The scout did not wish to dampen the lad’s courage, but he determined to tell the father to take his family to some of the larger settlements until the Sioux had been quieted. “Were your father and mother to return this morning?” he asked. “Yes, sir. Say, mister, do you care if I ask what your name is?” “No, my boy; my name is Cody; sometimes called ‘Buffalo Bill.’” The lad started back and gasped: “Why, you’re a scout! I’ve read lots about you in the papers that Uncle John sends us. Mr. Cody, would you shake hands with me?” The scout laughed heartily as he grasped the boy’s hand. “He’s the right sort, Cody,” observed Hickok. “What is your name?” asked the scout. “William Fisher Corey.” The scout and Hickok laughed. “His initials are the same as yours, Cody,” the Laramie man said. “Yes, I guess we’ll have to call him ‘Little Buffalo Bill.’” The boy was delighted, and his sisters shouted: “Hello, Little Buffalo Bill.” The boy stood back, and admired the scout for a moment, and then said: “I wish my dad was as big an’ strong an’--an’ handsome as you be.” The scout blushed at the frank admiration of the boy, but laughingly turned it off and suggested that they round up the scattered cattle of the settler. CHAPTER XVII. A TRAGEDY OF THE PLAIN. A lonely shack left by Northern Pacific surveyors, on the rolling prairie perhaps one hundred and fifty miles east of Gallatin, showed evidence of habitation in the early morning of a balmy summer day. Ten rods away, in a sag almost hidden by sage brush, a pair of Indian ponies grazed peacefully. Two men came out of the hut, climbed the highest ridge at hand, and scanned the horizon carefully, then went back to start a little fire and prepare breakfast. “I can’t understand how you got away from the fort, Price,” said one. “Easy enough, Ike,” returned the other. “Remember the crook-fingered ’breed, Pete, who got nabbed for the stage raid down toward Virginia City two years ago?” “Sure.” “Perhaps you may remember that I fixed it with the judge, and he got off light?” “Um-h’m.” “Well, Pete was at the fort caring for the horses of the officers. He knew me first glimpse, but he didn’t let on, and when he got a chance he slipped me out with a good mount, a sack of grub, and a belt full of guns.” “Pete sort o’ squared his bill, eh?” “He did, and if you ever see a chance to slip Pete a favor, Ike, on my account, I hope you’ll do it.” “Bet yer life, I will, Price, but I never did like that Canadian polecat, though.” “We’re all in the same box, Ike--any of us would knife the guard for a run and take the chances of decorating a rope. But most anything goes in this wild country--it’s every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost.” “An’ the man that’s slow with his gun is the rear man every time, I notice. Eh, Price?”