“No. You may be whom you say; but the man you spoke of first is dead--dead--a long time dead!” Buffalo Bill, however, was gaining confidence in his discovery all the time. “You’re the man! I know you are. Think, man! Send back your memory to those old times. Remember the work we did together. Remember--remember your wife--your child----” With a shriek like nothing human, with a face that changed in a flash to that of a demoniac, the Mad Hunter hurled himself, bare-handed, at the scout’s throat. “Fiend! Fiend from the pit!” he yelled. “You have come to torment me and taunt me! Ah! for long have I escaped your taunts; but now you have returned!” His heartrending cry almost unmanned the scout. He saw that he had touched the wrong chord with the madman. Reminded of the loss of his wife and child, the victim of this awful fate had been thrown into a paroxysm of rage. 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.’” With these words Cody shook hands with his pard and hastened away to where Chief was quietly feeding. In a moment he was riding hard away from the spot where the terrible tragedy had taken place. Captain Keyes complied with Cody’s request, but was sorry that the scout had evidently gone on his mission of death--for the officer could look at the visit to the Indian encampment in no other light.