"I will turn your seats for you, ladies, as soon as we have room," the conductor says; but the lady going to Cheyenne, who shares my seat, assisted, and we turn our seats without help, and I, thinking of the old gentleman's experience, lie on my pocket, and put my gloves on to protect my ring from sliding off, and sleep until two o'clock, when the conductor wakes me with, "Almost at North Platte, Miss." I had written Miss Arta Cody to meet me, but did not know the hour would be so unreasonable. I scarcely expected to find her at the depot, but there she was standing in the chilly night air, ready to welcome me with, "I am so glad you have come, Frances!" We had never met before, but had grown quite familiar through our letters, and it was pleasant to be received with the same familiarity and not as a stranger. We were quickly driven to her home, and found Mrs. Cody waiting to greet me. To tell you of all the pleasures of my visit at the home of "Buffalo Bill," and of the trophies he has gathered from the hunt, chase, and trail, and seeing and hearing much that was interesting, and gleaning much of the real life of the noted western scout from Mrs. C., whom we found to be a lady of refinement and pleasing manners, would make a long story. Their beautiful home is nicely situated one-half mile from the suburbs of North Platte. The family consists of three daughters: Arta, the eldest is a true brunette, with clear, dark complexion, black hair, perfect features, and eyes that are beyond description in color and expression, and which sparkle with the girlish life of the sweet teens. Her education has by no means been neglected, but instead is taking a thorough course in boarding school. Orra, a very pleasant but delicate child of eleven summers, with her father's finely cut features and his generous big-heartedness; and wee babe Irma, the cherished pet of all. Their only son, Kit Carson, died young. It is not often we meet mother, daughters, and sisters so affectionate as are Mrs. C, Arta, and Orra. Mr. Cody's life is not a home life, and the mother and daughters cling to each other, trying to fill the void the husband and father's almost constant absence makes. He has amassed enough of this world's wealth and comfort to quietly enjoy life with his family. But a quiet life would be so contrary to the life he has always known, that it could be no enjoyment to him. To show how from his early boyhood, he drifted into the life of the "wild west," and which has become second nature to him, I quote the following from "The Life of Buffalo Bill."