replied Pouchskin, "I'm agreeable to anything you propose. I'm not particularly desirous of risking another wrestle—not I—I had enough of that the other day." And as the old guardsman made the remark, he gave a significant shrug of his shoulders, the wounds upon which not being yet quite cicatrised, feelingly reminded him of the rough handling he had received.

"Well then," said the Quan, "if you will help me to cut some strong stakes, I shall show you a plan by which you may knock old nalle upon the skull without danger to any of us, or send your bullets through his brain, if you like better to kill him in that way."

All, of course, agreed to the Quan's proposal; for if the black bear was as he represented him, fiercer than his brown brethren, it would be no pleasant prospect to have him loose among them; and in case of their not being able to shoot him dead on the spot as he rushed out, they might not only be in danger of getting mauled, but in danger of what they dreaded almost as much—losing him altogether. He might get off into the forest; and as there were tracts along the hill-sides, now quite clear of snow, he might steal away from them beyond recovery. This would be a disappointment of no ordinary kind. In fact, it might be the means of keeping them for weeks, or perhaps months, from proceeding on their journey: since it might be weeks or months before they should fall in with another chance of obtaining a black bearskin; and until that was procured they could not turn their faces towards Spain.

With such a prospect then, they were only too ready to agree to any conditions by which the bear might be safely secured.

The Quan was not long in disclosing his plan; and as soon as he had communicated it, all three set to work to aid him in its execution.

A number of stout stakes were cut—each about six feet in length, and pointed at one end. These were driven into the earth around the outer edge of the icy mass, in a sort of semicircular row; and so as to enclose a small space in front of the aperture. To hold the stakes all the more firmly, large stones were piled up against them, and the uprights themselves were closely wattled together by the broad flat branches of the spruce pines that grew near. In this way was constructed a fence that a cat could not have crawled through, much less a bear. One aperture only was left in it, and that was directly in front—a hole at about the height of a man's knee from the ground, and just big enough to admit the head of a bear—for that was the purpose for which it was intended.

The next thing done was to roof the whole of this stockade enclosure; and that was accomplished by resting long poles horizontally over it, tying them at the ends to the tops of the uprights, and then covering them thickly with granris (the spray lopped from the branches of the evergreen pines).

It now only remained to get the ice cut of the way, and allow the bear to come forth. That would not have been so easy of accomplishment, had it not been already partially removed. Before closing up the top, Pouchskin, directed by the Finnish peasant, had cut away most of the mass, leaving only a shell; which, although filling up the entrance as before, could be easily beaten down, or driven in from the outside of the enclosure.

During the time that the ex-guardsman had been sapping away the ice, he had been keeping a sharp lookout. He was admonished to do this by certain noises that, now and then, came rumbling out of the cave; and not very certain that he was in perfect safety, he had been under some apprehension. The bear, by throwing all his weight against the reduced mass of ice, might break his way out; and as by the constant chiselling the wall grew weaker and thinner, Pouchskin's fears increased in proportion. He was only too happy, when, having picked the congealed mass to what was thought a sufficient thinness, he desisted from his work, and crept out of the enclosure, through the space that had been kept open for him.

This was now fenced up as securely as the rest; and it only remained to knock away the icy barricade, and tempt Bruin to come forth.

The icy wall could be broken in by means of a long boar-spear with which the Finnish peasant had provided himself. It was headed with a heavy piece of iron, edged and tipped with the best Swedish steel, and this being jobbed against the ice, and kept constantly at work, soon splintered the shell into pieces.

As soon as the Quan saw that he had opened a hole large enough to pass the body of the bear, he drew back his spear, telling the hunter to look out.

During the operation, all three had kept watch through crevices in the stockade-wall, holding their guns pointed towards the aperture, and ready to give the bear a volley the moment he should show his snout.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THE SPITTING-DEVIL.

To their disappointment, however, the bear refused to exhibit even as much as the tip of his nose, not only while his door was being opened, but afterwards; and they began to think that he might not come forth after all.

The Quan assured them that he would be certain to do so in time; but perhaps not for a few hours, till after they should have remained quiet a while, and old nalle should fancy they had gone away.

"He has been a long time without his breakfast," added the Quan, "and his stomach will now be talking loudly to him; that will tell him to steal out for something to eat. No fear of it, masters!"

"But for what purpose have you designed this hole?" inquired Ivan, pointing to the little aperture that had been left in the wattled enclosure.

"Oh," replied the peasant, "that is how we kill bears sometimes; especially if we are not rich enough to have a gun. As soon as old nalle rushes out from his den, the first thing he does is to run all round, looking for a chance to break through the fence. Of course he finds the hole, and pokes his head through it. One of us stands outside, as you see me now, with a hatchet ready; and we would be clumsy, indeed, if we could not cleave in his skull, or give him such a crack upon it, as would turn him back downwards. You shall see how the bear will rush to this hole the moment he comes out, and then, masters! you shall see!"

Here the Quan gave a significant shake to his hatchet, twirling it with the dexterity peculiar to his craft, for it so chanced that he was a woodcutter by trade.

Our hunters, however, saw that this would never do. According to the conditions under which they travelled, the bear must be killed by one of themselves; and, therefore, after a little explanation, the Quan resigned his intention and stepped aside. His post, however, was supplied by the ex-guardsman, who, poising his ponderous axe, stood ready to deal a far heavier, and deadlier, blow than could be given by any woodcutter in Scandinavia. Alexis took charge of Pouchskin's gun, determined to fire it as soon as he had discharged his own rifle; and as Ivan had one barrel loaded with ball and the other with slugs, it was not likely, against such a formidable battery as was thus prepared for him, that Bruin could manage to live much longer.

