“He ain’t a-breathin’ right,” the scout said, in some little alarm.
“Has he got another fit?” asked Boone, quickly.
“Well, it looks like it. His teeth are clenched together, and he’s breathing like a quarter-horse.”
Boone knelt by Kenton’s side and bent over Lark.
A moment’s examination convinced Boone that there was something the matter with his companion.
Lark’s breath came thick and hard.
“Another spell, by thunder!” muttered Boone, as, with Kenton, he bent over the unconscious man.
Then, suddenly, as though moved by some secret spring, Lark’s eyes opened. He stared into the faces of the two that bent over him, but his eyes were like eyes of glass; there was no life therein.
Like men in a trance, Boone and Kenton gazed into the white face and the great, staring eyes.
There was something in the face that seemed to chill the very blood coursing in their veins.