“Pardon me, sir, may I ask about the old Indian, Black Coyote, and his child?”
The pards doffed their hats with amusing celerity, and Buffalo Bill, stepping forward, introduced himself and the members of his party.
“Are you Pa-e-has-ka, the Long Hair, of whom I have heard so much?” she asked.
“I am Buffalo Bill among the white people of the West,” he answered, “and the Indians have called me Pa-e-has-ka.”
She extended her hand to him and then to the others.
“I am ‘Little Moonbeam’ to the red people,” she said, “and my only white friend, Mrs. Sherley, calls me Mona. The red folk regard me as daughter of the moon and queen of the stars, because my goings and comings mystify them.”
“An’ I don’t blame ther Injuns, nuther!” interjected Nomad, unable to conceal his admiration.
The scout then told of the aged Indian and little girl, and their pitiful condition. If some one did not watch over them, he told her, they would soon starve. Black Coyote had told him of the queen of the stars, and had expressed the desire, which he seemed to think hopeless, that he might communicate with her before he should die.
“He seemed to think the daughter of the moon would care for his helpless child,” the scout added.
“I will see him before the sun comes over the hills again,” she told him.