It now became a question whether they should wait patiently till the bear came out, or whether they might not adopt some mode of tempting him forth, that would act upon him more rapidly than the cravings of his stomach.

There could be no harm in trying to reach and stir him up with a pole; and for this purpose the woodcutter stepped aside to find one.

He very soon succeeded in procuring a long birch sapling—as long as an ordinary fishing-rod; and having cleared this of its spray, he inserted it into the cave. To the gratification of the party it was found long enough for the purpose; for by the muffled feel it could only be Bruin's fur that its point was buried in. It was just as far, however, as the pole would reach; and as it was a slender sapling without any stiffness in it, they were unable to do anything in the way of giving him a poke. No doubt, had the entrance to his den been wider, even the tickling of the pole would have caused him to "turn out;" for a bear, unless badly wounded, will not stand much badgering. It was possible, in this case, that Bruin suspected there was some trap set for him outside—indeed, the noises he had been listening to for more than an hour, must have admonished him that all was not as it ought to be; and this perhaps rendered him more wary than was his wont. He might not yet be aware that his door was open; for the roofed enclosure still kept out the light as much as the stalagmite had done; and although he might have heard the icy mass giving way before the axe and spear, he might not understand all that. It was necessary, therefore, to coax him as far as the threshold—so that he might discover that the door of his chamber had been opened for him.

The tickling of the pole, however, proved of no service; for, although it drew from the huge brute a sniff or two, he still kept to his bed.

What was to be done? Must they retire, and wait patiently till the calls of hunger should urge him forth? The day was piercingly cold, and to remain there long would have been unpleasant enough. They might, indeed, have to stay by the cave all day and all night too: for the enclosure had been only slightly put up—merely to check the bear for a few minutes—and if they were to leave him all night to himself, he could easily tear down the stakes and get off.

They could not think of deserting the spot for an instant; but to avoid a long vigil they set about considering some plan by which Bruin might be induced to come forth from his inaccessible retreat.

A thought occurred to Ivan, who was a quick conceiver—a plan which promised well—and that was to make a "spitting-devil," and send it up into the cave. It appeared a good idea—at all events, it would not be difficult to give it a trial. Gunpowder was not scarce with them—since Russian roubles were plenty; and Pouchskin, pouring out nearly a quarter of a pound into the palm of his broad hand, commenced spitting upon it and working the powder into a paste. Ivan, who directed this operation, was determined his plan should not fail by any stinginess in regard to the materials required for carrying it out.

After a short space of time the plastic fingers of Pouchskin had elaborated the powder paste into a roll as large as a regalia cigar; and this being dried slightly near a fire—which they had long before kindled—was ready for the touch. To the old grenadier was intrusted the management of the miniature rocket; and, while the young hunters once more stood to their guns, he proceeded to carry out the design.

Having thrust his head through the hole intended for the bear, and his arm through another which he had made for himself, he held the "devil" at arm's length between his finger and thumb. The Quan now took a blazing faggot from the fire, and passing it between the wattles, ignited the fuse which the old grenadier had ingeniously placed in the "devil's" tail.

As soon as Pouchskin perceived that it was fairly on fire, with an adroit jerk he sent the little rocket up into the cave, as far as he could throw it; and then jerking himself backward, he seized hold of his axe.

There was a moment of suspense; not long: for almost on the instant a brilliant light shone within the cave, accompanied with a sputtering and whizzing and cracking, as if half a dozen alarm-clocks had been set going at the same time! In the midst of this confusion of noises, and louder far than any, could be heard a number of sharp wild shrieks, and before the rocket had half burnt out, Bruin was seen bolting forth over the broken fragments of ice. Two shots were fired, almost simultaneously; but both failed to check his onward rush; and with a mighty force he came "bump" against the palisades, causing them to crash and swag as if they would give way. It was fortunate for the hunters that the stakes stood the shock: for such a set of teeth as that bear exhibited they had never before seen. A single stroke from those paws would have been enough to crack the thickest skull in creation.

Ivan gave him his second barrel—the one loaded with slugs,—but it only served to increase his fury; and now rearing up, and then going on all-fours, he kept rushing backward and forward through the enclosure, all the while uttering fierce growls.

Alexis, meanwhile, had dropped his rifle and taken up the fusil of Pouchskin. His place was at one side of the enclosure. He had already got the barrel through the wattles, and was endeavouring to level it upon the bear—seeking for a mortal part at which he might aim. The darkness, however,—for the roofed stockade rendered it dark—combined with the quick movements of the animal, hindered him from getting a sight to his satisfaction. He knew the importance of making this a killing shot. Should the bear, wounded as he now was, retreat back into his den, there would be no chance whatever of getting him out again. Alexis thought of this; and therefore resolved not to fire at random, as he had done before. He knew that a full-grown bear, unless shot in the brain or heart, can accommodate a score of bullets without being much inconvenienced by them.

Knowing this, Alexis was biding his time, when all at once he perceived the bear make halt on the front side of the enclosure. He now aimed at the heart of the huge animal, but before he could pull trigger, a loud crash sounded in his ear, and Bruin was seen dropping to the ground, where he continued to lie, almost without giving a kick!

It was the axe of Pouchskin that had caused the crash, as its edge of steel descended upon the bear's cranium, smashing it in as if it had been an eggshell. As the Quan predicted, the animal had imprudently poked his head through the aperture where Pouchskin was standing ready for him.

This, of course, finished the affair. It was only necessary to remove the palisades, sling the bear to a tree, and then strip him of his much-coveted skin. All this in due time was accomplished; and with the robe once more packed on the shoulders of Pouchskin, the hunters returned to their headquarters.

