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.