“Any friend of yours, Mr. Mainwaring, honors me by his acquaintance,” he said. “But it gives me especial pleasure to meet Colonel Cody. I have heard much about his great deeds out here in the West, and now that I see him I am sure that nothing I have heard has been exaggerated.” “I am delighted to meet you, sir,” replied the scout. “I heard you make a speech in the Senate two years ago, when I was in Washington on some business with the War Department,” he added cordially. “Ah, they say that you never forget a face, Colonel Cody, and it appears to be true. But I have resigned from the Senate and left Washington forever.” Buffalo Bill’s face expressed polite interest, but he made no remark. He could not help wondering, however, how it had come about that one of the most distinguished statesmen at that time in America should have abandoned his great career, and instead of being in his proper place at Washington should be found at a wretched little frontier shanty--which was all that the best “hotel” in Danger Divide could really be called. “Yes, I have turned my back on Washington,” Mr. Doyle went on, “and I am now on my way to California, with my two daughters. I am going to buy a ranch there and make it my home for the small balance of my days. I want to leave all the old associations of my life behind. They have become painful to me. “My eldest boy died three months ago in Washington. He was the last of my three sons. My wife died years ago, and now I have only my two girls left--May and Gertrude. Like myself, they wish to live in a new country, among fresh scenes and people who will not remind us of the past.” It was a strangely frank speech to make to a new acquaintance, but Buffalo Bill was a man who inspired confidence at first sight, and Mr. Doyle found it natural to talk to him of his most sacred and private affairs as he could not have done to another man. A smiling, honest-looking negro came out onto the veranda and said to the old man: “Lunch done got ready, massa. Missie Gertrude and Missie May waiting for you. I ’clar’ to goodness, suh, I cooked de best lunch I could, but you can’t get nuthin’ more in this place than down in ole Virginny at de end ob de wah.” “All right, Norfolk Ben,” replied Mr. Doyle, smiling kindly at the man. “I’ve no doubt that you have done the best you can, and probably you have done wonders, under the circumstances.” The honest fellow, grinning his appreciation of these words, vanished through the door. “That is my servant, Norfolk Ben,” said Mr. Doyle, turning to Cody and Jack Mainwaring. “I don’t think any one ever had a more faithful one. He has been with us for many years, and is perfectly devoted to my daughters. He comes from Norfolk, in Virginia--hence his name.” “A good Virginian servant of the old stock is indeed a treasure,” remarked Mainwaring.