It proved—as the Quan had promised them—to be a black bear; not that his fur was altogether black, as is the case with the ursus americanus and the black bears of India. On the contrary, the hair was brown near the roots, and only black at the tips, which, however, gave it the appearance of being black all over the surface; and Alexis knew that this was the variety of bear they were in search of.

Satisfied that they had obtained the skin of the ursus niger, it only remained for our hunters to pack up their travelling traps, bid adieu to the cold climate of Scandinavia, and start for the sunny south—for the far-famed Pyrenees of Spain.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE PALOMBIERE.

It is not intended to detail the many incidents that befell them on the way, the chit-chat of steamboats, railroads, and hotels. Their father cared not to hear of these trifles; he could read enough of such delightful stuff in the books of whole legions of travellers; and, as they did not note anything of this kind in their journal, we are left to suppose that they encountered the usual pleasures and desagremens which all travellers must experience on similar journeys. As money was no object, they travelled with expedition—making only a short stay in the great capitals through which they passed, in order to have their passports vised, and sometimes for the purpose of using the great emperor's letter for the replenishment of their exchequer. This magic document proved all-powerful everywhere they went; and as they knew it would be so in all corners of the habitable globe, they could rely upon it with perfect confidence. Pouchskin's leathers bag was always well weighted with the yellow metal,—and specie, whatever stamp it may bear, is current all over the world.

Their journal merely mentions the route followed. From their hunting-ground they returned down the Tornea river, which, running due north and south, of course did not compromise the terms of their covenant; neither were the conditions infringed by their taking at any time the backtrack when engaged in the chase, for, as already known, there was a specification in the baron's letter, that allowed of this deviation. All that was required of them was that they should not recross a meridian when on their actual route of travel.

A ship carried them from Tornea to Dantzic. Hence they passed to Berlin, and on through Frankfort, Stutgard, and Strasbourg, to Paris. Paris, it is true, was a little out of their way; but what Russian could travel across Europe without paying a visit to Paris? Pouchskin cared little about it. The old grenadier had been there before—in 1815—when he was far from being welcome to the Parisians; and Alexis would rather have gone by another and more direct route, that is, through Switzerland; but the gay Ivan would not hear of such a thing. To see Paris he was determined; and see it he did; though what he or they did there is not mentioned in the book of the chronicles of our young bear-hunters.

From Paris they travelled by rail, almost directly south—though still slightly westward—to the celebrated baths of Bagneres. Here they found themselves not only within sight, but actually among the foot-hills of those mountains, for the tourist scarce second in interest to the Alps themselves, but perhaps for the naturalist even more interesting than these.

At Bagneres they made but a short stay, only long enough to recruit their strength by bathing in its thermal springs, and to witness a spectacle which is regarded as the grand lion of the place—the Palombiere.

As you, young reader, may not have heard of the Palombiere, and may be curious to know what it is, I give the account of it, which I find recorded in the journal of Alexis.

About two miles from Bagneres rises a ridge of considerable elevation— running parallel with the general direction of the Pyrenees, of which it may be considered an outlying step, or "foot hill" (pied mont). Along the crest of this hill stands a row of very tall trees, from which the branches have been carefully lopped, leaving only a little bunch at the top of each. On coming close to these trees—provided it be in the months of September or October—you will observe a something between them that resembles a thin gauzy veil of a greyish colour. On getting still nearer, you will perceive that this veil is a net—or rather a series of nets—extended from tree to tree, and filling up all the spaces between them—from the highest point to which the branches have been lopped down to within three feet of the ground.

Another singular object, or series of objects, will long ere this have attracted your attention. You will see standing, at certain intervals apart, and about thirty yards in front of the trees, a row of tall tapering sticks—so tall that their tops are fifty yards from the ground! They might remind you of the masts of a ship; but that there are in each case two of them together,—the one standing vertically, and the other bending over to it, with a slight curve. On this account you may be more struck with their resemblance to the "shears" seen in shipyards, by which the masts are "stepped" into their places. These masts, as we may call them, are not all of one stick of wood, but of several pieces spliced together; and notwithstanding their prodigious length—fifty yards, you will remember—they are of no great thickness. In fact, although the two are joined together at the top—as we shall presently have occasion to show—when a strong wind blows, both bend, and vibrate back and forward like an elastic trout rod. At their bases they are only five feet apart; and the curving one is intended to act as a stay to the other. Both, as already stated, meet at the top, and looking up you will see—while the sight makes you dizzy—a little roundish object at the point of the junction. It is a basket set there firmly, and just big enough to hold the body of a man. If you look carefully you will see a man actually within it; but, to quote Shakespeare's quaint simile, he will appear to your eyes not half as gross as a beetle! In all likelihood he is not a man, but only a boy; for it is boys who are selected to perform this elevated and apparently dangerous service.

How did the boy get there? will probably be your next question. By running your eye along the curved pole, you will perceive a row of projecting pegs extending from bottom to top. They are quite two feet apart; but had you been present while that youth was making the ascent— which he did by the help of these pegs—you would have seen him scramble up as rapidly, and with as little concern, as a sailor would ascend the ratlines of a ship! It is his trade to do so, and practice has made him as nimble as he is intrepid; but you, who are unaccustomed to witness such tall gymnastics, cannot help again recalling Shakespeare, and exclaiming, with the great dramatic poet, "Fearful trade!" Quite as fearful, indeed, as the gathering of "samphire."

But what is this trade? What is all this contrivance for—these nets and tall masts, with "crows' nests" at their tops? What are the boys doing up there? And what are they about below—those men, women, and children—a crowd composed of all ages and all sexes? What are they doing?

