the same. I've never heard it give that other sound, but I
ought to have known--" He broke off, chuckling. "He certainly gave us
a shock! I suppose we'll never hear the end of it. Let's get back to the
fire; it's sort of chilly here."

They lost no time in following the suggestion. Back in the cabin they
fed the blaze with fresh wood, and, sleep being out of the question for a
while, gathered close around it, giggling and chattering and laughingly
comparing their emotions on awakening to that blood-curdling scream
coming out of the night.

"I was scart stiff," frankly confessed Court Parker.

"Same here," echoed several voices.

But Bob Gibson declined to treat the incident with the careless levity
of the others. "I'd like to shoot the beast!" he growled vindictively,
thinking of the way his nerves and feelings had been played upon.

"It would be the best thing that could happen," put in Mr. Curtis,
decidedly. "We'll have to see if we can't manage it. Most owls are not
only harmless, but a real benefit, living as they do mainly on rats and
mice. But this creature can do more damage than any other bird except
one or two species of hawks. A single one of them will destroy whole
covies of quail, kill partridges, ducks, and song-birds, to say nothing
of all sorts of domestic fowls. I'll have to bring out a shotgun and
see if I can't pot him, or there won't be any birds left for us to feed."

He made several trips to the neighborhood of the cabin during the
following ten days, but it was not until the week after Christmas
that he got sight of the big marauder and with a fine shot brought him
down from the top of a tall hemlock. Several of the scouts who were with
him rushed forward to secure the bird, and were surprised at the size
of the buff-and-white body, with its great spread of wing, fierce,
hooked beak, and prominent ear-tufts.

"We ought to have him stuffed," said Frank Sanson, holding it up at full
length. "He'd certainly make a dandy trophy for the cabin."

Mr. Curtis agreed to undertake it, and that night sent the bird to a
taxidermist in the city. It came back several weeks later, mounted in
the most lifelike manner, and became one of the principal decorations
of the cabin. Court at once christened it "Bob's alarm-clock," much
to the mystification of the fellows who had not been present on that
memorable night. They knew that something unusual had happened, but
were never able to find out just what, for t