Not a particle of superstition had the scout, but here was a mystery he could not solve.
How had the mountain lion got into that corridor? He had not entered by the door, for that was closed and locked on the other side. He could not have come through the window, even had he been able to leap that high, for it was closed. The other door was locked or bound on the other side, but to have come through that way it could only have been done with the aid of a human being. All the doors, save the one the scout had entered by, were closed. How, then, could the mountain lion have got into the corridor without human help, and who was the white-robed form at whom he fired?
Lighting match after match, Buffalo Bill looked about him. He could discover nothing to show how the lion and the white form had entered.
There lay the lion dead. The spectral visitant was gone. And yet he had aimed to kill, and Cody knew that he was not one to miss.
Going out of the door through which he had entered, the scout closed it behind him, and, leaving the building, walked out into the bright sunlight.
His sleeve was wet with blood, and he was feeling weak and a little shaky.
But just as he was going to the brook to bathe his wounds, Texas Jack, Winfield, and eight of the men came at a canter into the plaza.
They saw that there had been a death struggle, and he did not keep them waiting long to know what it was.
“I have had a fight with a mountain lion I found in the hacienda, Jack, and killed him, fortunately, before he did me much harm. Get my medicine case from my saddle, and you, Stevens, see just how badly he bit my arm, for you are the surgeon of the outfit.”