The creature
scrambled hurriedly away through the dead leaves, and our horses,
trembling and snorting, tried again to run.
"It is a bear!" he cried as we saw its shaggy bulk awkwardly climbing
the slope between two clumps of bushes. "No, by Jove, it's got hands
and feet! Now, what in the--"
Then the thing half turned toward us, and we saw that it had a man's
head and face, covered with hair and beard.
"Good God! It's Henry Moulton!" cried the Artist. "Moulton!
Moulton! Come back here! What's the matter with you!"
At the sound of his name the man sprang to his feet, facing us. The
bearskin which wrapped his body slipped down and left him entirely
nude. In an instant he dropped upon all fours again, drew the skin
over him and shambled away.
We turned our staring eyes upon each other, and there was no need to
speak the appalling thought that was in both our minds. With one
accord we plied our whips and drove our unwilling and terrified horses
in the direction he had taken. We came near enough to see that he was
digging among the dry leaves for acorns, and that his beard and mouth
were defiled with earth, and full of fragments of leaves and acorn
shells.
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