“We’ll keep as close to him as possible. He mustn’t have a chance to reload!”
But it was like chasing a will-o’-the-wisp. The madman was off like the wind, shrieking his defiance. They could not keep him in sight, although the fire now was illuminating the forest far ahead of them.
The roaring of the flames drowned the scouts’ shouts to each other, too; and the heat puffed upon their backs as though somebody had suddenly swung open the door of an enormous furnace.
Suddenly Cody saw his friend throw up his hand, and knew that he shouted rather than heard the sound of his voice. Jack turned at a sharp angle, too, and Buffalo Bill followed suit. In a moment a glint of steel-blue water ahead invigorated Cody as well as his comrade. Lake Bendigo was at hand!
In fifteen minutes they were on the shore. The water was a blessed relief to their eyes when they plunged their faces into it. In the rear the fire roared mightily, and the smoke now began to drift down upon them with smothering thickness.
“We’d better take off our clothes and swim for the island, heh?” queried Jack.
“Yes. There’s a bunch of driftwood that will make some kind of a raft. We’ll use it to transport our clothing and guns.”
They stripped swiftly and were about to step into the water and push off the rude raft piled with their possessions when:
Ping!
The bullet buried itself in a tree trunk right beside Buffalo Bill’s head.