It had been skinned, and, as Teresa thought with an inward shiver, already looked half its former size.
Not yet accustomed to the fact that a few steps in either direction around the circumference of those great trunks produced the sudden appearance or disappearance of any figure, Teresa uttered a slight scream as her young companion unexpectedly stepped to her side.

"You see a change here," he said; "the stamped-out ashes of the camp-fire lie under the brush," and he pointed to some cleverly scattered boughs and strips of bark which completely effaced the traces of last night's bivouac.

"We can't afford to call the attention of any packer or hunter who might straggle this way to this particular spot and this particular tree; the more naturally," he added, "as they always prefer to camp over an old fire." Accepting this explanation meekly, as partly a reproach for her caprice of the previous night, Teresa hung her head.
"I'm very sorry," she said, "but wouldn't that," pointing to the carcass of the bear, "have made them curious ?" But Low's logic was relentless.
"By this time there would have been little left to excite curiosity if you had been willing to leave those beasts to their work." "I'm very sorry," repeated the woman, her lips quivering.
"They are the scavengers of the wood," he continued in a lighter tone; "if you stay here you must try to use them to keep your house clean." Teresa smiled nervously.
"I mean that they shall finish their work to-night," he added, "and I shall build another camp-fire for us a mile from here until they do." But Teresa caught his sleeve.
"No," she said hurriedly, "don't, please, for me.

You must not take the trouble, nor the risk.

Hear me; do, please.