“Sim Pierce. Come from San Antone, ’riginally. Mebby ye’ve heerd tell o’ the Pierces o’ San Antone?” “No. My name’s Hickok, and this is my pard, old Nomad. We belong with Buffalo Bill’s outfit of trouble-chasers.” “Shucks!” muttered Sim Pierce. “I’ve heerd of all o’ ye. Tickled plumb through ter make yer acquaintance.” They shook hands elaborately. “What we want,” said Wild Bill, “is to get a little information.” “Waal, let ’er go. If I got the brand ye want, et’s on tap.” “Do you know a man called Dick Perry?” Sim Pierce gave a jump that almost unjointed his shambling frame. “Sure I know him,” said he. “But why?” He squinted his eyes apprehensively at Wild Bill. From his manner, the Laramie man knew that he had opened up a pay streak that it would pay to develop. “I’m just asking for information, that’s all,” said Wild Bill. Sim Pierce seemed very much disturbed. After squinting around him apprehensively, he went on in a lowered voice. “Come out flatfooted, neighbor, an’ tell me whether ye’re inquirin’ as a friend o’ Perry’s er a friend o’ the cattle baron?” “Cattle barons? Which cattle barons?” “Principally Benner an’ Phelps, them fellers that throwed the watches.” “Pard,” rumbled Nomad, with an expression of profound disgust, “don’t fer a minit reckon we’re friends o’ them locoed rawhides, kase we ain’t. Us fellers hes got some self-respect. Ye hurt my dignity a hull lot by askin’ whether we’re friends o’ them fool mavericks.” “Then, I take it,” pursued Sim Pierce, still with his air of mystery, “thet ye’re friendly ter Perry? The feller needs friends, an’ I reckon I’m the only one he’s got in this town, less’n it is the sky pilot, Jordan, who breezes in here oncet a month on his gospel circuit. But I ain’t talkin’ erbout my friendship fer Perry so’st every one kin hear. Not me. I got too much regyard fer my health.” “What’s the matter with Perry?” “Nothin’, only the barons aire down on him.” “Why are they down on him?” “Kain’t savvy, but they’re makin’ life hard fer Perry, an’ no mistake. They’re tryin’ ter freeze him out o’ the grazin’ lands on the Brazos.” “This Perry is straight goods?” “Straight as a string.” “And the cattle barons have got it in for him, and are trying to kick him out of these parts?” “That’s the way the land lays.” “Then I’m his friend right from the drop of the hat!” “Me, too!” chimed in old Nomad. “Them watch-slingers hev showed their calibre a-plenty, so fur’s I’m consarned. I’m fer Perry.” “Then stand right hyer an’ hold yer bronks a spell,” whispered Sim Pierce. He vanished toward the front of the hotel. In less than five minutes he came back, bringing with him a slightly built, boyish-looking chap in a long, black coat.