Bug-eye Slocum had been a cowboy in his younger days, and he declared that he could not live unless he stretched his legs over the back of a horse at least once a day. He nearly always rode forth alone, presumably for a jaunt over the prairies or through the near-by hills; where he went he seldom told, and people did not question. He rode forth again, as usual, this afternoon, waving his hand to the people he met in the streets, a hand waving that had an air of patronage and condescension, though Bug-eye was half the time in disreputable rags, and the man patronized thus might have been dressed in the best of clothing. As soon as he had left the town behind him Bug-eye drove the pony into a sharp gallop that carried him on for a mile or two and sank the town out of sight behind him. Then he drew rein, and looked carefully about. Not observing any one in sight, he wheeled sharply to the right, rode into a depression that cut through the level land here, and headed for the hills. When within the hills and not to be seen by any one chancing to be out on the prairie, he changed his course again, and galloped on for a mile or two farther. Here, in a depression between the hills, he drew rein once again, and sat apparently waiting for some one. Hoof falls soon sounded, and several horsemen appeared. The foremost was a tall, handsome-looking man, wearing a mustache and imperial, his get-up and clothing causing him to resemble in a remarkable manner Buffalo Bill. Even the real Buffalo Bill’s closest friends would have mistaken this rascal for him at a short distance, and would certainly have made the mistake at night even, if close by him. Naturally resembling the great scout in many particulars, he had by carefully growing a mustache and imperial of the style worn by Buffalo Bill, and then wearing clothing of the same pattern, still further heightened the rather remarkable likeness. But while thus outwardly resembling the scout, he was otherwise a man of such different character that he was now playing this despicable part. “Hello, Slocum!” he called, with a wave of his hand; and then he lifted his hat in the Buffalo Bill manner, with a graceful and gracious bow. “Does yer ears burn?” asked Slocum. “Not that I’m knowing to,” said the man. “Well, ’tain’t true, then, ther sayin’ that if people is talkin’ about ye, yer ears will burn hot like fire; fer yer name has been used most tremendous hard this afternoon, as I’m knowin’ to, havin’ had a hand somewhat in usin’ it myself.” “My name?” “Well, not yer real name; and come to think of it, maybe that’s why the thing didn’t make yer ears burn. They was talkin’ about ther things you’ve been doing, but ther name used was Buffalo Bill.” “I am Buffalo Bill!” “You’re the man they was talkin’ about, anyway. And I was boostin’ ther thing along.” He looked hard at the big man, and at the latter’s followers, who now crowded round him. “What’s the news, Slocum?” the man asked.