“It’s a mighty strange thing,” said Boone, wonderingly.
“Yes; I’ve had these spells before. I can always tell when they are coming on. I have a strange, burning sensation in my head; everything before my eyes is tinged with red; the blood races like wildfire through my veins, then all my senses leave me. I can remember nothing.”
“How did you receive the wound?” Boone asked.
“In an Indian fight. After it was given me I lay for days between life and death. I escaped death, but the dark cloud of madness follows me.”
“Well, it’s the queerest story that I ever did hear tell of,” said Boone, sagely.
“How do you feel now?” asked Kenton.
“Oh, much better,” replied Lark.
“Strong enough for to go on?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s be making tracks, then.”