For an instant Buffalo Bill hesitated. That hesitation came near to costing him his life. The maniac was upon him and seized his pistol-hand before he could make up his mind to fire at his old friend. The madman’s other hand tightened on the scout’s throat. They swayed upon the edge of the precipice.
Seconds dragged like hours in that struggle. Buffalo Bill had met more than his match in this wild being. Suddenly he heard a cry below:
“Hold, Cody! for God’s sake, hold!”
It was Captain Keyes’ voice. It inspired the sinking scout to make one final and desperate effort. He half-tore him self free of the giant’s clutch.
“Steady! Texas Jack has got the drop on him!” yelled the voice of Keyes again.
Instantly there came the sharp crack of a rifle. The maniac jumped slightly, and his awful grip loosened. The scout tore himself completely away, spattered by the maniac’s blood.
The latter whirled about, back to the brink of the bluff, clutched helplessly at the air with his great hands, and pitched down the declivity. He was dead before he struck the bottom—a heap of broken bones and bruised flesh!
Texas Jack mounted the cliff to see if the scout was all right. He found Cody wiping the blood from his face, and very grave of look.
“Had to shoot him, old man. ’Twas you or him, yuh know,” said the brother scout.
“I know it, Jack. I can only thank you. But I am sorry—bitterly sorry. I knew that man when he was a right good fellow. Ask Captain Keyes to give him decent burial, and to mark the grave—mark it with the letter ‘D.’”