CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.
THE BEARCOOTS.
Our adventurers were congratulating themselves on this unexpected accession to their larder; which, like the manna of old, had, as it were, rained down from the sky.
"Our dinner!" shouted Caspar, gleefully, as the "thump" of the falling ibex sounded in their ears.

"Our supper, too," he added.

"Ay, more! In such a large carcass there must be provision to last us for a week!" All three rose to their feet, and were about starting forward to secure the prize; when a shrill scream twice repeated fell upon their ears-- coming down apparently from the top of the cliffs, or rather from the mountain that trended still higher above them.
Could it be the cry of the conquering ibex--his slogan of triumph?
No; it was not his voice, nor that of a quadruped of any kind.

Neither did the spectators for an instant believe it to be so.

On turning their eyes upward, they saw the creature, or the creatures--for there were two of them--from whose throats those screams had proceeded.
The victorious ibex was still standing conspicuously upon the cliff.
During the few seconds that the attention of the spectators had been occupied elsewhere, he appeared to have been contemplating the dire deed of destruction he had just accomplished, and perhaps indulging in the triumph he had obtained over his unfortunate rival.