It was soon discovered that Hackett had again made several remarkable shots. Three rabbits lay on the snow, while an owl fastened to a stick stood in front of the hut.
"There's an ex-screecher that's going to be stuffed," announced Hackett, proudly. "Banged him just as he was getting to cover. If that queer animal comes sneaking around again, it'll be another job for a taxidermist."
All hands retired early.
The gray light of morn had just begun to show in the eastern sky when John Hackett awakened with a dreadful start, and looked wildly around.
The blood-curdling cries of the mysterious animal were again sounding, and now apparently close at hand. Hackett felt a cold perspiration standing out upon his face. For an instant, too terrified to move, he listened intently, while the harsh, rasping cries poured out in a steady volume.
Then the spell was broken.
"Nat—wake up!" he cried. "Nat!" and leaning over, he vigorously shook the sleeping boy.
"Why—what's—the—" gasped Nat. Then his blinking eyes opened wide. With a startled exclamation, he sat up, and, at the same moment, Sam Randall and Dick Travers were aroused.
In confusion and terror, the boys reached for their guns, every instant expecting to hear the tread of their foe outside.
"Christopher! It's most on top of us, Hacky," yelled Nat, excitedly. "Quick!"