"What in the world is that?" cried Tommy Clifton, aghast.
"Christopher!" exclaimed Nat. "Is it a wildcat?"
"A wolf, perhaps!" chimed in Sam Randall, excitedly, straining his eyes to pierce the gloom.
The boys were thoroughly startled, but in a moment each had seized his gun, and stood ready for any emergency.
The cries continued—a steady succession of blood-curdling sounds which made the group of boys look at each other in wonder and alarm.
Bowser began to whine, and utter short, doleful barks; then threw himself on the ground, apparently in great fear.
"Never heard no four-legged critter make sich sounds as them," said Tim Sladder, in awed tones.
"An' it certainly isn't no humans," broke in Musgrove, in a voice that he vainly tried to control.
The cries ceased as suddenly as they had begun.
"My eye! It couldn't have been a wildcat," declared John Hackett.
"And it certainly wasn't a wolf," cried Bob.
"Then what was it?" demanded Nat.
"Never in my born days did I hear anything like it. It was awful!" gasped Sladder. "Listen! Is there anything skulking 'round over there?"
With trembling hands, Musgrove lighted a pine-knot, and, advancing toward the thicket, held it high above his head. The other boys followed closely.
A flaring circle of light slowly danced along over the snow. Bright beams glanced from tree to tree, queer-shaped shadows flitted about, but the hissing, sputtering flames revealed nothing but gaunt trees and underbrush.
"This is the strangest thing yet," declared Bob Somers.
"What kind of a place have we struck, I wonder?" put in Dick Travers. "First we are snowballed by somebody who isn't anybody, and now we get the life scared out of us by an animal that isn't an animal. What do you think about it, Chubby?"
Dave considered. "To tell the truth, Dick, I don't know what to think," he answered, slowly.
"I don't like this—don't, for a fact," declared Musgrove. "I ain't afraid of no animals, or humans either. But take my word on it, there's something funny going on around this place."
All breathed easier as time went on, and there came no repetition of the cries.
The boys had all returned to the camp-fire, but Bob at length exclaimed, "Who has the sand to go out with me and take another look around?—H'm," he added, as he glanced in the direction of the lake and waved his hand toward a starlike point which glimmered faintly in the distance, "there's a light in the cabin."
"So there is!" cried Sam, with interest. "But say—come on—let's scurry around a bit."
WITH THEIR GUNS TIGHTLY CLASPED THEY STARTED
Bob, Hackett and Sam procured lanterns. Then, with their guns tightly clasped, they started out. Near the lake, the gusts of wind tore against them with unpleasant violence. Bending over, to escape its full force, they strained their eyes and ears to catch a glimpse or sound of the strange visitor, but their efforts were not rewarded.
"It's back to the fire for me," puffed Sam, at length. "Whew! This cold is awful."
"Hey, did you see anything?" asked Musgrove, eagerly, as they emerged from the darkness.
"Not a thing, 'Mushroom,'" responded Hackett.
"Oh, ho!" said Dave, yawning; "then there's no use making our heads ache about it—I won't, for one."
When the time came for Sladder and Musgrove to leave, they seemed to be in anything but a comfortable frame of mind. Many a nervous glance the two cast toward the outer darkness. But there was no help for it.
"Take one of our lanterns, Sladder," said Bob Somers. "We will get it to-morrow."
"And don't be chewed up by that wandering screecher," called out Nat, with a grin, as they started off.
The boys sat around for a short time, then turned in. On soft bough beds, buried under piles of warm blankets, they were speedily lulled to sleep by the wind which swept around the huts.
After breakfast next morning a great supply of fuel was gathered.
"Hello!" exclaimed Bob. "Here come some fellows across the lake. Three of 'em," he added. "Bet they are from that cabin."
"Let 'em come," said Hackett. "Guess we can stand it."
The skaters were making good speed, and in a short time their forms grew clear and distinct against the gray background of ice. The boys saw that they were young men, probably about the age of twenty-one.
"Aren't they dressed in rough clothes, though?" said Sam.
"And with beards growing to beat the band," added Hackett.
"A fierce-looking lot—that's sure," exclaimed Nat.
Nevertheless, as the three drew up to the camp, our friends saw that their faces were not unprepossessing.
"Hello!—Hello!" they exclaimed, almost in one breath, nodding to the boys in a friendly way.
