Presently night fell, and the wind quieted a little at the setting of the sun. In a short time the clouds rolled away in sullen, threatening groups, and the stars looked down on the forest tragedy. Later, there would be moonlight.
“I wonder if all the world is burned, except just this mountain?” Jimmie asked, taking the handkerchief from his face and wiping the smoke out of his inflamed eyes. “It looks that way.”
“There seems to be enough left to hold a lot of heat,” Jack said. “I don’t believe it will ever be cool again.”
“If we’d only saved that brigand steak!” wailed Jimmie.
With the half light and the cooler air there came a commotion in the mass of forest creatures in the center of the valley. It was night now, and they seemed to feel the mounting of their wild instincts to be up and away on the hunt.
Under the stars, one by one, they slunk away, bears and mountain lions turning sullenly toward the lesser beasts, but still too terrified by what they had passed through to feel the pangs of hunger. In half an hour the menagerie had vanished, some to the mountain, some over the slopes to the north and south. The boys drew long breaths of relief when the shambling figure of the last bear disappeared.
Once Jack drew his gun on a fat old buck who seemed desirous of investigating the aeroplane, but Ned saw the action and checked the slaughter.
“Let him alone,” he said. “He’s lived through this hell on earth, so give him one more chance.”
The boys now began gathering up their scattered utensils, restaking the tents, and preparing supper. Jimmie proposed another brigand steak, but Pat insisted that he never wanted to get near enough to a fire to cook again, so they made an indifferent meal of biscuit and tinned pork and beans, not even going to the trouble to boil coffee.
While they were eating a gunshot came from the east, followed by the challenge of a chanticleer.