Yet, how to warm that spark of life into full flame? He had nothing in which to wrap her; his own clothing was saturated. But in his hunting-shirt he carried a carefully stoppered bottle, and in this receptacle were several sulfur matches. These were as precious as gold to him now. He crept about the little plateau of the island, gathering twigs and dry branches and rubbish. This light stuff he heaped in a pile, and then, before he dared light the pyre, he found and broke up larger wood and made ready a roaring heap which, a few moments after he touched his match to it, blazed several feet into the air.
The sun was going down, and this bonfire warded off the coming chill of night. He basked in the heat himself, feeling grateful for every leaping, scorching flame. He dragged the girl within the radiance of the fire and chafed her hands and her forehead, and removed her torn moccasins and held her small, beautifully formed feet to the fire. These ministrations he performed with some little tenderness; but, although the girl sighed and her lips parted, and her chilled body seemed to respond to the warmth of the fire, she did not open her eyes.
Suddenly Boyd Bennett started to his feet with an exclamation of rage. He had entirely forgotten something during these minutes. What was Buffalo Bill about?
He ran through the bushes and appeared upon the edge of the river looking toward the side where Cody had been. There was the big white horse, divested of saddle and bridle, cropping the grass on the bank. There, too, Bennett saw most of Cody’s clothes and accouterments—a neat pile of them. But where was the man himself?
The bandit was inspired instantly with fear that he had overlooked his enemy too long. Had he been given time to cross to the island?
And where else could Cody be? For what other reason would he have removed his clothing and arms?
“The devil is swimming the river!” muttered the bandit.
The sun was setting, and it was already growing dusky on this side of the island. Boyd Bennett cast his keen glance over the troubled surface of the water, seeking the bold swimmer. He was not aware that at the moment he parted the bushes to step out on the shore, Cody, in midstream, had seen him, and had sunk beneath the surface, leaving scarcely a ripple to show where he had gone down.
And once in the depths the scout had swum as strongly as he could for the island. The current swept him downward, and he was some yards below Boyd Bennett’s position when he finally had to come up for air. His head bobbed above the surface as sleek as a seal’s or an otter’s—and looking much like that of the latter animal. Only to get a breath did the scout remain at the surface, then he sank beneath again.
Although Bennett did not actually see his head, he caught the ripples on the surface as Cody went down. He saw that there was no eddy there, and he suspected instantly what had caused the disturbance on the water. With an oath he ran along the edge of the island until he came opposite the spot.