The track led the two companions up the rock, and they set about climbing on the opposite sides of it, that they might be the more sure of not missing their prey.

Folko reached the lonely topmost point first, and cast his eyes around.

A wide, boundless tract of country, covered with untrodden snow, was spread before him, melting in the distance into the lowering clouds of the gloomy evening sky.

He almost thought that he must have missed the traces of the fearful beast; when close beside him from a cleft in the rock issued a long growl, and a huge black bear appeared on the snow, standing on its hind legs, and with glaring eyes it advanced towards the baron.

Sintram the while was struggling in vain to make his way up the rock against the masses of snow continually slipping down.
Joyful at a combat so long untried as almost to be new, Folko of Montfaucon levelled his hunting spear, and awaited the attack of the wild beast.