They had taken plenty of condensed food with them, and they did not suffer in this respect. Game, too, was plentiful and the electric rifles of Tom and Ned added to the larder.
One night, after a somewhat sound sleep induced by hard travel on the trail that day, Tom awoke to hear some one or something moving about among their goods, which included their provisions.
“Who’s there?” asked the young inventor sharply, as he reached for his electric rifle.
There was no answer, but a rattling of the pans.
“Speak, or I’ll fire!” Tom warned, adding this in such Spanish as he could muster, for he thought it might be one of the Indians. No reply came, and then, seeing by the light of the stars a dark form moving in front of the tent occupied by himself and Ned, Tom fired.
There was a combined grunt and squeal of pain, then a savage growl, and Ned yelled:
“What’s the matter, Tom?” for he had been
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awakened, and heard the crackle of the electrical discharge.
“I don’t know,” Tom answered. “But I shot something — or somebody!”
“Maybe some of Beecher’s crowd,” ventured his chum. But when they got their electric torches, and focused them on the inert, black object, it was found to be a bear which had come to nose about the camp for dainty morsels.
Bruin was quite dead, and as he was in prime condition there was a feast of bear meat at the following dinner. The white travelers found it rather too strong for their palates, but the Indians reveled in it.
It was shortly after noon the next day, when Goosal, after remarking that a storm seemed brewing, announced that they would be at the entrance to the cavern in another hour.