At the moment a great burst of flame roared up into the sky from the summit of a little hill behind them, and both men glanced back. The banner of fire streamed clear across the sky. “Gee, Bill! Tophet couldn’t look hotter than that,” declared Texas Jack. CHAPTER XXV. THE TELLTALE CROW. For the most part, however, the scouts saved their breath and spoke but little. They were straining every effort to reach Bendigo Lake, the only body of water of sufficient size to offer protection from the conflagration. Every creek and pond hole in the neighborhood, which either of them knew about, was low now, and none were big enough to promise safety. In Bendigo Lake was a long, narrow island, wooded to be sure; but the lake was so wide that the scouts believed the flames would not leap from the shore to the island. “At any rate, it’s our best play, Buffler. No doubt of that,” observed Texas Jack. “Right you are, Texas,” panted the other. “Pick up your feet!” “That fire’s certainly racing to overtake us.” “Ha! What’s that?” muttered Cody, suddenly turning to look up a small slope which was more heavily wooded than the lowland through which they were passing. There had been a movement in the brush. The wind did not affect the leaves and branches down here; it was only the tree tops that swayed and sang in the breeze. “A deer, eh?” panted Jack. “There!” Uttering the yell, Buffalo Bill seized his friend by the neck and flung him suddenly forward upon his face. He fell himself as well, and at the very instant there was a flash in the bushes on the side-hill, an explosion sounded, and the zip-zip of the bullet cut the air over their heads. Both scouts rolled aside, found covert, and sprang into position, revolvers in hand. Cody emptied one pistol as rapidly as possible into the brush-clump from which the treacherous shot had been fired. “No use, Bill! There he goes!” yelled Texas Jack. Off at one side they saw a huge figure pass rapidly out of sight. It looked like a bear running on its hind legs--were such a thing possible. “Of all the bloody-minded scoundrels!” said Texas Jack, as the two scouts set forth again, in the same direction as that taken by the person who had fired at them--which was likewise toward the lake, “that fellow takes the bun.” “Who was he? The smoke was in my eyes, and I couldn’t tell whether he was white or red.” “He was white, all right--or, so I have always heard,” declared Texas Jack. “By thunder! you don’t mean to say you know the scoundrel?” “Not personally acquainted with him--no,” laughed Jack. “What then?” “I’ve heard tell of him a good deal the past dozen years.” “Who is he?” “The Mad Hunter.” “Get out!” “That’s who it was, Buffler.” “Why should the fool fire at us?” “He’d just as soon shoot a white man as a red.” “He’s a devil.” “That he is.” “Why, I believe I saved his life the other day when I was out with Dick Danforth.” “What for?”