“So he said. He seemed to be proud of his reputation.”
“The Mad Hunter!”
“Yes. And mad he certainly is—poor fellow. I suppose he’s not to be blamed for what he can’t help. But he’s better dead than at large. Ugh! Another moment, and he’d had his devil’s cross slashed on my breast, I fancy.”
“You had a narrow squeak, sir.”
“I certainly did. Is he dead?”
Buffalo Bill was stooping over the giant. He turned him over so that his face was visible in the half-light.
“That shot oughtn’t to have killed him,” muttered the scout, noting the course of his bullet.
“It certainly couldn’t have hurt his brain any more than it was queered. He’s breathing, isn’t he?”
But Buffalo Bill did not immediately reply. He had suddenly fallen silent, and when Captain Keyes looked at the scout in surprise he saw that his eyes were fixed with a most strange expression upon the unconscious madman’s face.
“What’s the matter, Cody?” the officer asked.