Just then he heard, in the air above the tent, that same sighing, throbbing sound that had so startled them on a previous occasion. It was like the passage of some immense body through the air.
Jack, who was partly dressed, hurried to the flap of the tent. He peered upward into the blackness of the night.
Was it fancy, or did he see some great, mysterious shape moving over the camp? He could not tell, but the throbbing, swishing noise became fainter.
“I wonder what that is?” thought Jack as he went back to bed. In the morning he did not tell his chums nor Long Gun of the affair, fearing to frighten them.
They prepared for a big hunt the next day. There was a light fall of snow, which the Indian guide said would serve to enable them to track the game. They were out early in the morning on their horses, and were gone all day, keeping together. Jack shot a big buck, and Bony, to his great delight, brought down a fine mountain sheep, while the others had to be content with jack-rabbits.
Budge had entirely recovered from the effects of the deadly gas, but he said he felt too nervous to do any shooting, so he and Long Gun, who, despite his name, was a poor shot, simply trailed along in the rear.
“I’d like to get another pair of big horns for my room,” said Jack toward the close of the day. “What do you think, Long Gun, have we time to go a little farther and try for a big ram?”
“Hu! Mebby,” answered the Indian. “Plenty sheep been here,” and he pointed to where the animals had scraped away the snow to get at the grass and shrubs beneath.
Jack and Nat started off, while the others made a temporary camp and warmed some tea. They were to stay there until Jack and Nat returned, which the lads promised to do within an hour if they saw no signs of sheep.
They tramped on, having left their horses in the temporary camp, Jack eagerly watching for a sign of a big pair of horns.