Their two trees were not far from each
other, but their branches did not intermingle. There was a distinct
opening between them. The tree up which Lightfoot had scrambled was a
great fir towering high above the strong beech in which Ab had found his
safety. Branches of the fir hung down until between their ends and Ab's
less lofty covert there were but a few yards of space. Still, one trying
to reach the beech from the lofty fir would find an unpleasantly wide
gap.
Each of the creatures in the tree was unarmed. Ab still bore the quiver
full of admirable arrows, and across the breast of Lightfoot still hung
the strong bow which she had slung about her in such blithesome mood.
Soon began an exceedingly earnest conversation. Ab, eager to reach again
the fair creature who now belonged to him, was half frantic with rage,
and Lightfoot was far from her usual mood of careless gaiety. The two
talked and considered, though but to little purpose, and, finally, after
weary hours, the night came on. It was a trying situation. Man and woman
were in equal danger. The bears were hungry--and the cave bear knew his
quarry. The beasts beneath were not disposed to leave the prey they had
imprisoned aloft. The night grew, but either Ab or Lightfoot, looking
down, could see the glare of small, hungry eyes.
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