Mere bullets could tear wounds in flesh and break bones; but mere bullets could not wreck the nerves of a man so that his hand trembled as if he were drunk or hysterical with weariness.
He tried to work out this problem.

He conceived a man of gigantic size, vast muscles, inexhaustible strength.

The power of a bear and the swift cunning of a wild cat--such must have been the man who struck down Uncle Bill and sent him home a shattered remnant of his old self.
There was another mystery.

Why did the destroyer not finish his task?
Why did he take pity on Uncle Bill Campbell and bind up the wounds he had himself made?
Here the mind of Bull Hunter paused.

He could not pass the mysterious idea of another than himself pitying Uncle Bill.
It was pitying a hawk in the sky.
Harry was taking away the dishes and throwing them in the little tub of lukewarm water where the grease would be carelessly soused off them.
"Did you get up that stump ?" asked Uncle Bill suddenly.
There was a familiar ring in his voice.