Coroner Huffman was quickest to act. His rifle was leaning against a rock near by, and he snatched it up and took two shots at the flying animal before it disappeared. Apparently the panther was not hit.

But Mr. Miles was scarcely less active. Like a sprinter, he started for his airship, twenty yards away, calling out:

“Come on, a couple of you. We’ll chase him. Bring the guns.”

There was a general race toward the aeroplane. The aviator leaped aboard and busied himself rapidly with the motor. As the rest lined up before the machine, Dr. Byrd said:

“Coroner, you and Hal get aboard. You have guns.”

This being a logical suggestion, it was adopted by the two mentioned. They climbed into the cabin, the wicket was closed, and almost instantly came the chug-chug of the engine and the great fan propellers began to revolve. A deep quiver, a few spasmodic jerks, and the airship started forward, bumped over the uneven ground, and rose into the air.

The front and rear of the cabin were open except for the aluminum-bar inclosures, and Hal looked back and waved his hand at the doctor and the other boys, who were executing various capers and cheering lustily. The next instant almost, the airship passed beyond the edge of the plateau, and pilot and passengers directed their vision to a search for the mountain lion.

Mr. Miles called their attention to a port in the floor of the cabin and advised them to make use of that, as well as of the ports in the sides and the open front and rear. Mr. Huffman slid back a cover of the floor opening, two feet in diameter and protected with aluminum bars. Then they began an inspection of the mountain side as the ship circled around and around as close to the tree tops as was deemed safe.

They were not long in finding the fleeing animal. He was leaping with long easy bounds, down the steep and craggy slope—too steep and irregular for a man to climb or descend. The aviator steered the air craft right over him, and the coroner drew a bead on the cat through the floor port. With the discharge of the gun, Hal looked eagerly at the beast, expecting to see him tumble over, but he was disappointed.

“Blast the luck!” muttered the coroner, who was ordinarily a good shot. “I don’t believe I can hit him from the moving airship.”

“Let me try it,” Hal shouted above the noise of the propellers, having read the meaning of the expression on the face of his companion.

The latter moved aside and the boy thrust the muzzle of his gun through the opening. Taking careful aim, he pulled the trigger, but with no better success. Even as the gun was discharged, he felt the difficulty of their hunt. To shoot a rapidly moving animal from a rapidly moving airship is no easy task.

Hal’s shot, however, seemed to be the signal for an altering of the course of the fleeing panther. The latter evidently saw the source of his danger, and turned suddenly to the left and bounded over crags and through patches of fir and spruce to the southern side of the mountain. The pursuers flew after him, firing at the moving target every now and then. Finally the beast landed on the ledge of the “mummy” from which the caÑon took its name. There he halted a moment, looking upward at his flying enemy. Another shot from Hal’s rifle caused him to leap so suddenly that the boy believed he had hit him; but if so, the animal was not seriously injured. He bounded on, down the very course by which the boys had ascended the mountain. Finally he stopped and gazed in a puzzled manner at the boulder that blocked his entrance through the roof of Kenyon Cave behind the Screaming Cataract, as recently named.

He stuck his head through the fissure beside the bowlder and seemed about to leap when Coroner Huffman fired again. Possibly he was hit; at any rate, he drew his head back and bounded along the steep side of the mountain to the left. Several rods he sprang in this direction; then down, down he went with wonderful swiftness and agility, until he reached the new railing-bordered walk between Flathead and the river. This seemed to puzzle him a little, but he hesitated only a moment. Then the occupants of the airship were astonished to see the animal bound along the walk, over the waterfall bridge and behind the cataract.

Quickly the coroner stepped close to the aviator and shouted:

“Fly back to the top of the mountain. We’ve got to have some lanterns.”

Miles caught the significance of the suggestion and in a very short time the airship had circled upward and over Flathead and alighted near the other boys and Dr. Byrd.

The purpose of their return was quickly explained, the lanterns were taken aboard, and away they flew again. In a few minutes they landed near the head of the rapids in Mummy CaÑon and then proceeded to cross the first bridge and advance up the walk, with lighted lanterns, toward the Screaming Cataract.

Mr. Miles was stationed outside with Hal’s gun, to shoot the animal if he should spring past the other two, who crossed the second bridge into the cave. Each of the latter carried a lantern and they advanced carefully, flashing their lights as far ahead as possible.

Around the elbow of the cave they proceeded without catching sight of their quarry. Even in the farther chamber they were somewhat puzzled until by flashing their lights over the sloping wall, they perceived two shining eyes high up near the bowlder that choked the upper exit.

Mr. Huffman set his lantern down and put the stock of his gun to his shoulder. But even as he sighted along the barrel, the gleaming eyes had disappeared.

“Look out!” yelled Hal. A horrible screech came from the blank darkness. Huffman raised his rifle and fired in the direction of the sound. The thundering report of the gun almost deafened them, but shrill above even that came a second scream. The next instant Hal felt a big body catch him between the legs. Down he went, his lantern flying from his hand and shattering against the rocky wall.

When he rose to his feet it was to see Mr. Huffman, lantern in hand, careering over the rock-strewn floor toward the mouth of the cave. “Look out there, Miles!” he yelled as he ran.

Hal scrambled his way out as well as he could in the dark, expecting every second to hear the report of Mr. Miles’ rifle. Instead he heard a shout and then a cry of pain. As he came to the cave entrance he saw the cause.

Mr. Miles had been taken unawares. The lion had come hurtling at him at too close range for him to use the rifle. Blinded perhaps by the sudden glare of daylight, the animal had charged full at him, and down Miles had gone. There he lay at the very edge of the bridge, clutching at the railing with one hand, and holding the other over his stomach.

“I wouldn’t mind, if he’d hit me anywhere else,” he gasped, in mingled pain and laughter.

“Where’s your gun?” asked Mr. Huffman suddenly.

“Where’s the lion?” Miles asked in return.

“Do you think he swallowed it?” asked Hal with a chuckle. At that they all gave way, as both Hal and the coroner had been aching to do, so comical was Mr. Miles’ pain-drawn face.

“I’m afraid it must have been knocked over the falls,” Mr. Miles managed at last to suggest. “He hit me pretty hard, and my game leg isn’t any too strong—especially when the pesky animal tried football on me.”

The gun was undoubtedly gone, and it must have fallen into the water.

“We’ll have to come back and dive for it,” added Hal with a sigh, for in a way he looked upon the rifle as his own. “That’ll be fun for us Scouts.”

“I hate to have that lion get away,” said the coroner regretfully; “but I suppose we might as well go back.”

“Suppose I take you two to Lakefarm and then go back from there for the rest,” said Miles as they walked back toward the aeroplane. “It will save time.”

So it was decided, and the two were soon dropped at Lakefarm, where they were awaited by an eager crowd of boys. Then Mr. Miles whirred back toward the top of Flathead, soon to return with his first load. On the last trip he brought back the body of the dead Maxwell and Dr. Byrd.

“Well, boys, we’ve had a pretty strenuous day—or days. I think that the Boy Scouts of the Air deserve a little holiday.”

“The Boy Scouts of the Air?” asked one of the waiting group.

“Yes, the Boy Scouts of the Air, of Flathead Mountain, with a membership of five.”

“Oh!” came a disappointed murmur from the rest.

“But I think we’ll make the holiday general, and maybe the Air Patrol can enroll some new members. So to-morrow we’ll just scatter and enjoy ourselves our own way.” The shout that went up left no doubt that the decision was popular.

“Three cheers for the Boy Scouts of the Air!” came from a score of throats as the doctor turned to go in.

“Rah for Doctor Byrd!” came from the five Boy Scouts of the Air in return.