As a result of the jolly intimacy that had sprung up between the two companies during the few days when they had all things in common, the boys disposed of themselves for the night as they pleased.  Neal turned in with the doctor, Royal, and Joe, the four stretching themselves on the evergreen boughs, with their feet to the opening of the tent, and their rifles and ammunition within reach.  Of course the Winchesters were empty, it being a strict rule that firearms should not be brought into camp loaded.

The younger Sinclairs, with Cyrus, Dol, and Uncle Eb, occupied the other tent.

It seemed to Neal that he had hardly slept one hour,—­probably it was nearer to three,—­during which time he had been dreaming with vague foreshadowings of the final and crowning sport of the trip, the grand moose-stalking, and of Herb Heal, the mighty hunter, when he was awakened by a shrill scream just outside the canvas.  He started, with his heart going whackety-whack.  The cry was sudden and intensely startling, appearing twice as loud as it really was when it broke the pathetic stillness of the brulee, where not a tree rustled or twig snapped, and the night wind only sighed faintly and fitfully through the newly springing growth.

Again sounded that startling screech; and yet again, making a dreary, piercing din.

“By all that’s funny! it’s another coon,” gasped Neal; and he gently pinched the shoulder of Joe, who lay on his left.

“Joe!” he whispered.  “Wake up!  There’s a raccoon just outside the tent.  I heard his cry.”

The guide was awake and alert in an instant.  So, too, was Dr. Phil.

“What’s up, boys?” asked the latter, hearing a murmur.

“There’s a coon close by,” said Neal again.  “Listen to him!”

Even while he spoke, young Farrar caught sight of two feathered things hopping along the avenue of light which lay between him and the camp-fire, the red flare of the flames mingling with the white radiance of a cloudless moon.  At the same time the screech sounded and resounded.

“Coon!” exclaimed Joe derisively.  “That’s no coon.  It’s only a little owl.  Bless ye!  I’ve had five or six of ’em come right into this tent of a night, and ding away at me till I had to talk to ’em with the rifle to scare ’em off.  I’ll give ’em a dose o’ lead now if they don’t scoot mighty quick; that’ll stop their song an’ dance.”

“Their cry is pretty much like a raccoon’s, Neal,” said Doc.  “Only it’s a great deal weaker.  Lie down, boy.  Go to sleep, and don’t mind them.”

The owls perhaps apprehended danger.  At all events, they were silent for a while; and in three minutes each occupant of the tent was fast asleep again, with the exception of Neal.  The sharp awakening had upset his nerves a bit.  He obeyed the doctor, and hugged his blankets round him, hoping sleep would return; but he lay with eyes narrowed into two slits, peeping at the ruddy camp-fire, involuntarily listening for the screeching of the birds, and wishing that he had not been such a greenhorn as to disturb his comrades for nothing.  Royal, who lay on his right, was of a less excitable temperament.  Although he had been awakened, he was now snoring lustily, insomnia being a rare affliction in camps.