AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
When Buffalo Bill arrived with Latimer at the home of the latter on
the Crested Mesa, he found a big, rambling building, with many wings,
together with a number of other buildings and stables. Close by
flowed a stream of water between high and rocky banks, where, Latimer
said, his few cattle obtained their water. The place looked deserted.
But a great surprise came to the scout when, on riding up to the big
house, he was about to dismount, and a servant came rushing out to
take the horses. He stared, open-mouthed, hanging half out of his
saddle, for when his eyes fell on this servant he had been swinging
to the ground, and that sight had stopped all movement on his part
for an instant.
The servant was a wizened little man, with a wide mouth and small,
peering eyes. He was dressed in a half-border manner, and a revolver
was belted to his waist.
“Nick Nomad!” was the name that came from the scout’s lips.
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.
The thing that first arrested Buffalo Bill’s attention within the
house was that the big, rambling structure was apparently without
occupants. One servant had come to the door, to admit them--a Mexican
of villainous aspect and slinking mien--but aside from this one
Mexican not another soul was to be seen.
“You appear to be quite alone here?” the scout suggested.
“Yes,” Latimer admitted, “quite alone.”
“You have been here alone from the first?”
“Yes. I have had a number of servants, but none of them remained with
me long. The place is too isolated, and too far from the towns. So,
after a short time, in each instance, they departed. I have now only
that Mexican, and the man you talked with. You seemed to know him,
Cody? He came to me only yesterday. He’s a stranger to me, and may
not be reliable; but I needed help so badly that I took him without
asking him any questions.”
“There is nothing mysterious about him,” the scout replied, as he
passed through the long hall with Latimer to the latter’s rooms. “He
is, in fact, as open as the day.”
“Well, I’m sure I’m glad to hear it,” Latimer confessed, with an
appearance of uneasiness. “I have more than once suspected that
servants who have been here have been in alliance with the Redskin
Rovers, or the road agents.”
“Nomad is an old-trapper, who has been in the Western mountains more
years than he can remember; and yet, in spite of the great age he
claims--hear him tell it sometimes and you’d be ready to believe him
a hundred years old--he is as spry as a young man, and as a dead
shot with rifle or revolver he has not many equals. He has helped me
in a number of scouting trips, and we’ve had some very interesting
experiences together. It surprised me to find him here.”
“Surprised you?”
“That he should be doing menial work. But he explained that he found
himself in hard luck, and was glad to take anything that offered. I
was glad to see him. He is as a friend true as steel.”
When they passed into the large rooms Latimer apologized for their
apparent disorder.
“You perhaps heard him boasting of his horse,” the scout continued,
still speaking of Nick Nomad.
“A bag of bones, Cody!” cried Latimer. “I wonder the brute can carry
him.”
“Yet a wonderful horse. According to Nomad, it is the most wonderful
horse in America, or in the world. And it really is a beast of rare
intelligence. He has so trained it that its actions at times seem
almost human.”
“My new hostler seems to be rather a wonderful man,” remarked
Latimer, with a dry smile. “I shall have to have a talk with him
myself.”
“You will find that he is a wonderful man, if you ever are able to
know him as thoroughly as I do,” was the scout’s answer.