"Hello!" responded the young hunters, cheerfully.
"We are occupying that cabin across the lake," began one of the youths who appeared to be the elder, "and have several times noticed your camp-fire. So we thought that being so close together it might be well to form a society for mutual protection."
"For mutual protection?" echoed Hackett, in a questioning tone.
"Exactly!" returned the other, with a smile. "Now, I don't know what experience in hunting you may have had, but this time of year, wolves are apt to be on the rampage, and when a howling pack of 'em gets after you—well, a fellow generally wishes he was somewhere else."
"Do you think they are likely to come around here?" put in Tom Clifton.
"They may. Then, in camp life, certain emergencies are liable to arise, when assistance is needed. But I forgot"—the speaker paused, then added, with a short laugh—"before I go any further, we had better introduce ourselves. My name is Charlie Piper."
"Mine is Rex Heydon," put in one of the others.
"And mine is Fulmer Robson," added the third.
The boys, in turn, quickly introduced themselves.
Presently the speaker continued, "We came out on a hunting trip, and stumbled across the cabin. Do you intend to stay here long?"
"Two or three weeks, at least," replied Bob.
"Good! Well, as I was saying, it might not be a bad plan to arrange a code of signals."
"A fine idea," commented Bob Somers. "It might come in very handy, indeed."
"We could use smoke signals," went on Piper. "You know how to make them?"
"How?" asked little Tom Clifton.
"A couple of fellows hold a blanket over the fire—then withdraw it quickly, and repeat. The smoke, of course, rises in detached clouds."
"Sure—we know all about that," interrupted John Hackett, loftily; "and firing off guns, too—two shots close together, then a single one."
"That's it," said Piper. "Of course we may never need anything of the sort—yet it's well to be prepared."
"Suppose we come to an understanding about the signals," suggested Heydon.
"We shall be glad to," assented Bob.
"Well, in case you need assistance of any kind, send up three clouds of smoke, and fire off a gun. You'll find us hiking over here in a hurry."
"And, of course, if the signal comes from our side, we shall expect you to cross the lake in jig time," added Fulmer Robson.
"You can depend upon us," said Bob.
"Well, that point is settled. This locality seems to be a favorite place for hunters, and we're glad of it. A couple of young fellows have a camp near by."
"Yes—their names are Sladder and Musgrove," explained Bob.
"H'm, as I said, it's good to have company, providing we don't take each other for deer or other animals," laughed Piper. "A good, solid pair of shelters you have there, boys."
"Oh, this isn't our first camping trip," said Hackett. "We know a thing or two about it."
"I see that you do."
"Say!" remarked Nat Wingate, rather abruptly. "Didn't you fellows play a little joke on us the other night?"
"How?" asked Piper, in puzzled tones.
"Why—fire a lot of snowballs. One of them knocked over the coffee-pot and another washed Bob Somers' face."
"Why, no! I assure you we didn't do it," said Rex Heydon, quickly. "No, sir—it may have been those two boys."
"Was an animal of some kind prowling around on your side of the lake last night?" broke in Hackett. "We heard the most awful lot of wild screeching you can imagine. It scared some of these little chaps pretty badly."
"Speak for yourself, 'Hatchet,'" said Tom Clifton, indignantly.
"Thought I heard wolves in the distance," answered Piper, "but wasn't sure. Nothing close to camp, though, was there, Robson?"
"Not a thing," was the answer.
The visitors stayed for some time, then, after cordially inviting the boys to come over and see them, shouldered their guns and began the return trip.
"Nice fellows," commented Tom Clifton, "and a good idea of theirs about signals."
"Everybody seems to think we need help," observed Bob, good-humoredly. "Between guardians and smoke signals we ought to be all right. Who wants to go after fish, fellows?" he asked.
"I do," said Sam Randall.
Provided with a couple of spears and an axe, besides their guns, the boys made their way toward the lake, and followed the shore to the south. At length, reaching a point where a number of scraggly willows leaned over the frozen surface, Bob stopped.
It was a dreary, barren spot. A fallen bough of yellow leaves rustled musically in the wind and the trees sighed and shivered. A few tufts of forlorn, withered grass still lingered, as a reminder of the season past.
"Looks like a good place, Sam," he said.
"You try here, and I'll go along a bit further," was the answer.
