“I saw the error of my ways,” cried the madman. “I beheld my sins. I had neglected the full measure of my duty.”
“So killing redskins didn’t satisfy you, eh?”
“Why should I kill the savages alone? I saw white men quite as brutal—aye, more brutal—than the red. I saw them commit the same atrocities. I saw white rangers rip the scalps from the head of their dead foes; I saw the soldiers storm the Indian encampments and kill the squaws and the papoose at the breast! Aye! how much better are the whites than the red men?”
“And having seen all this bloody warfare, you wish to add to the sum total of horror by killing everybody you come across, do you, old fellow?”
“You are all alike to me. I kill. That is the way I obtain ammunition and arms. The arms and cartridges you carry are mine!”
“Oh, I’ll give them to you right now, if you want them,” exclaimed the captain eagerly. “You won’t have to kill me to get them. Really, it isn’t necessary. I’ll do the polite and hand them over.”
To himself he thought:
“And I’ll hand you something that will do you a lot of good the first chance I get!”
But the madman was not to be fooled so easily.
“Nay, nay! Your bullets would not fly true for me were you alive,” declared the giant. “I am the Mad Hunter. Have you heard of me?”