It came again, a
blood-curdling yell, now so distinct that all heard it. They stopped
their feasting to consult in low tones and peer fearfully into the
surrounding blackness.
Cabot had also recognised the sound, but, uncanny as it was, he
wondered why the howl of a wolf should disturb a lot of Indians who
must know, even better than he, the cowardly nature of the beast, and
that there was no chance of his coming near a fire.
Even as these thoughts passed through his mind, the terrible cry was
uttered again--this time so close at hand that it was taken up and
repeated by a chorus of echoes from the nearby cliffs. The Indians
sprang to their feet in terror, while at the same moment an avalanche
of stones, gravel, and small boulders rushed down the face of the cliff
close to where Cabot lay. From it was evolved a monstrous shape that,
with unearthly howlings, leaped towards the frightened natives. As it
did so flashes of lightning, that seemed to dart from it, gleamed with
a dazzling radiance on their distorted faces. In another moment they
were in full flight up the rugged pathway leading from the basin, hotly
pursued by their mysterious enemy.
The latter seemed to pass directly through the fire, scattering its
blazing brands to all sides. At the same time he snatched up a flaming
timber for use as a weapon against such of the panic-stricken savages
as still remained within reach.
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