"Never mind about any funny remarks," returned John. "It's a good thing for the whole gang that I clubbed it."
"What happened after that?" inquired Bob, with a smile.
"The boys all fired, and away it went, like a streak."
"Funny that none of you hit the beast—it was so close," observed Dick Travers, slyly.
"We hit it all right," said Nat; "guess it will never do any more screeching. How did you fellows happen to see it?"
Bob Somers briefly told about their experience.
Notwithstanding their apparent belief that the animal's career was ended, the Nimrods did not seem inclined to leave the friendly glare of the camp-fire.
It was now noticed that John Hackett wore upon the lapel of his coat the wing of a bird. Its estimated length was about three inches.
In answer to an inquiry from Tom Clifton, the Ramblers were treated to the following explanation.
"Last evening," said Hackett, "I saw a small speck on the top of a tall tree about a hundred feet away, so I drew a bead on it, and fired. Well, boys, it came tumbling down. I ate all there was for supper. And the bird was so small," he continued, "that it hardly made a good-sized sandwich."