"Maybe it's a panther," cried Jack, apprehensively.
"Or—or—a man," murmured Tim.
The bronchos suddenly began snorting and neighing again; their sharp heels, as they pranced about, struck the turf with dull, heavy thuds. Then came silence—a tense silence, which sent creepy feelings coursing down their spines.
"Great Cæsar!"
Sam Randall almost jumped in the air. A loud, piercing yell had abruptly jarred through the night. Then:
"Look out—help!"
Almost thrown into a panic, the boys fastened their eyes intently upon the shadowy form of Tom Clifton. They saw him give a sudden spring sidewise, slip, and wildly attempt to regain his balance.
The hasty movement sent the gun flying from his grasp. Then, with a third cry, he toppled over the edge of the gully, to almost immediately disappear from view. The startled crowd heard him crashing down through the bushes almost before they could make a move.
Bob uttered a cry of alarm. In a couple of bounds he cleared the intervening space.
A shrill screech, coming from behind a group of saplings, caused him to hastily fall back.