“Don’t you think it!” he exclaimed. “I used to think I’d go to sea, or run away and become a cowboy; but, of course, I’ve gotten over that, for I’ve found out going to sea isn’t such fun, and the cowboy business is getting played out. All the same, a fellow could be a nomad and just hunt and fish and——”
“And tramp!” laughed Stark. “No, thank you! I have no desire to lead the life of a hobo.”
“Oh, I don’t mean to be a common hobo. I read the other day that there are lots of people in the country yet who make a good living by hunting. I’d like that. I like to hunt. I enjoy shooting squirrels and birds and things, and I know it would be great sport killing big game. I’d enjoy perforating a grizzly bear and then cutting its throat with my hunting-knife.”
“Oh, that would be fine!” came sarcastically from Stark. “But it would not be such sport if you happened to wound the bear and he got you in a corner. I believe grizzlies are somewhat dangerous under such circumstances.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind the danger!” asserted Crauthers. “That would be part of the sport. I’m not afraid——”
Then he stopped short, for through the woods rang a long-drawn, lonely cry, like that of some prowling animal. Crauthers turned pale and showed symptoms of agitation.
“What was that?” he whispered.
The others were startled.
“Sounded like the cry of a wolf or a wildcat,” muttered Hogan.
The wind rose, rushed through the tree tops and died away. As they sat there listening, the doleful cry was repeated, and this time it sounded much nearer than before. The thing was approaching!