As the terrible, unearthly, banshee-like wail died down in a long-drawn quavering howl, I could hear Maliche’s teeth chatter, and chills ran up and down my own spine. What was it? What dread creature had emitted that awful sound? I had heard jaguars, pumas, ocelots, every wild beast and bird of America--but none were like this; nothing, no other cry or sound held in it the terror, the weird, the ghastly, nightmarish, supernatural quality of this cry. Then, once more, the night was shattered by that cry that might have issued from a tortured soul in Purgatory. Maliche fairly babbled with fear, I had an insane desire to cover my head, to flatten myself on the ground, to stuff my ears, to shut out that unearthly sound that rose and fell and that seemed to come from every side. And then, as with fear-wide eyes I glanced up, scream after scream came from my lips. Above us, moving swiftly, silently back and forth, a great black shadow against the starlit sky, was an immense shape--a monstrous something with huge eyes that glowed like green fire. Maliche saw it at the same instant. With a scream of abject terror he flung himself on the earth. “Izputeque!” he yelled, “Izputeque!” Like a volplaning airplane the thing swooped towards us, uttering that blood-freezing shriek as it came. In a frenzy of fear, powerless to move, bereft of thought, I unconsciously whipped out my revolver, and as fast as I could press trigger, fired all six shots at the horrible thing. As the reports of the shots thundered and echoed from the surrounding cliffs, a scream more horrible than those that had gone before came from the huge, winged thing. I felt a rush of wind, a nauseating odor filled my nostrils; there was a terrific crash, and all was still. * * * * * [Illustration: A giant pterodactyl swooped down, apparently heading straight in our direction] * * * * * Trembling, shaken, wide-eyed we sat there. But only the chirping of inserts, the burbling of the stream, the soft sighing of the night wind and the occasional cry of an owl broke the silence. Whatever the terrible thing was, it was not supernatural. It had not been immune to soft-nosed .45 calibre bullets, and somewhere in the dark shadows it was lying dead, crushed and forever stilled. But there was no more sleep for us that night, and neither of us could summon up enough courage to investigate the fallen demon of the night in the darkness. CHAPTER VI The End of Maliche