“None.”
“I saw one but a minute ago. She opened the door of my room quite as though she had made a mistake in the room. The door was unlocked. She stopped, when she heard me stir, and when I half rose in the bed she fled.”
“Cody, you dreamed it!” Latimer insisted. “It couldn’t have been true.”
“I was not dreaming. I was sleepy, I’ll admit, but I was not asleep.”
“Cody, you certainly were dreaming.”
Buffalo Bill could not be convinced of this; and he made a search through the halls, and looked into some of the rooms. He confessed to a very queer feeling when he returned to his room.
“It’s almost enough to make any one believe in ghosts,” he commented to himself. “But that was not a ghost, and I was not dreaming. A young woman stood right there! She apparently came into the room by mistake; may have tried to enter for the purpose of assassinating me! Which was it? And wasn’t John Latimer lying again when he said what he did about it?”
Lying down fully dressed, the scout awaited something—he did not know what. He began to feel that his nerves were badly upset. Presently, thinking he heard soft footsteps somewhere, he again left the room quietly and went in search of them.
He even went out of the house, and looked round outside, carrying his revolver ready for use, for the mystery of all these things filled him with something as near to fear as he had ever known.
As he returned to the door by which he had left the house he was startled by hearing voices; then, in the half darkness of the shaded piazza, he saw again the girl.