Professor Featherwit made no immediate reply, but by the glow of
yonder camp-fire he fumbled inside the magic locker, fetching
forth firearms, then speaking in hushed tones:

"Wait. Listen for--I knew it!"

From the opposite quarter came what might easily have been an
echo of that first wild screech, only louder, longer, more
savage, if such a thing be possible.

Prepared though they now were, neither brother could refrain from
shrinking and shuddering, so hideously that cry sounded in their
ears. But their uncle spoke in cool, clear tones:

"There is nothing supernatural about that, my lads. A panther or
mountain lion, I dare say, scenting the fumes of our cookery, and
coming to claim a share."

"Then it isn't--Nothing spookish, uncle Phaeton?" ventured Waldo,
in slightly unsteady tones.

The professor gave swift assurance upon that point, and, rallying
as few youngsters would have done under like circumstances, the
brothers grasped the weapons supplied their hands, waiting and
watching for what was to come.

Once, twice, thrice those savage calls echoed far and wide, but
with each repetition losing a portion of their terrors; and
knowing now that prowling beasts surely were drawing nigh the
camp-fire, the flying machine was abandoned by the trio, all