Pigeon-catching. That is what they are doing, or rather what they are aiming to do, as soon as the opportunity offers. These people are simply pigeon-catchers.

What sort of pigeons? and where do they come from? These questions must be answered.

To the first, then, the answer is the common European wild pigeon (columba palumbis). It is well-known in England by the name of "wood-pigeon," and in France it is called ramier. In England the wood-pigeon is not migratory. In that country there is a much milder winter than is experienced in the same or even a more southerly latitude on the Continent. This enables the pigeon to find food throughout all the year, and it therefore remains in England. In continental countries—Prance among the number—the severity of the winter forces it southward; and it annually migrates into Africa—the supposed limit of its flight being the chain of the Atlas mountains. Of course the wood-pigeon is only one of many birds that make this annual tour, taking, as the rest do, a "return ticket."

Now the ramiers of France, in passing southward, must ply their wings a little more strenuously to mount over the snowy summits of the Pyrenees; but they only commence ascending to this higher elevation when near the mountains. The ridge at Bagneres chances to lie in the line of their flight—of course, not of all of them, but such as may be sweeping along in that particular meridian; and, passing between the tall trees already mentioned, they get caught in the meshes of the nets. The moment they strike these—several of them coming "butt" against one at the same instant,—a trigger is pulled by the men—who are below concealed under screens—and this trigger, acting on a string, causes the net to drop, with the fluttering victims safely secured in its meshes.

When the flight has passed, the women, girls, boys, and even the children, rush forth from their hiding-places; and, seizing the struggling birds, put a quick termination to their fruitless efforts, by biting each of them in the neck. Old, half-toothless crones—for this is especially their part of the performance—will be seen thus giving the final coup to the beautiful but unfortunate wanderers!

And still we have not explained what the boys are doing up yonder. Well, we shall now announce their metier. Each has taken up with him a number of little billets of wood, fashioned something like the letter T, and about six inches in length. When this billet is flung into the air, and twirls about in its descent, it exhibits some resemblance— though not a very close one—to a flying pigeon-hawk. The resemblance, however, is near enough to "do" the pigeons; for when they are within about one hundred yards of the crows' nest, the boy launches his billet into the air, and the birds, believing it to be a hawk, immediately dip several yards in their flight—as they may be seen to do when a real hawk makes his appearance. This descent usually brings them low enough to pass between the trees; and of course the old women soon get their teeth upon them.

The pigeon-catching is not free to every one who may take a "fancy" to it. There are pigeon-catchers by trade; who, with their families, follow it as a regular calling during the season, while it lasts; and this, as already stated, is in the months of September and October. The Palombiere, or pigeon-ridge, belongs to the communal authorities, who let it out in sections to the people that follow the calling of pigeon-netting; and these, in their turn, dispose of the produce of their nets in the markets of Bagneres and other neighbouring towns.

Every one knows how excellent for the table is the flesh of this beautiful bird: so much is it esteemed, that even at Bagneres, in the season of their greatest plenty, a pair will fetch a market price of from twelve to twenty sous.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE PYRENEES.

Speaking geologically, the Pyrenees extend along the whole north of Spain, from the Mediterranean to the province of Galicia on the Atlantic; and in this sense the chain may be regarded as between six and seven hundred miles in length.

More properly, however, the term "Pyrenees" is limited to that portion of the range which lies directly between France and Spain; in other words, along the neck or isthmus of the Spanish peninsula. Thus limited, the range is less than half the above length, or about three hundred miles; while its average breadth is fifty.

Though less elevated than the Alps, the Pyrenees mountains are no molehills. Their highest peak, Maladetta, towers above 11,000 feet; and several others are of nearly equal height—while more than forty summits reach the elevation of 9,000!

The most elevated peaks are near the centre of the Pyrenees, the range gradually dipping downward as the extremities are approached. For this reason the most practicable passes are found near the eastern and western ends; though many also exist in the central part of the chain. In all, there are fifty passes or "ports," as they are called, leading from the French to the Spanish side; but only five of these are practicable for wheeled vehicles; and a large number are only known (or at all events only travelled) by the smugglers—contrabandistas—a class of gentry who swarm on both sides of the Pyrenean frontier.

The superficial extent of these mountains is about 11,000 or 12,000 square miles. Part of this is French, and the remainder Spanish territory. As a general rule, the "divide," or main axis of the ridge forms the boundary line; but in the eastern section, the French territory has been extended beyond the natural frontier.

The geological formation of the Pyrenees consists both of primitive and secondary rocks—the latter being greater in mass, and composed of argillaceous schist, grauwacke (schistose and common), and limestone. Mines of lead, iron, and copper are found in this formation—the lead containing a proportion of silver. The primitive rocks are granite; and run in zones or belts, extended lengthwise in the direction of the chain; and it is in the rupture between these and the transition strata, that the chemical springs, for which the Pyrenees are so famous, gush forth. Of these remarkable fountains—many of them almost at boiling heat—no less than 253 have been discovered in different parts of the range. A great number of them are celebrated for their medicinal virtues, and are the favourite summer resorts of invalids, as well as the votaries of pleasure, from all parts of the world—but more especially from France and Spain.

