With a natural impulse to shoot I raised my rifle, but the cub looked so
attractive and so helpless that I hesitated.
"I don't like to do it," I said. "Oh, I wish we could catch him alive!"
"Wal, I reckon we can."
"How?" I inquired, eagerly, and lowered my rifle.
"Are you good on the climb?"
"Climb? This tree? Why, with one hand. Back in Pennsylvania I climbed
shell-bark hickory-trees with the lowest limb fifty feet from the ground.
. . But there weren't any bears up them."
"You must keep out of his way if he comes down on you. He's a sassy little
chap. Now take this rope an' go up an' climb round him."
"Climb round him?" I queried, as I gazed dubiously upward. "You mean to
slip out on the branches and go up hand-over-hand till I get above him. The
branches up there seem pretty close--I might. But suppose he goes higher?"
"I'm lookin' fer him to go clean to the top. But you can beat him to it--
mebbe."
"Any danger of his attacking me--up there?"
"Wal, not much. If he hugs the trunk he'll have to hold on fer all he's
worth. But if he stands on the branches an' you come up close he might bat
you one. Mebbe I'd better go up."
"Oh, I'm going--I only wanted to know what to expect. Now, in case I get
above him, what then?"
"Make him back down till he reaches these first branches.
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