ws nor bullets can pierce his skin, which is an inch thick; that
fire and smoke come out of his mouth and eyes, and that his horse is,
like himself, invulnerable. I must confess, however, that with the
exception of his enormous size and his ferocity, he is, from what I saw
of him, much the same as other men."

McLeod concluded his description of this singular being, to which his
guests listened open-eyed and mouthed, and helped himself to a
buffalo-steak.

"An' what did he when the Indians ran away!" inquired March Marston.

"Oh! he quietly pulled up his horse and let them run. After they were
gone, he continued his journey, as slow and cool as if nothing had
happened. Few Indians attack him now, except new bands from distant
parts of the country, who don't know him; but all who meddle with him
find, to their cost, that it would have been better had they let him
alone."

"Is he cruel? Does he eat men and childers?" inquired Bounce,
commencing a fourth steak with a degree of violent energy that suggested
the possibility of his being himself able to do some execution in the
cannibal line if necessary.

McLeod laughed. "Oh dear, no; he's not cruel. Neither does he eat
human flesh. In fact, he has been known to do some kind acts to poor
starving Indians when they least expected it. The real truth is, that
he is only fierce when he's meddled with. He never takes revenge, and
he has never been known to lift a scalp."

"But what like is he when he comes to trade his furs at the fort here?
how does he speak, and in what language?" inquired Marston, who,
although delighted with the account given of the strength and valour of
the Wild Man of the West, was by no means pleased to learn that he was
not an absolute giant, something like the Giant Despair of whom he had
read in the "Pilgrim's Progress."

"He's just like a trapper--only he's a tremendous big one--six feet six,
if he's an inch, and would make two of the biggest of the present
company round the shoulders. But he's very silent, and won't let any
one question him. The long and the short of it is, that I believe he is
a madman--luckily he's a well-disposed madman, and I can vouch for it he
is a crack hunter, though he don't bring many furs to trade. I think he
spends most of his idle time in moping among the caves of the
mountains."

"Does any one know where he lives?" asked Bertram, who was gradually
becoming interested in this strange being.

"No.