The botany of the Pyrenees is full of interest. It may be regarded as an epitome of the whole European flora: since scarcely a plant exists, from the Mediterranean to the Arctic sea, that has not a representative species in some part of this mountain chain. In the valleys and lower slopes of the mountains the forest is chiefly composed of Lombardy poplars and sycamores; a little higher, the Spanish chestnut, oaks, hazels, and alders, the mountain ash and birch trees abound; and still farther up you enter the region of the pines—the pinus sylvestris growing in dense continuous forests, while the more graceful "stone pine" is seen only in isolated groups or scattered trees. Everywhere a rich flora meets the eye; flowers of the most lovely hues reflected in crystal rivulets—for the waters of the Pyrenees are pure beyond comparison, such a thing as a turbid stream being unknown throughout the whole range.

Above the pine forests the mountains exhibit a zone of naked declivities, stretching upward to the line of congelation—which in the Pyrenees is higher than upon the Alps. The former has been variously estimated: some fixing it at 8,300 feet, while others raise it as high as 9,000; but, indeed, it would be more just to say that the snow-line depends greatly upon the locality of the particular mountain, and its southern or northern exposure.

In any case, it is more than 1,000 feet higher than on the Alps; the superior elevation being accounted for, by the more southern latitude of the Franco-Spanish chain. Perhaps the proximity of the sea has more to do with this phenomenon than the trifling difference of latitude?

Upon the higher declivities and summits, snowfields and glaciers abound, as in the Alps; and even in some of the passes these phenomena are encountered. Most of the passes are higher than those of the Alps; but in consequence of the greater elevation of the snow-line, they remain open throughout the winter. At all seasons, however, they are by no means easy to traverse; and the cold winds that whistle through them are scarce to be endured. The Spaniards, who have a proverbial expression for almost every idea, have not neglected this one. In the ports (puertos) of the Pyrenees, say they, "the father waits not for his son, nor the son for his father."

If the passes across these mountains are higher than those of the Alps, the transverse valleys are the reverse; those of the Pyrenees being in general much lower. The consequence is, that from the bottom of these valleys the mountains themselves appear far loftier than any of the Alpine peaks,—the eye taking in at one view a greater angle of elevation.

The fauna of the Pyrenean chain, though less full and varied than its flora, is nevertheless of great interest. In the more densely wooded solitudes, and higher declivities of the mountains, a large bear is found, whose light fulvous-coloured body and black paws pronounce him a different animal from the ursus arctos. If he be the same species, as naturalists assert, he claims at least to be a permanent variety, and deserves his distinctive appellation of ursus pyrenaicus.

Wolves abound; Spanish wolves, long famed for their fierceness; the common whitish-brown wolf (canis lupus), and a darker and still larger variety—in short, a black wolf, designated the "wolf of the Pyrenees," though it is equally a denizen of the other mountain sierras of Portugal and Spain.

The European lynx (felis lynx), and the wild cat, both skulk through the Pyrenean forests; the former now only rarely seen. Along the naked cliffs leaps the "izzard," which is identical with the chamois of the Alps (antelope rupicapra); and in the same localities, but more rarely seen, the "bouquetin," or "tur" (aigocerus pyrenaicus)—a species of ibex, not identical with the capra ibex of Linnaeus and the Alpine mountains.

Birds of many European species frequent the lower forests of the Pyrenees, or fill the sheltered valleys with their vocal music; while, soaring above the mountain summits, may be seen the great vulture-eagle, or "lammergeyer," watching with greedy eye the feeble lambkin, or the new-born kid of the ibex and izzard.

With such knowledge of their natural history, it was with feelings of no ordinary interest that our young hunters turned their faces towards that vast serried rampart that separates the land of the Gaul from the country of the Iberian.

It was by the Val d'Ossau, literally the "valley of the bear," that they made their approach to the mountains,—that valley celebrated as the residence and hunting-ground of Henri of Navarre: but now, in modern days, noted for its valuable thermal springs of Eaux Bonnes and Eaux Chaudes.

Up this mountain gorge went our heroes, their faces turned southward, and their eyes carried high up to the Pic du Midi d'Ossau—the mountain of the bears—an appropriate name for that beacon which was now directing their course.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

AN ODD AVALANCHE.

It is needless to say that the young Russians were delighted with the scenes that met their eyes in this fair southern land; and many of them are found faithfully described in their journal. They noted the picturesque dresses of the Pyrenean peasantry—so different from the eternal blue blouse which they had met in northern and central France. Here was worn the "barret," of scarlet or white, the rich brown jacket and red sash of the peculiar costumes of the Basque and Bearnais peasants—a fine race of men, and one, too, historically noble. They saw carts drawn by large limbed cream-coloured oxen; and passed flocks of sheep and milch goats, tended by shepherds in picturesque dresses, and guarded by numbers of large Pyrenean dogs, whose chief duty was to protect their charge from the wolves. They saw men standing knee-deep in the water, surrounded by droves of pigs—the latter voluntarily submitting themselves to a process of washing, which resulted in producing over their skins a roseate, pinky appearance. It could be seen, too, that these pachyderms not only submitted voluntarily to the operation, but with a keen sense of enjoyment, as evinced by their contented grunts, and by their long tails, hanging "kinkless" while the large calabashes of water were poured over their backs. Perhaps to this careful management of the Pyrenean pigs are the beautiful "Bayonne hams" indebted for their celebrity.

Further on, our travellers passed a plumire, or "hen-bath." Here was a tank—another thermal spring—in which the water was something more than "tepid." In fact, it was almost on the boil; and yet in this tank a number of women were ducking their hens—not, as might be supposed, dead ones, in order to scald off their feathers, but live fowls, to rid them, as they said, of parasitical insects, and make them feel more comfortable! As the water was almost hot enough to parboil the poor birds, and as the women held them in it immersed to the necks, the comfort of the thing—so thought our travellers—was rather a doubtful question.

