No one seemed able to say a single word.

Standing or crouching there, with staring eyes those four lads watched the marvelous ascent of their supper. It was as though an unseen hand had reached down and plucked the kettle from the rock to carry it heavenward.

Now it had reached the level of the top of the bluff, and as they continued to gape, an arm was thrust hastily out from the rank vegetation that grew there; they saw eager fingers clutch the kettle, and then it was drawn from their sight.

“Tell me about that!” gasped Jerry, as soon as he could catch his breath.

Bluff made a dive for Frank’s gun. His own repeating shotgun was at home, out of commission, for which Jerry, who hated the modern arm as the devil is said to hate holy water, never ceased to give thanks.

But Frank caught his arm.

“No, I wouldn’t do that, Bluff. We can afford to lose our stew, for we’ve got plenty more behind it. We can even let the little kettle go, if necessary; but we should hate to have any man’s life on our hands, no matter if he is a crazy being.”

“Did you see him, Frank?” exclaimed Will, in great excitement.

“No more than the rest of you. An arm came into view, and the kettle was drawn in. Somebody is going to enjoy a fine supper to-night. Perhaps the poor fellow has not tasted decent food for ages. Much good may it do him,” said Frank.

“What are you going to do about it, then?” demanded the warlike Bluff.