Nothing could convince them they had not seen him.

They said he stooped like a man in a dream--that big beard was matted, and his shirt torn--that he strode out of darkness into darkness like a man whose mind was gone.

We purposely laughed at their story, to see if we could shake them in it.

But they laughed at our incredulity.
"My eyes are good eyes" answered Kazimoto.

"What I see I see! Why should I invent lies ?" It was not pleasant to imagine Schillingschen, mind gone or not, with or without three cartridges and a rifle, prowling about our camp awaiting opportunity to do murder.
"Come to think of it," said Fred, "we've no proof he hasn't a lot more than three cartridges.