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holding the horses and looking mournful. Agafon managed to look impressed.
Meanwhile the dogs, out of restlessness, perhaps, had become intrigued by a
small fish, days dead and stinking richly, which lay a few paces upstream on
the muddy bank. A few yards upstream from the fish, the little rivulet came
gurgling out of dense woods.
The old peasant murmured something, in a tone that to Sherwood sounded
philosophical.
"What's he saying?"
"Only that there are black bears in these woods as well as brown."
"Comes as no surprise." Sherwood straightened up. He stood sniffing the
breeze, trying to absorb the sounds, the feel of this country, these
particular woods.
He said: "I believe there are two or three species of black bears in Asia I
know, this part of Russia's still in Europe. But look at the size of this
track, Greg!" He pointed at the whole example. "And you can see the toes are
in a straight line across, not an arc the way they show in a black bear track.
This is your regular brown bear, the same species that used to be seen
everywhere in Europe. It's a huge beast, closely related to our American
grizzly." Sherwood was trying to remember everything he had read about the
Eastern Hemisphere version; he had never encountered that particular
subspecies in the wild.
"And you've hunted grizzly."
"Yep."
Judging by the tracks, it was a very big bear indeed. But Sherwood did not
want to emphasize that point. Knowing that the old peasant was watching him,
paying careful heed to his manner and his expression, he had done his best to
look calm and unsurprised while he studied the tracks, trying to dispel the
notion that there could be anything supernatural about the animal. Even though
he had to admit in his own mind that any brown bear's track had something
disturbingly human about it, in the rear portion of the track especially the
slightly raised arch and comparatively narrow heel.
On the chance that their quarry might still be lingering somewhere in the
vicinity, the three men took the dogs a quarter of a mile upstream, casting
about on both banks for fresh bear signs, but without result. Sherwood was not
pleased with the dogs, though of course they had not yet been really tested;
he thought they still exhibited something of old Agafon's uneasiness.
There seemed nothing to do now but search the woods at random, or go home.
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Sherwood opted for the latter course. The bear might easily be ten miles away
by now.
Around midday, the party returned to the house.
That evening, when Sherwood had finished another letter home, he handed it to
a servant, to be posted the next time someone made a trip back to the town
where in summer the riverboats put in. Doubtless there would be a pile of
outgoing mail, with all the business accompanying the turnover of the estate.
"Greg, got a minute?"
Watching old Agafon while they were together out in the field, and listening
to his translated comments and objections there were quite a few
objections Sherwood had begun to develop doubts as to whether the elderly
guide really wanted to hunt this bear, and even a suspicion that he might make
an active effort to keep the hunters from catching up with it.
That evening the American mentioned his worries to his hosts.
Natalya and Greg were well aware of the situation; they both assured Sherwood
that the peasants, or the great majority of them at least, were still of the
opinion that the bear was a supernatural creature, responsible for the death
of Ivan Gregorevich, and for the disappearance of his son Maxim. Few of the
peasants would be willing to hunt such a creature.
The three were seated in the parlor, before a summer fireplace stuffed with
fresh flowers. Gregori was trying to get his pipe to stay lighted. Sherwood
seldom smoked, but usually he found the aroma not unpleasant.
"And Agafon is with the reluctant majority."
"I expect he is."
Sherwood started to say something more, and then decided that it was
necessary to push on. Now was a good time, when no servants were about.
He said: "There's an aspect of the situation which we haven't really touched
on yet. But I think we've got to do so."
Natalya looked at him. "Yes?"
"Fairy tales have to be taken seriously, if people believe them."
Greg was regarding him steadily. "All right. Shoot."
"Greg, the way you describe the legend, the way the old book you've mentioned
has it, it's not just about bears as supernatural creatures. The story
involves men of your familyturning into bears."
"Yes."
"Applying that to our present situation, isn't it possible that some of your
people here suspect that your missing brother has& actually& ?"
Greg was nodding before Sherwood had finished speaking. "It is more than
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possible. You may take it as given that very many of our people believe that
Maxim is still alive. That he has turned, at least temporarily, into a great
brown bear, and that he has killed our father."
"And the other people before your father."
"Yes." Greg remarked that he had heard they were both men who had fallen foul
of Maxim in one way or another. "One on the peasants' council, the other a
relative of a girl in whom my brother had, shall we say, taken an interest. So
there seems to be some truth in that, which of course makes matters worse."
Sherwood, nodding that he understood, fell silent for a moment, trying to
imagine what kind of people would really believe in a thing like
shape-changing. How their minds must work, how such folk would be likely to
behave. But it was a little more than he could fathom.
At last he said: "So, according to that theory, if we hunt the bear, we're
really hunting your brother. Which would be serious business indeed if you
could believe it. So I think we have to decide about Agafon. Is he one of
those who might really be convinced& ?"
Greg frowned. "I wouldn't be surprised. The problem is that, as far as I
know, Agafon's the only one available who's worth anything as a hunting guide.
He always handles the dogs, you see. He understands firearms fairly well. And
I believe he knows the woods, the lay of the land around here, better than
anyone else."
Sherwood nodded. He glanced at Natalya, who was content to listen to the talk
in somber silence. Then he came up with a suggestion. "You said you've been
away from home for how long? a year?"
"Yes. But it's much longer than that since I've done any hunting in these
parts."
"So quite possibly you're out of touch. There might now be someone else
available who could handle the dogs as well as Agafon, and knows the ground,
and is less superstitious. Maybe someone considerably younger?"
Gregori brightened a bit. "That's a thought. Let me see what I can find out."
"Meanwhile could we look up that old book? If I'm going to deal with a
legend, I'd like to know as much about it as I can."
Natalya, seeming glad of the diversion, immediately volunteered to act as
guide and translator for Sherwood in the extensive library. She said she knew
exactly the old book that he was looking for.
And she needed only half a minute to locate it, in a glass-front cabinet with
half a dozen other rare volumes. It was moldering, crumbling paper, bound with
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