By this time James, Brady and Sinclair were at his heels, each with his rifle in readiness.
"If it was a ghost," interjected Sinclair, "and I don't say as it was; but if it was, why, it could take on any form it wanted to.
"Hell Creek's in Montana," said Sinclair. "I used to punch cows in Wyoming, an' I've heard of Hell Creek.
Upon the headstone Sinclair scratched in rude characters the words:
A terror-stricken cry punctuated by the crack of a rifle brought Bradley, Sinclair and Brady to their feet in time to see James, with clubbed rifle, battling with a white-robed figure that hovered on widespread wings on a level with the Englishman's head.
Brady had gone on from eight to ten, followed by Sinclair from ten to twelve, then Bradley had been awakened.
As the man sprang to his feet, his rifle ready in his hand, Sinclair awoke and took in the scene in a single swift glance.
"Where is Lieutenant Bradley?" asked Sinclair. They walked to the fire.
Olson, the Irish engineer, with Whitely and Wilson constituted the remnants of Dinosaur's defenders, and to Brady and Sinclair they narrated the salient events that had transpired since Bradley and his party had marched away on September 4th.
"Lord!" ejaculated Sinclair. "They are still there!" And he fell to his knees, sobbing.