“No birds,” declared Long Gun suddenly. “Birds not got wings go that way.”
“That’s right, it didn’t sound like birds’ wings,” said Nat.
They discussed the mysterious happening for some time further, but could arrive at no solution of it. Jack and Nat went out to look and listen, but they could see nothing, of course, and the night seemed very silent. As for Long Gun, he could not be induced to come outside the tent.
The boys passed rather an uneasy night, but fatigue finally made them sleep, in spite of their alarm, and they slumbered so soundly toward morning that no one awoke to replenish the camp fire, which went out.
“Well, we’re all here and alive, at any rate,” remarked Jack as he looked around on coming out of the tent for a wash.
“Snapping sand-bars! but it’s cold!” cried Nat, rubbing his benumbed fingers and threshing his arms about. “Hi! Long Gun, are you so afraid of the mysterious noise that you can’t build a fire?”
“Hu!” grunted the Indian as he came from the tent, but he speedily had a genial blaze going, and breakfast in preparation.
“Well, now for some more hunting,” said Jack when the camp had been put in order. “Nat and I want to get that ram we missed yesterday.”
“And I want to land a big buck mule deer that I think I hit, but not hard enough,” said Sam.
They started off, and were gone all day, sometimes hunting together, and, again, separating for a few miles. But they had no luck, though Jack got an opportunity for a couple of fine shots, missing both of them. However, they did not much mind, as they had plenty of food in camp.