“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.