"I suggested that to the boys on the assumption that it was a bird," replied Mr. Hawke, noticing, with a twinkle in his eye, that the boys were moving their chairs closer and listening with tense interest.
"We're sure it's a bird," chimed in the enthusiastic Fly. "We were hit by it ourselves coming from Silver City—and that rancher was picked up by it. What else could it be? You never see tracks."
"It must be something that flies, anyway," argued Dunk. "Everything shows that."
"But how could you get around flying after it at night," objected Mr. Phipps. "It never seems to come around in daytime."
"Oh, Mr. Hawke can fix that," exclaimed Herb confidently.
"With an equipment of acetylene lamps," assented Mr. Hawke. "They would give all the light we would need."
"But you would probably have to shoot at him," protested Mr. Phipps. "I don't see how that could be done."
"Carl's the best shot there ever was," assured Jerry. "He can shoot anything. Even in the dark."
Mr. Phipps and the aviator smiled broadly at this.
"I should think if it were a bird," said the latter, leaning back in his chair, "the thing would be to chase it to its haunt and trap it."