"Is it Indians?" cried Dick, who had a lively imagination.
"Something grabbed my foot," declared Tom.
"Grabbed your foot?" repeated Jack.
"Well, maybe, nibbled at it, would be better," replied Tom. "It isn't hurt, but I was awakened by it. I guess the thing, whatever it was, must have been scared away."
"What could it have been?" came from Dick.
"Perhaps it was a bear," suggested Tom.
"A bear, nonsense. I guess it was all imagination," scoffed Jack. "You ate too much at supper, Tom."
"It was not imagination, I tell you," retorted Tom indignantly. "I felt it just as plainly as anything."
"Well, I don't see what——" began Jack and then he broke off.
From outside the tent had come an appalling crash of tin dishes, followed by unearthly grunts and squeals. The uproar was terrific. It sounded as if every piece of tinware in the camp was being hurled and battered around.