In dismay the boys looked at one another. Already the mountains were turning purple-black in the twilight, the shadows transforming the trees and rocks into weird figures.
"Perhaps it's under the bear," hazarded Horace, his low voice evidencing the awe which the silence and the surroundings inspired in him.
"Then give a hand while we move him," commanded Larry. "It won't do to stay here long or we may lose our way as well as the rifle."
Little relishing the thought of wandering through the woods in the dark, the boys seized one of the paws and pulled with all their might.
But, to their surprise, they could move the carcass scarcely at all.
"My, but he's a monster!" gasped Larry. "It's only a waste of valuable time to try to lift him or even move him. The only thing we can do is to try to feel under him with our hands."
Dropping to their knees, the lads thrust their arms under the shaggy fur, being able to reach far; enough to make sure that the much-wanted rifle was not beneath the body of the bear.
"Bet he knocked it over the cliff," declared Horace. "From which side did he strike it, Tom?"
"More than I know. All I could see was paws. The air was full of them and they seemed to come from all directions at once."
This explanation brought laughter to Larry and Horace, which ceased abruptly, however, as from somewhere on the mountains there suddenly rang out a low wail, more like the howl of a coyote than anything else, yet with a certain difference that even the chums were able to distinguish.