Corporal Nixon was a tall, active, strong-limbed Virginian.
He soon cleared the space that separated them from the
boat, and jumping to the stern, seized one of the fishing
spears, and then moved on through: the wood that densely
skirted the bank. But he had not been five minutes gone
when he again made his appearance, not immediately by
the half-formed path he had previously taken, but by a
slight detour to the rear.

"Hist, hist," he said in an audible whisper, as soon as
he saw that he was perceived, motioning at the same time
with his hand to enjoin silence, and concealment. Then,
beckoning to Weston to join him; he again moved along
the path with the light tread of one who fears to alarm
an object unconscious of interruption.

All had the sense to understand that there was some good
reason for the caution of the corporal, and with the
exception of Weston, who had promptly obeyed the signal,
busily, but silently resumed their morning's occupation.

First, a quarter of an hour, and then minute after minute
passed slowly away, yet there was no sign of the return
of their companions. What could be the meaning of this?
If the bear had not proved to be too much for them, they
ought to have killed him, and rejoined them before this.
Curiosity, nay, apprehension finally overcame the strong
sense of obedience to orders, which had been literally
drilled into them, and they all, at the suggestion of
Green, dropped their rods on the bank, and moved cautiously