Bob soon chopped a square hole in the ice, then handed the axe to Sam, who proceeded on his way.
With spear poised for action, Bob waited. It was cold work, and he began to wish that he had gone shooting, instead. Then, quick as a flash, his spear descended through the hole.
"Missed!" he muttered, regretfully, drawing it back by means of the attached rope.
Some time elapsed before another chance presented itself. When, at length, a shadowy form flitted by, Bob again took aim, and sent the spear through the opening.
"But I got one that time," he thought, pulling in the rope. "Great luck—a good-sized pickerel!" he exclaimed, as the prize came in view. "A few more like this will do."
He detached the fish, laid it to one side and was about to continue his occupation when a hail came from Sam Randall.
Turning quickly, he saw the boy wildly gesticulating.
"Wild geese!" came a faint cry.
"By George, he's right!" exclaimed Bob, in excitement, "and what's better, they are coming this way."
In their peculiar V-shaped formation and flying low, a flock of geese were speeding in an easterly direction.
Bob Somers' interest in spearing fish suddenly vanished. Quickly seizing his gun, he made a dash across the ice, and raised it just as the leader veered sharply toward the right. Two reports rang out in quick succession. Each charge found a victim. Two birds came tumbling down, while the others, with cries of alarm, flew swiftly away and were out of range of Sam Randall's gun.
"Hurrah!" cried Bob. "Two of 'em—not bad—and big, plump fellows, too."
"That's great, Bob!" exclaimed Sam, as he came up. "Only wish I'd had a chance, too; but never mind—better luck next day."
"Won't 'Hatchet' wish he had been here?" laughed Bob, as he slung the geese over his shoulder. "Got any fish, Sam?"
"No!"
"Well, I beat you by one."
"Guess I'll try again."
"All right, Sam. We'll keep it up for a while."
The boys then separated.
After reloading his gun, Bob picked up the spear and resumed his place by the side of the hole.
Notwithstanding the comparative shelter of his position, he soon began to suffer from the intense cold.
"Hi, hi, hi, Sam!" he yelled. "Do you want to go back?"
"I'll be right with you," came the reply.
Sam Randall soon came up, much disgusted at his poor luck.
"Not a thing the whole morning," he grumbled. "Say, Bob, when are we going off on that great hunt for deer—to-morrow, eh?"
"Of course!"
"Good! And I'll get something, if it's only a squirrel."
When the boys reached camp, they found all hands, including Sladder and Musgrove, around the fire.
"My eye, Somers! That's what I call a good sight!" exclaimed Hackett. "How did it happen? Did they fly down and say, 'Here I am—bang away,' or did you go after 'em with a pinch of salt?"
Bob laughed. "You're not the only crack shot here, 'Hatchet,'" he said. "What's the matter, Musgrove? You look sleepy."
"An' who wouldn't be sleepy?" responded Billy, with a terrific yawn. "Sich a night as me an' Tim put in."
"What was the matter?"
"Matter—say—" Musgrove lowered his voice, and his tone became strained. "Why, we hadn't no more'n turned in, when Bowser began to act queer—cry an' whine—an' of a sudden he flops down. Skeered?—I never seen nothing like it—no, sir. Then them there cries started again—wuss than ever, eh, Tim?"
At the recollection, Musgrove's ruddy face seemed to turn a shade paler, while a frightened expression came into his eyes.
"Wuss than ever? I should say so!" echoed Tim. "I've knocked around in the woods for a long time, but I never heard nothing like it before."
"'Tain't natural, I tell you," said Musgrove. "Neither me or Tim slep' a wink all night."
"It's some kind of a prowling beast, Musgrove," put in Nat. "If we once get a crack at him, there won't be much more howling done."
"That's right, Nat," said John Hackett, "and I only hope we get a chance to-night."
After lunch, the boys in several parties started out on a tour of exploration.
Bob, Sam Randall and Dick Travers discovered a creek, and in the course of their wanderings came across the trail of a fox. The boys had decided to put in the whole of the next day on a trip in quest of big game.
"Every time I think of that buck, I want to start right off," declared Bob Somers.
"So do I," exclaimed Sam. "If we brought one down, it would cause a sensation all right."
Late in the afternoon the camp was reached.
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!"
With a hand that trembled in spite of himself, Hackett drew back the canvas flap. No sooner had he peered through the opening than a wild cry escaped his lips.