Dick Travers was profoundly astonished.
"Great Scott!" he cried. "What—what—"
As he sprang to the fire, uttering a shout, seized a partly-consumed branch and waved it aloft, the sleepers awoke on the instant.
Tom Clifton jumped up and dived for his gun.
"Now, what's the matter?" he gasped, excitedly.
Dick, without replying, seized his own weapon, and holding the firebrand aloft boldly pushed out into the darkness. Tom, not to be outdone, sprang quickly to his side.
"What in the world is it?" he muttered, in a voice that trembled.
"We may soon find out," answered Dick, softly.
He waved his blazing torch high aloft, turned abruptly, and the animals, straining at their ropes, fell into gloom again. In a few moments the boys had reached the gully. Bob Somers and Sam Randall, clutching burning brands, crept cautiously beyond the circle of light, the others following close at their heels.
"Watch yourself, Dick!"
Bob Somers' voice vibrated over the air in a thrilling undertone.
"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.
"A—a—a wildcat!" yelled Sam, excitedly. "Look out there!"
The light from his torch had illuminated the grayish form of a big cat. His ears were thrown backward belligerently, while a pair of yellow eyes, full of sparkle and viciousness, glared defiantly toward them.
Another challenging screech; the lithe body plunged forward.
"Look out!" yelled Dick. "He's coming!"
"Tommy—Tommy!" cried Bob, anxiously, "are you hurt? Hello, Tommy!"
"No!" came an answer, clearly. "Mind your eyes, now—there's—"
Bob didn't hear his concluding words; the cat was already upon him. He acted instantly. Smack! The torch, swung with all the force of his muscular arms, crashed against the animal's head. There was a sound of splintering wood; then a snarl of angry disapproval, as hot flames scorched his assailant's nose.
That touch of fire seemed to take all the fight out of the wildcat. It lunged sideways; and Dick Travers' frantic haste to give the animal plenty of room brought him up against Sam Randall with such force as to send the latter crashing to the ground.
Then the cat swerved abruptly, and, with a final snort of disgust, leaped down the slope.
When Tom Clifton, a badly scared lad, looked over the edge of the bank a moment later, he could, by the light of a flaring torch which lay on the ground, see Sam scrambling wildly to his feet.
"Great Scott! What's happened?" he cried, breathlessly. "Anybody hurt?"
Tom's reappearance was the signal for so many exclamations that his question passed without an answer.
"Safe and sound?" demanded Sam, whose voice and manner indicated that he was just beginning to get straightened out on the situation.
"You bet!"
"By Jupiter, that's simply great! The fall didn't hurt you, eh?"
"No; but it did the bushes, I can tell you—I ripped 'em up a bit. Landed on a ledge. Where's my gun? Gracious! That animal just missed me by a few feet when he went slipping by."
Bob gave Tom a hand, and helped him up the bank.
"I just about walked into that old codger," panted the lad. "Happened to look around, and saw his ugly face most pokin' me in the ribs. That would make anybody give a start, eh?"
"I wouldn't call it a 'start,' Tommy," grinned Sam; "I'd say a leap through space. How far did you roll?"
"About a hundred and twenty-five biscuit lengths. That's a pun, eh? Rolls and biscuits; and the last bump I got was a crackerjack. Think that cat is going to loaf around here waiting for us?"
"We'll be ready for him, if he does," said Sam.
"It seems to be a regular menagerie up here," laughed Jack Conroy. "What's comin' next, I wonder?"
They straggled back to the fire, piled on more fuel, and now as wakeful as they had ever been in their lives, watched the pale radiance of the moon slowly spreading out over the quiet landscape.
"Say," remarked Jack Conroy, as he suddenly rose from his seat on a log, "I see somethin' over there that doesn't look a bit like a rock, or bushes; an' it isn't a bear, either," he added, earnestly. "Come here, Somers."
"I'm in on this," chirped Tim, springing to his feet. His eyes, following the direction of Jack's outstretched arm, took in an odd-shaped form moving slowly about in the ghostly light.
"That is passin' strange, Jack," he murmured, in puzzled tones. "Thunderation! No animal could have a shape like that and live."
The crowd formed a half-circle around Bob Somers, as he brought out his field-glass and took a long, searching look. When he lowered it, an expression of wonderment rested upon his features. Without answering an eager volley of questions, he raised the glass again, his lips puckering to emit a shrill whistle of surprise.
"What is it, Somers?" howled Jack, impatiently.
"Say, fellows—" Bob's tone, full of amazement, caused a tremor of eager expectancy to run through the crowd.
"Well?" queried Tim, breathlessly.
"It looks—looks—"
"Like what?" almost roared Jack. "Is it a bird, beast, or portable bush?"
"Fellows, it looks exactly as our packhorse ought to in this light and that far off."
There was an instant of silence, then:
"It can't be possible."
"Oh, shucks! You're jokin'!"
"Get out, Bob!"
"A near-member o' the United Order o' Funny Men."
"But it does, I tell you!" shouted Bob. He almost pitched the field-glass into eager Jack Conroy's hands, seized his gun, and, with "Come on, fellows!" flung over his shoulder, started off at a loping trot.
Like a charge of infantry, with weapons shining in the moonlight, they swept through the high grass, jumped over and around obstructions, gradually increasing their pace until it became a wild, headlong spurt.
As they approached the strange-looking object, it began to dawn upon skeptical minds that, after all, it certainly did bear a striking resemblance to the missing packhorse.
Breathless and excited, the seven covered the last stretch in record time, all remaining doubts falling from their minds as swiftly as their flying feet trod the ground.
Right before them, clearly revealed by the moonlight, was the much-wished-for beast of burden.