Silver Hand stooped and ran his hand over the stony floor until it grasped a warm object, with gigantic wings unspread.
“A winged rat,” he said in a low voice, touching his companions’ hands with his prize. “It fell from—”
He paused suddenly, for other huge bats were striking the walls and falling at their feet.
“By heavens! does it rain bats here?” exclaimed Wolf-Cap, as Silver Hand griped his arm.
“Somebody in the lodges of the winged rats,” he said. “He knock ’em down here.”
“They must come from the bat-chamber. I’ve heard of it,” said the trapper, quickly. “He is fighting ’em there; but how can we reach it?”
“Come,” said the Wyandot, with eagerness. “Silver Hand fight the flying rats there once himself. He find the place soon.”
Then they started forward, just as another quartette of dead bats fell from the mysterious gloom above.
Somebody was fighting the winged mammals above the three, for, as they advanced, they could hear his sturdy blows.