A little further on, another "custom" of the French Pyrenees came under the eyes of the party. Their ears were assailed by a singular medley of sounds, that rose from a little valley near the side of the road. On looking into the valley, they saw a crowd of forty or fifty women, all engaged in the same operation, which was that of flax-hackling. They learnt from this that; in the Pyrenean countries the women are the hacklers of flax; and that, instead of each staying at her own home to perform the operation, a large number of them meet together in some shaded spot, bringing their unhackled flax along with them; and there, amidst jesting and laughing and singing, the rough staple is reduced to its shining and silky fineness.

Still another curious custom was observed; but this was further on, and higher up the sides of the mountains. Their observation of it was attended with some degree of danger, and therefore came very close on being an "adventure." For this reason it found a place among the events recorded in their journal.

It should be remarked, that all three were mounted—Alexis and Ivan upon stout, active ponies, of that race for which the Pyrenees,—especially the western section of them,—are celebrated. Pouchskin's mount was not of the genus equus, nor yet an asinus, but a hybrid of both genera,—in short, a mule.

It was a French mule, and a very large one: for it required a good-sized quadruped of the kind to make an appropriate roadster for the ex-grenadier of the Imperial guard. It was not a very fat mule, however, but raw-boned and gaunt as a Pyrenean wolf.

Of course these animals were all hired ones—obtained at Eaux Bonnes, and engaged for the trip across the Pyrenees to the Spanish side—as also to be used in any deviations that the hunters should think proper to make, while engaged in the pursuit of the bear.

From the nearest village on the Spanish side, the animals were to be sent back to their owner; for it was not the intention of our travellers to return to the French territory.

Having crossed the mountains, and accomplishing the object for which they had visited them, their course would then be continued southward, through Spain.

Along with them—also mounted on muleback—was a fourth individual, whose services they had secured. His metier was manifold—on this occasion combining in his single person at least three purposes. First, he was to serve them as guide; secondly, he was to bring back the hired horses; and, thirdly, he was to aid them in the "chasse" of the bear: for it so happened that this man-of-all-work was one of the most noted "izzard-hunters" of the Pyrenees. It is scarcely correct to say it happened so. Rather was it a thing of design than chance; for it was on account of his fame as a hunter, that he had been engaged for the triple duty he was now called upon to fulfil.

The four travellers, then, all mounted as we have described, were ascending a very steep declivity. They had left the last hamlet—and even the last house—behind them; and were now climbing one of the outlying spurs that project many miles from the main axis of the mountains. The road they were following scarcely deserved the name; being a pack-road, or mere bridle-path; and so sleep was the ascent, that it was necessary to zigzag nearly a dozen times, before the summit of the ridge could be attained.

While entering upon this path, and near the base of the ridge, they had noticed the forms of men far above them, moving about the summit, as if engaged in some work. Their guide told them that these men were faggot-cutters, whose business was to procure firewood for the towns in the valley.

There was nothing in this bit of information to produce astonishment. What did astonish our travellers, however, was the mode in which these men transported their firewood down the mountain, of which, shortly after, they were treated to an exhibition. As they were zigzagging up the mountain-path, their ears were all at once saluted by a noise that resembled a crashing of stones, mingled with a crackling of sticks. The noise appeared to proceed from above; and, on looking up, they beheld a number of dark objects coming in full rush down the declivity. These objects were of rounded form—in fact, they were bundles of faggots—and so rapidly did they roll over, and make way down the mountain, that had our travellers chanced to be in their track, they might have found some difficulty in getting out of the way. Such was their reflection at the moment; and they were even thanking their stars that they had escaped the danger, when all at once a fresh avalanche of faggots was launched from above; and these were evidently bounding straight towards the party! It was impossible to tell which way to go—whether to rush forward or draw back: for what with the inequality of the mountain-side, and the irregular rolling of the bundles, they could not tell the exact direction they would take. All therefore drew up, and waited the result in silent apprehension. Of course they had not long to wait—scarce a second—for the huge bundles bounding on, each moment with increased impetus, came down with the suddenness of a thunderclap; and before the words "Jack Robinson" could have been pronounced, they went whizzing past with the velocity of aerolites, and with such a force, that had one of them struck either mule or pony it would have hurled both the quadruped and its rider to the bottom of the mountain. It was only their good fortune that saved them: for in such a place it would have been impossible for the most adroit equestrian to have got out of the way. The path was not the two breadths of a horse; and to have wheeled round, or even drawn back upon it, would have been a risk of itself.

They rode on, again congratulating themselves on their escape; but fancy their consternation when they found themselves once more, and for the third time, exposed to the very same danger! Again came a set of bundles rolling and tearing down the slope, the billets rattling and crackling as they rolled; again they went swishing by; again, by the merest accident, did they miss the travellers, as they stood upon the path.

Now, it might be supposed that the faggots were being launched all along the ridge of the hill; and that, go which way they might, our party would still be exposed to the danger. Not so. The bundles were all rolled down at one particular place—where the slope was most favourable for this purpose—but it was the zigzag path, which every now and then obliqued across the line of the wood-avalanche, that had thus repeatedly placed them in peril.

As they had yet to "quarter" the declivity several times before they could reach the summit, they were more careful about approaching the line of descent; and whenever they drew near it, they put their ponies and mules to as good a speed as they could take out of them.

Though all four succeeded in reaching the summit in safety, it did not hinder Pouchskin from pouring out his vial of wrath on the heads of the offending woodcutters; and if they could have only understood his Russian, they would have heard themselves called by a good many hard names, and threatened with a second pursuit of Moscow. "Frog-eating Frenchmen!" was the very mildest title which the ex-guardsman bestowed upon them; but as his Russian was not translated, of course the phrase fell harmless—else it would have undoubtedly been retaliated by a taunt about "tallow."

