"Now!" exclaimed Fly, as the wily native of the air rushed below them. Herb, with the quickness of an experienced hunter, did not waste his chance. There was a loud report, a shrill blood-curdling cry, such as they had heard on two other occasions, and the creature's inert bulk whirled to the earth, landing heavily almost in front of Jerry.
It was not yet dead however, and the boys made for a safe distance, as the monster, in its death struggle, furiously beat the ground with its powerful wings, springing upward again and again in a desperate effort to recover itself, each time falling back.
"Finish him," implored Fred. "It's a shame to have him suffer."
A second later a shot from Dunk's rifle stilled the great bird's fluttering form forever. Its frightful beak opened and closed, its beastlike talons sought to clutch support, its owl-like eyes became glazed and fixed. The Thunder Bird had killed his last sheep!
Hushed and silent the boys crowded around the huddled shape. Carl, taking hold of one of its wings, pulled it out to its natural spread.
"About four feet," he said. "Must have a spread of ten. And about five feet from the end of its beak to the tip of its tail."
"Wonder how old he is?" speculated Fred.
Just then something fell in their midst. It was a note from Herb, weighted with a heavy memorandum book.
"We've done the deed. Now for the reward," it read. "We can see something glistening like gold under a shelf in the roof. Ask Carl to get it. We'll drop the ladder."
Carl waved his hat in assent, while Herb swung the rope ladder down, attempting to hitch it at some point on the side of the gorge near the tower. At the third trial, it lodged over a projecting rock, which jutted, hooklike, from the wall of the ravine. Carl caught the other end and fastened it. The crossing did not prove as perilous as it looked, for the rope held firm, and it was an easy trick for an Indian.