The bluff and rough old trapper, who loved a fight and feared nothing, dropped back forlornly, and swept the perspiration from his brow with rough palm. “You don’t mean it, Buffler! It jest cain’t be so! No, no, Buffler, our true-blue pard Hickok warn’t born ter be blowed up by a coward skunk. No, sir, Buffler, Wild Bill hain’t dead, an’ he hain’t been dead. When Hickok dies it’ll be a honorable death--er facin’ ther moosic an’ er gun in ’is fist.” Old Nomad bounced out of his chair and out of his grief, ready for business, having convinced himself that his pard still lived. “I feels it in my bones, Buffler, thet Hickok is er goin’ ter show up--hat, taps, an’ britches--et jest ther proper minuit ter save some of our scalps, same’s he allers does.” “Good for you, Nick! Your confidence renews my hope. Let’s get busy with the work in hand and be prepared to welcome our Laramie pard properly when he comes back. I’m prime glad to see you in harness again, Nick, and I am anxious to introduce our new pard to you.” “Gut er new pard, Buffler?” “Yes.” “What sort of er chap?” “Oh, a light-complexioned little fellow, who joined us for his health.” “What’s his name?” “We call him ‘Skibo.’” “Waal, you knows yer own bus’ness best, Buffler, but this here outfit hain’t no horspital corps, nor no reesort for nussin’ babies. I sh’d think ther place fer er consumptive wuz in er home somewhar, whar ther smell er powder wouldn’t make ’im faint.” “He stands hearty victuals first-rate, Nick. I have seen him turn pale only once, and that was when a dead greaser came swimming down the river after him.” “Waal, I’m glad ter know a dead greaser c’n swim, fer I hain’t never seen er live one what could. Whar is ther new pard--an’ thet thar redskin papoose?” “Little Cayuse and Skibo have ridden out to a ranch to see the games to-day. A chap named Carson is celebrating his wedding, and is giving the boys a blow-out and a programme of sports. He offers good prizes for best riding, roping, tying, shooting, jumping, etc.” “Why didn’t you go, Buffer?” “I preferred to stay here to see if I couldn’t locate the body of Hickok.” “Waal, yer can’t, ’cause he hain’t hyar! Yer mought jest ez well quit yer mopin’ an’ come erlong.” “Are you going, Nick?” “Shore! The’ hain’t goin’ ter be no prizes ter waste thet yer Uncle Nick can gobble onter. Not noways ef Nick knows hisself, an’ I think he do.” “Very well; I’ll go with you.” At the Carson ranch were gathered about three hundred miners and cowpunchers to partake of the hospitality of one of their number, swear allegiance to the new bride, and strive for the prizes in the day’s contests. Out of respect for the bride’s request, the courage juice was indulged in moderately, and Buffalo Bill thought it about as orderly a crowd of the kind as he had ever seen.