Shrewd and clever as the shoemaker was in a city, dealing with his customers, here he was nearly as helpless as little Loney. Yet he had managed to reach thus far. He had seen and heard enough of the high-sounding talk of the cowboys and miners, as they came into towns, and promptly began imbibing the fiery liquor handed them, not to have learned something of it, and he decided to call himself Wild Bill, the Bull-man. He would not demean himself to call himself a cowboy. Not he. He hoped to strike terror into the hearts of any vicious characters with whom he might come in contact. As the man, boy and horse reached the rail and post set aside for the convenience of riders to tie their horses, Morris lifted the boy out from among the pots, pans, tent, and shoemaker’s kit, and stood the weary little fellow down on his wavering legs. As the horse began to nose about, looking for some sign of grass or other food, one could see a sign attached to his tail, the only available place left after all other things were packed on, to notify everybody that this outfit was that of “Morris Goldberg, shoemaker.” There was no one in sight, all the men being in the dining-room with Helen, and Pierson’s party upstairs. Loney looked about, and read: “Dead Man’s Gulch Saloon.” “Vell, it is a goot place to come, Loney. It is Dead Man’s Gulch, and dot’s me. I am so nearly deat dot I can hartly hear mine own voice.” “I’m glad we’ve come to some place. I’m awful hungry, and I guess Jake is hungry, too.” “Ve vill get somedings soon, Loney. Und dot horse! Vot kint of a horse are you, anyway? You vant to eat all de time. Don’t I feed you und now you are not carrying me, und I pull you up de hills. You are vort nodings. If I vos to sell you, I vould git nodings but de price of de shoes--for olt iron. But nefer mind, Jake, I vill not see you starf. Now, here is de last bag of oats. Eat ’em und be happy. You’re a pretty goot fellow, after all, und if you die I vill make your hide into de shoes you haf maket me vore out pulling you along. Come away, Loney; meppe he vill fall ofer on you.” “Oh, he is only tired, and I guess horses need more oats and grass than we think. But why do you wear so many pistols, Mr. Goldberg?” “Hush! Vot dit I told you about calling me dot name? I am Vilt Bill, de Bull-man, now. Hafen’t I told you dot ve are now in de Vest, among de bad mens und I must be a bad mans, too? Now, Jake, don’t you eat any more dust. If you do, und drink vater on top of it, your name vill be mud.” “Aren’t you sorry you brought me along to look for Dora, Mr. Gold----, I mean Wild Bill, the Bull-man? I’m a lot of trouble, ain’t I?”