Jack Ranger's Gun Club: or, From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail

It was very dark that night, for it was cloudy, and the moon and stars were obscured. Outside the circle of light from the camp fire, there was blackness so deep that it seemed like a wall of ebony.

“I’d hate to be lost out there,” observed Bony, motioning toward the dark valley as he prepared to turn in with the others.

“Yes, it wouldn’t be very pleasant,” admitted Jack. “I wish we could – ”

He stopped suddenly. From the black void above them there came a peculiar sound. It was like the blowing of a wind, that sighs and moans in the pine trees, but there was no wind blowing. Then it was like the rush of some mighty wings, while there sounded a deep throbbing, and all in camp were conscious of some large object passing close over their heads, but they could see nothing.

The boys stared at each other in wonder, not unmixed with fright.

“Are there any big eagles around here?” asked Jack, quickly turning to Long Gun.

But the Indian did not seem to hear. He was staring up into the black sky.

The noise passed on, the throbbing becoming fainter.

Then Long Gun cried out:

“Great spirit! Danger come! Bad luck!”

With a howl that did more to frighten the boys than had the mysterious sound, the Indian made a dive for the tent, and hid himself under his blankets.

CHAPTER XXI

THE DEADLY GAS

Long Gun’s example and his fright were contagious, to a certain degree. Seeing him run, Bony and Sam turned also, for they thought the Indian heard or recognized some danger. Then, as the noise ceased, they stopped in their progress toward the tent.

“What in the world do you suppose that was?” asked Sam.

“You’ve got me,” was Bony’s answer, while, in his excitement, he cracked his knuckles on the double-quick. “What do you think it was, Jack?”

“Blessed if I know. It sounded like a big bird, or, maybe, a whole lot of them. But Long Gun wouldn’t be frightened of some birds, even if they were eagles.”

“Let’s ask him,” suggested Nat.

They went into the tent, which was illuminated by a couple of lanterns, and found Long Gun groveling among his blankets.

“What was that, Long Gun?” asked Jack.

The Indian murmured something in his own tongue.

“Were they birds?” went on Jack. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Long Gun ’fraid,” was the reply. “No like sound in dark night. Long Gun ’fraid.”

“But what sound was it?” persisted Jack.

“Dunno. Great Spirit, mebby. Bad sound. Trouble come.”

“That’s all nonsense,” said Jack, as he saw that his chums looked worried. “It was probably the wind.”

“But there isn’t any wind,” declared Nat. “It’s as still as can be.”

“Maybe there is a wind in the upper currents of air,” suggested Jack. “You must remember we’re among the mountains, and the air is different here.”

“It isn’t different enough to make a noise like that,” was Sam’s opinion.

“That’s right,” agreed Bony.

“Juthinkitwasacyclone?” asked Budge, all in one word.

“A cyclone?” repeated Jack. “They don’t have cyclones in the mountains. No, I think it was birds.”

“No birds,” declared Long Gun suddenly. “Birds not got wings go that way.”

“That’s right, it didn’t sound like birds’ wings,” said Nat.

They discussed the mysterious happening for some time further, but could arrive at no solution of it. Jack and Nat went out to look and listen, but they could see nothing, of course, and the night seemed very silent. As for Long Gun, he could not be induced to come outside the tent.

The boys passed rather an uneasy night, but fatigue finally made them sleep, in spite of their alarm, and they slumbered so soundly toward morning that no one awoke to replenish the camp fire, which went out.

“Well, we’re all here and alive, at any rate,” remarked Jack as he looked around on coming out of the tent for a wash.

“Snapping sand-bars! but it’s cold!” cried Nat, rubbing his benumbed fingers and threshing his arms about. “Hi! Long Gun, are you so afraid of the mysterious noise that you can’t build a fire?”

“Hu!” grunted the Indian as he came from the tent, but he speedily had a genial blaze going, and breakfast in preparation.

“Well, now for some more hunting,” said Jack when the camp had been put in order. “Nat and I want to get that ram we missed yesterday.”

“And I want to land a big buck mule deer that I think I hit, but not hard enough,” said Sam.

They started off, and were gone all day, sometimes hunting together, and, again, separating for a few miles. But they had no luck, though Jack got an opportunity for a couple of fine shots, missing both of them. However, they did not much mind, as they had plenty of food in camp.

A day or so later, however, when Jack and Sam were out together, Jack got the very chance he wanted. They were walking along a rocky ridge, and, coming to the edge of a deep ravine, were debating whether to cross it or travel back, as they had seen no signs of game, and it looked as if a storm was brewing.

“I guess we’ll go back,” Sam remarked. “There doesn’t seem to be any – ”

He looked around to see what Jack was doing, and beheld his chum down on one knee, aiming at something on a distant rock. Sam looked and saw, outlined in the clear light, a big ram. He did not speak, fearing to disconcert Jack’s aim, and the next instant the rifle of his chum cracked.

The ram gave a convulsive leap into the air, turned partly around, and then plunged over the rock, and went rolling down the steep side of the mountain.

“You got him, Jack! You got him!” cried Sam.

“It looks so,” admitted Jack with a smile of triumph.

“And he’s a beaut!” went on Sam. “But how will we get him?”

“Oh, he’s just where we want him,” said Jack. “Come on down.”