“I have been out of my head, then?”
“Yes, mad as a March hare,” replied the borderer.
“Just look at the strips of deer-skin,” said Kenton, pointing to the severed pieces lying at the foot of the oak. “You bu’st ’em just as if they had been paper.”
“I feel weak enough now,” said Lark, sadly.
“No wonder!” exclaimed Boone, “you’ve used up all your strength. Jerusalem! I thought you’d pull the oak over. I shouldn’t like to have a tussle with you when you’re in one of them queer fits like you had just now.”
Aided by his companions, Lark rose slowly to his feet.
“I say, Abe, have you any idea what it is that makes you act so queer?” Kenton asked.
“Yes; do you see this scar?” and Lark pointed to the terrible, livid mark that disfigured his face.
“Of course,” Kenton replied.
“The wound that made that scar is the cause of it; that is, I think it is. The wound affected my head. I have never been the same man since.”