e red flare of the flames mingling with the white radiance
of a cloudless moon. At the same time the screech sounded and resounded.

"Coon!" exclaimed Joe derisively. "That's no coon. It's only a little
owl. Bless ye! I've had five or six of 'em come right into this tent of
a night, and ding away at me till I had to talk to 'em with the rifle to
scare 'em off. I'll give 'em a dose o' lead now if they don't scoot
mighty quick; that'll stop their song an' dance."

"Their cry is pretty much like a raccoon's, Neal," said Doc. "Only it's
a great deal weaker. Lie down, boy. Go to sleep, and don't mind them."

The owls perhaps apprehended danger. At all events, they were silent for
a while; and in three minutes each occupant of the tent was fast asleep
again, with the exception of Neal. The sharp awakening had upset his
nerves a bit. He obeyed the doctor, and hugged his blankets round him,
hoping sleep would return; but he lay with eyes narrowed into two slits,
peeping at the ruddy camp-fire, involuntarily listening for the
screeching of the birds, and wishing that he had not been such a
greenhorn as to disturb his comrades for nothing. Royal, who lay on his
right, was of a less excitable temperament. Although he had been
awakened, he was now snoring lustily, insomnia being a rare affliction
in camps.

"What's that?"

About half an hour had passed when Neal Farrar suddenly and sharply
rapped out these words close to Joe's ear. He felt certain that he would
not now bring upon him the woodsman's good-natured scorn for making a
disturbance about nothing. A heavy, stealthy tread, as of some big
animal, was crushing the pygmy bushes near the tent. Immediately
afterwards he saw an uncouth black shape in the lane of light between
himself and the fire. It disappeared while his heart was giving one
jump, and he heard a dull, mumbling noise, such as a pig might make when
rooting amid rubbish, varied with an occasional low growl.

Joe was already awake. His hunter's instinct told him that something
truly exciting was on now.

"My cracky! I b'lieve it's a bear!" he muttered, forming his words away
down in his throat, so that Neal only caught the last one. "Keep still
as death!"

The guide reached out a long arm, and clutched his rifle. Hurriedly he
jammed half a dozen cartridges into its magazine. Then lightly and
silently, as if he was made of cork, he got upon his feet, and bounded
out of the tent, Neal copying his actions nimb