but could hear no
sound coming from it to tell what sort of a beast it was. Then he got
upon his feet and turned his attention to the wounded horse. He was past
the doctor's aid, for he was dead.

"Well, that beats me," said he, going back to the fire and starting it
up, so that he could see what sort of wounds the beast had made. "I
never heard of an animal like that before."

A good many boys would have been startled pretty near to death by the
sudden appearance of an apparition like that. It must be possessed of
tremendous power to toss the broncho about as it did, and break the
lariat with which he was fastened. No ghost could do that, and neither
could a ghost have made that wide and fearful rent that Tom found when
he had punched up the fire. Tom thought it best to build up a bright
blaze, for he did not know how long it would be before the animal would
come back to finish its work. He loaded the rifle carefully and placed
the revolver where he could get his hands upon it at a moment's warning.
He thought of grizzly bears, but had never heard of them taking to the
bushes on account of a single bullet.

"It couldn't have been a panther or a bear, unless my eyes were
deceiving me, for it was at least four times as big as the horse," said
Tom, picking up a brand from the fire and once more approaching the
specimen of the apparition's handiwork. He hadn't been in sight more
than a minute, and yet the horse was as dead as a door-nail. "He must
have been a flesh-eater, for nothing else that I know of could have made
such wounds. I am beat. Now, how am I going to find my way home?"

If Tom had been frightened at first, he was doubly so now. He was so
confused he couldn't think. From that hour he sat there on his blanket,
and by the time that daylight fell so that he could distinguish objects
near him he had made up his mind what he was going to do. He would take
everything out of the pack-saddle that he could carry on his back, and
make his way out of the pocket the same way he came in. He had
remembered enough of his skill in woodcraft to turn and take a survey of
his back track, so that it would not appear odd to him when he came to
go that way again, and he had no doubt that he would be able to find it.
More than that, the bronco had left the prints of his hoofs and had
continually browsed on the way, and, taking all these things together,
Tom was certain that he could strike the trail.

"It is going to be a tigh