The "izzard-hunter" swore at them to more purpose; for he, too, having undergone equal risk with the rest of the party, had equally good reasons for being angry; and giving utterance to a long string of execrations with all the volubility of a Bearnais, he further threatened them with the terrors of the law.

As the woodcutters, slightly stupefied by this unexpected attack, submitted with tolerable grace, and said nothing in reply, the izzard-hunter at length cooled down, and the party proceeded on their way; Pouchskin, as he rode off, shaking his clenched fist at the staring log-choppers, and hissing out in angry aspirate another Russian shibboleth, which neither could nor should be translated.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

A MEETING WITH MULETEERS.

A little beyond the scene of their encounter with the woodcutters, the path entered among the gorges of the mountains, and the level plains of France were for a time lost to their view. The route they were following was a mere bridle-track, quite impracticable for carriages, but leading to one of the "ports" already mentioned, by which they could pass through to the Spanish side. Through this port a considerable traffic is carried on between the two countries—most of the carrying being done by Spanish muleteers, who cross the mountains conducting large trains of mules—all, except those upon which they themselves ride, laden with packs and bales of merchandise.

That such a traffic was carried over this route, our Russian travellers needed no other evidence than what came under their own eyes; for shortly after, on rounding a point of rock, they saw before them a large drove of mules, gaily caparisoned with red cloth and stamped leather, and each carrying its pack. The gang had halted on a platform of no great breadth; and the drivers—about a dozen men in all—were seen seated upon the rocks, a little way in advance of the animals. Each wore a capacious cloak of brown cloth—a favourite colour among the Pyrenean Spaniards; and what with their swarthy complexions, bearded lips, and wild attire, it would have been pardonable enough to have mistaken them for a band of brigands, or, at all events, a party of contrabandistas.

They were neither one nor the other, however; but honest Spanish muleteers, on their way to a French market, with commodities produced on the southern side of the mountains.

As our travellers came up, they were in the act of discussing a luncheon, which consisted simply of black bread, tough goat's-milk cheese, and thin Malaga wine—the last carried in a skin bag, out of which each individual drank in his turn, simply holding up the bag and pouring the wine by a small jet down his throat.

They were good-humoured fellows, and invited our travellers to taste their wine; which invitation it would have been ill-mannered to refuse. Ivan and Alexis emptied some out into their silver cups—which they carried slung conveniently to their belts; but Pouchskin not having his can so ready, essayed to drink the wine after the fashion of the muleteers. But the goat-skin bag, clumsily manipulated in the hands of the old guardsman, instead of sending the stream into his mouth, jetted it all over his face and into his eyes, blinding and half-choking him! As he stood in his stultified attitude, wine-skin in hand, the precious fluid running down his nose, and dripping from the tips of his grand mustachios, he presented a picture that caused the muleteers to laugh till the tears ran down their cheeks; shouting out their bravos and other exclamations, as if they were applauding some exquisite piece of performance in a theatre.

Pouchskin took it all in good part, and the muleteers pressed him to try again; but, not caring to expose himself to a fresh burst of ridicule, the old grenadier borrowed the cup of one of his young masters; and by the help of this managed matters a little more to his mind. As the wine tasted good to the old soldier's palate, and as the hospitable muleteers invited him to drink as much as he pleased, it was not until the goat-skin bag exhibited symptoms of collapse, that he returned it to its owners.

Perhaps had Pouchskin not indulged so freely in the seducing Malaga tipple, he might have avoided a very perilous adventure which befell him almost on the instant, and which we shall now relate.

Our travellers, after exchanging some further civilities with the muleteers, had once more mounted, and were about proceeding on their way. Pouchskin, riding his great French jennet, had started in the advance. Just in front of him, however, the pack mules were standing in a cluster—not only blocking up the path, but barring the way on both sides—so that to get beyond them it would be necessary to pass through their midst. The animals all seemed tranquil enough—some picking at the bushes that were within their reach, but most of them standing perfectly still, occasionally shaking their long ears, or changing one leg to throw the weight upon another. Pouchskin saw that it was necessary to pass among them; and, probably, had he squeezed quietly through, they might have remained still, and taken no notice of him. But, elated with the wine he had drunk, the ex-grenadier, instead of following this moderate course, drove his spurs into his great French hybrid, and with a loud charging yell—such as might have issued from the throat of a Cossack—he dashed right into the midst of the drove.

Whether it was because the animal he bestrode was French, or whether something in Pouchskin's voice had sounded ill in their ears, it is not possible to say, but all, at once the whole Spanish mulada was perceived to be in motion—each individual mule rushing towards Pouchskin with pricked ears, open mouth, and tail elevated in the air! It was too late for him to hear the cry of the izzard-hunter, "prenez-garde!" or the synonym, "guarda te!" of the muleteers. He may have heard both these cautionary exclamations, but they reached him too late to be of any service to him: for before he could have counted six, at least twice that number of mules had closed round him, and with a simultaneous scream commenced snapping and biting at both him and his French roadster with all the fury of famished wolves! In vain did the stalwart jennet defend itself with its shod hoofs, in vain did its rider lay round him with his whip: for not only did the Spanish mules assail him with their teeth, but, turning tail as well, they sent their heels whistling around his head, and now and then thumping against his legs, until his leather boots and breeches cracked under their kicks!

