“Yah, yah! Mistah Nomad; Ah baigs yeh parding ’f Ah stepped on dat dar Hide-rack’s feelin’s spectatiously an’ superditiously, coz Ah specs his ripertution’s mos’ ’bout ’s bad as it kin be now, fer a fac’--dat’s what Ah t’ink, anyhow.” “Pa-e-has-ka come; soon see. Make-up-noise,” offered the Piute boy, who had come up and was listening to the usual verbal firing between Buffalo Bill’s pards. Wild Bill, who had also sauntered along, remained quiet, puffing away at his pipe, but now he hailed the scout, who was coming from the bungalow, with: “What is the word, Cody--does the boy go?” The scout nodded with a smile and said to the lad: “Run in and cheer them up, boy, and we’ll be off.” Little Buffalo Bill had secured the scout’s permission--if his parents were willing--to accompany him on his new mission. Buffalo Bill did not urge them to let the boy go, but he assured them he would do his best for the lad’s comfort and safety, if they permitted him to accompany the pards. And at last they had consented, with tears and heartaches, to grant the boy’s pleadings. The horses were saddled and Mr. Avery led out his best, a gritty, bay mare that could run “like a prairie fire,” he said, for the boy. All was in readiness when the lad bolted out of the door, bounded into the saddle, and dashed away without turning to right or left. The scout and his pards waved adieu and rode off leisurely. “Let the boy alone,” said Buffalo Bill, “and when he feels himself he will fall back with the rest of us.” The scout’s orders had read: “Report at Fort Phil Kearney after seeing Sitting Bull.” That was all, and the scout wondered why the dispatch had been so brief and devoid of detail. He had read and reread the order, and pondered over it. There was only one logical conclusion, and that was that some matter concerning the army was to be investigated and the officials in Washington did not fully trust some of the hands through which this order must pass to reach him. It was probably one hundred and fifty miles to Fort Kearney, and the scout hoped General Sheridan himself would be there. Although his order did not refer to it, Buffalo Bill expected to find full instructions at the fort. The scout was more or less curious to know, and the Laramie man speculated much, but old Nomad could hardly wait. “D’ye know, Buffler, I didn’t like ther look o’ that chap thet brung ther paper talk. I don’t blame Uncle Sammy for not trustin’ him ’th any news wuth mentionin’; I wouldn’t trust ’im ’s fur as I c’d throw Hide-rack by ther tail, which same ’s a middlin’ short distance.” “Ah specs Nomad’s been usin’ ’is dreamer some mo’,” observed Skibo. “Looky hyar, Skibo, this ’ere haint none o’ yore funeral, so yer better stay out. What yer gittin’ at, anyways?” “Nuffin much, Nomad, on’y yo’ wa’n’t present, nohow, w’en de ossifer fotch de cumflaboration f’m yo’ Uncle Samwell.” Old Nomad looked foolish for a moment and then he said: