Old Nick Nomad seemed as much taken aback as Buffalo Bill. He halted in confusion; then laughed in his quaint cackling manner, and advanced toward the horse. “Yours to command, Buffler!” he cried, spreading his homely mouth in a huge grin. “You didn’t reckon on seein’ me, and I didn’t reckon on seein’ you, and so we’re both properly astonished. But I ain’t a-goin’ to hold it agin’ ye.” The scout swung to the ground, and seized the little man by the hand, shaking the hand warmly. “Nomad, I am glad to see you!” “Ther same hyar, Buffler! I’m as glad to see ye as if I’d run a splinter in my foot. What ye doin’ hyar?” “What are _you_ doing here?” “Me? Waal, I’m in hard luck jes’ now, fer a fac’. And so I’ve become a sort of hostler hyar, ye see. I look after ther hosses, and----” John Latimer was looking on in surprise, and the garrulous old trapper subsided, seeing it. “I’ll have a long talk with you later,” said the scout. “I’m the guest of Mr. Latimer, and shall probably be out here several days. By the way, Nomad, what do you know of Indians and road agents?” “They’re all dead, so fur’s I know, Buffler.” “You haven’t seen any lately?” “Nary a pesky red, an’ not a single pizen road agent.” “That’s strange. Mr. Latimer has reported that he had lately been raided by road agents and by the Redskin Rovers?” “Waal, ye see how ’tis, Cody. I only come hyar yistiddy, and so I can’t be considered as bein’ ’specially up in ther happenin’s hyar and hyarabouts. But if thar’s road agents and Injuns floatin’ round, I’ll begin to feel that I’ve arrove ahead o’ time in ther happy huntin’ grounds. I ain’t hed no good times at all, sense the days when you and me was huntin’ Injuns and road agents together.” The scout, though anxious for a talk with old Nick Nomad, saw that John Latimer had dismounted and was waiting to accompany him into the house. “Well, take my horse, Nomad,” he said. “By the way, Nick, where is old Nebuchadnezzar.” A whinny came from the nearest stable; and old Nomad, hearing it, bent double with cackling laughter, so pleased was he. “Thar he is, Buffler, ther ole sinner! He knows his name as well as some men know the name o’ whisky, and he answers jes’ as quick. He heard ye say ‘Nebbycudnezzar’ and he answers ye! How long’s it been, Buffler, sense that wise critter heerd your gentle voice, anyhow?” “More than a year, I think.” “Jes’ ther same, he’s rec’nized it. Buffler, I’ve seen wise hosses in my time, but Nebby goes ahead of ther best of ’em. He’s a-gittin’ so knowin’ that I’m acchilly askeered that some mornin’ I’ll wake up and find that he’s been translated to ther hoss heaven, if thar is one.” Having started on his favorite subject, old Nick Nomad would have gone on indefinitely, if Buffalo Bill had not snapped one of his sentences in the middle by practically deserting him and entering the house with Latimer.