Of course the muleteers, on perceiving Pouchskin's dilemma, had rushed instantaneously to the rescue; and with loud cries and cracking of their whips—as muleteers alone can crack them—were endeavouring to beat off the assailants. But, with all their exertions, backed by their authority over the animals, Pouchskin might have fared badly enough, had not an opportunity offered for extricating himself. His animal, fleeing from the persecution of its Spanish enemies, had rushed in among some boulders of rock. Thither it was hotly pursued; and Pouchskin would again have been overtaken, had he not made a very skilful and extensive leap out of the saddle, and landed himself on a ledge of rock. From this he was able to clamber still higher, until he had reached a point that entirely cleared him of the danger.

The French jennet, however, had still to sustain the attack of the infuriated mules; but, now that it was relieved from the encumbrance of its heavy rider, it gained fresh confidence in its long legs; and making a dash through the midst of the mulada, it struck off up the mountain-path, and galloped clear out of sight. The mules, encumbered with their packs, did not show any inclination to follow, and the drama was thus brought to a termination.

The woe-begone look of the old guardsman, as he stood perched upon the high pinnacle of rock, was again too much for the muleteers; and one and all of them gave utterance to fresh peals of laughter. His young masters were too much concerned about their faithful Pouchskin to give way to mirth; but on ascertaining that he had only received a few insignificant bruises,—thanks to the Spanish mules not being shod,— they, too, were very much disposed to have a laugh at his expense. Alexis was of opinion that their follower had made rather free with the wine-skin; and therefore regarded the chastisement rather in the light of a just retribution.

It cost the izzard-hunter a chase before Pouchskin's runaway could be recovered; but the capture of the jennet was at length effected; and, all things being set to-rights, a parting salute was once more exchanged with the muleteers, and the travellers proceeded on their way.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE PYRENEAN BEARS.

It was well they had the izzard-hunter for a guide, for without him they might have searched a long time without finding a bear. These animals, although plenteous enough in the Pyrenees some half-century ago, are now only to be met with in the most remote and solitary places. Such forest-tracts, as lie well into the interior gorges of the mountains, and where the lumberer's axe never sounds in his ears, are the winter haunts of the Pyrenean bear; while in summer he roams to a higher elevation—along the lower edge of the snowfields and glaciers, where he finds the roots and bulbs of many Alpine plants, and even lichens, congenial to his taste. He sometimes steals into the lower valleys, where these are but sparsely cultivated; and gathers a meal of young maize, or potatoes, where such are grown. Of truffles he is as fond as a Parisian sybarite,—scenting them with a keenness far excelling that of the regular truffle dog, and "rooting" them out from under the shade of the great oak trees, where these rare delicacies are inexplicably produced.

Like his near congener, the brown bear, he is frugivorous; and, like most other members of their common family, he possesses a sweet tooth, and will rob bees of their honey whenever he can find a hive. He is carnivorous at times, and not unfrequently makes havoc among the flocks that in summer are fed far up on the declivities of the mountains; but it has been observed by the shepherds, that only odd individuals are given to this sanguinary practice, and, as a general rule, the bear will not molest their sheep. On this account, a belief exists among the mountaineers that there are two kinds of bears in the Pyrenees; one, an eater of fruits, roots, and larvae,—the other, of more carnivorous habits, that eats flesh, and preys upon such animals as he can catch. The latter they allege to be larger, of more fierce disposition, and when assailed, caring not to avoid an encounter with man. The facts may be true, but the deduction erroneous. The izzard-hunter's opinion was that the Pyrenean bears were all of one species; and that, if there were two kinds, one was a younger and more unsophisticated sort, the other a bear whom greater age has rendered more savage in disposition. The same remark will apply to the Pyrenean bear that is true of the ursus arctos,—viz., having once eaten flesh, he acquires a taste for it; and to gratify this, of course the fiercest passions of his nature are called into play. Hunger may have driven him to his first meal of flesh-meat; and afterwards he seeks it from choice.

The izzard-hunter's father remembered when bears were common enough in the lower valleys; and then not only did the flocks of sheep and goats suffer severely, but the larger kinds of cattle were often dragged down by the ravenous brutes—even men lost their lives in encounters with them! In modern times, such occurrences were rare, as the bears kept high up the mountains, where cattle were never taken, and where men went very seldom. The hunter stated, that the bears were much sought after by hunters like himself, as their skins were greatly prized, and fetched a good price; that the young bears were also very valuable, and to capture a den, of cubs was esteemed a bit of rare good luck: since these were brought up to be used in the sports of bear-baiting and bear-dancing, spectacles greatly relished in the frontier towns of France.

He knew of no particular mode for taking bears. Their chase was too precarious to make it worth while; and they were only encountered accidentally by the izzard-hunters, when in pursuit of their own regular game. Then they were killed by being shot, if old ones; and if young, they captured them by the aid of their dogs.

"So scarce are they," added the hunter, "that I have killed only three this whole season; but I know where there's a fourth—a fine fellow too; and if you feel inclined—"

The young Russians understood the hint. Money is all-powerful everywhere; and a gold coin will conduct to the den of a Pyrenean bear, where the keenest-scented hound or the sharpest-sighted hunter would fail to find it. In an instant almost, the bargain was made. Ten dollars for the haunt of the bear!

The Pic du Midi d'Ossau was now in sight; and, leaving the beaten path that passed near its base, our hunters turned off up a lateral ravine. The sides and bottom of this ravine were covered with a stunted growth of pine-trees; but as they advanced further into it, the trees assumed greater dimensions—until at length they were riding through a tall and stately forest. It was, to all appearance, as wild and primitive as if it had been on the banks of the Amazon or amid the Cordilleras of the Andes. Neither track nor trail was seen—only the paths made by wild beasts, or such small rodent animals as had their home there.