“It wouldn’t seem so,” the scout answered, leading Bear Paw into an empty stall.
Removing the saddle, he rubbed Bear Paw down carefully with the saddle-blanket, then tore off a layer of hay from a bale, and loosened it out in the manger.
Nomad, deeply thoughtful, had been caring for his own horse in the same way.
Presently the pards left the stable and walked back to the front of the hotel.
Spangler was again seated on his chairs, plying the fan. He was talking with a man in a long linen duster.
“Buffalo Bill,” called Spangler, “shake hands with J. Algernon Smith, of Chicago. Smith,” went on Spangler, blowing like a porpoise, “this here is the Buffalo Bill ye read so much about.”
The scout’s eyes instantly engaged the face of J. Algernon Smith. Smith, after a moment’s hesitation, stretched out his hand.
The scout was an expert in character-reading, and, inasmuch as Smith was the last man seen with Wild Bill, he gave him keen attention.
“Well!” exclaimed Smith, “you’re the gentleman Wild Bill has been expecting. He told me about you.”