“You mean to say by that it ain’t kind o’ me, after you yankin’ me outer that hole? Well, I thank you fer that. Where you goin’?” “I was on my way from Cinnabar.” “Yisterday I was, too; but I got stuck in that hole, and that brought my journeyin’ to a close. I reckon, if you’re goin’ on, I’ll go with ye. You’ve got a hoss there.” “A very good animal.” “Glad of it; fer I’m goin’ to ride behind ye on that hoss. I don’t reckon you’ve got anything to eat?” “Yes, I have food in my saddle pouches. I will get it for you.” “I’m that hungry I could eat sawdust! Fer, ye see, I didn’t have any supper las’ night, an’ no breakfast this mornin’. If ’twasn’t so fur, I’d git down to that river and git me a drink.” “I have a water bottle, which you’re welcome to.” “Law suz, you’re a reg’lar travelin’ hotel! Well, I’m glad of it; fer I’m that hungry and dry that I can’t think straight. When I git somethin’ to eat and drink, I’ll try to see if my hat is on straight, and if my clothes sets right. Shouldn’t wonder if they don’t, sense my experience in that tree.” She continued to talk while he procured the food and the water; and then she sat down on the ground and devoured the things he gave her. While doing it she now and then looked at him, with covert glances, and now and then she mumbled, as if talking to herself. The scout was undeniably puzzled by this woman. In his experience on the border he had encountered many strange characters. Sometimes he had found that their eccentricity was assumed as a mask and covered some hidden design, or concealed a scoundrelly and criminal past. In a few cases he had found that an assumed eccentricity concealed an officer of the law, who was masked in that way for detective work. After brushing the crumbs out of her lap in a thoughtful manner, she looked up. “Was you tellin’ me the truth when you said you was the ginuine Buffalo Bill?” “Nothing but the truth,” he answered. Her face still showed doubt. “Lemme ask ye another question er two.” “As many as you like.” “Did you ever hear of a wuthless critter named Pete Sanborn?” “I never did.” “He used to run a little hash house down at Cinnabar, only he was too lazy to run it, and his wife done the work. He liked to gamble better than he did to work, and he’d ruther pick a man’s pockets than to git money in any other way.” “A fellow to keep away from.” “Well, he was. I knowed him to my sorrow. He done things lately a good deal wuss’n any of them things. I hope vigilantes will git him, and finish him.” Her blackened and straggling teeth came together with a vindictive click. “And you never,” she went on, “heerd of a young feller called Pool Clayton? His reg’lar name was Bruce, but he played pool and billiards so much that the fellers got to callin’ him Pool; and I reckon it fit him, fer the name stuck. He’s a young man, not much more’n a boy, and I think he knowed you!” The final sentence she shot at the scout as if it were an accusation.