can see FUTURE written all
over it.

Mr. Cadwalader had bought in Philadelphia the best comestibles that it
could provide, and had them stowed away in big hampers and put in the
baggage-car. When the train stopped an hour for food, which it did
three times a day, we preferred to spend that hour looking about us and
(as Mr. Kasson said) stretching our legs rather than going into the
overcrowded eating-rooms, which were reeking of food, loud talk, and
ravenous passengers. The stations were always low wooden buildings with
a piazza; sometimes no other houses were to be seen. On wooden boxes
were enthroned the loafers, who must have ridden miles just to see
passengers get in and out of the train. To show how kind these rough
people must be when they are not engaged in killing people, chickens
foraged about between their huge boots, and I saw a dog quietly asleep
within an inch of a kick. As soon as the train started we went into the
baggage-car and, seated about on the trunks, enjoyed our delicious
feast.

We occupied almost one entire parlor-car. There were only two extra
seats, and those were filled by two men surrounded by a mountain of
newspapers and magazines of all kinds. I said, nodding toward one of
these, "What a handsome man that is!"

"Do you know who it is?" asked Mr. Cadwalader.

"No. How should I?"

"That is the famous scout, Buffalo Bill."

"Really!" I exclaimed. "I had fancied him quite different from that. He
looks like the pictures of Charles the First. His eyes are so soft, and
he has such lovely brown curls and a could-not-hurt-a-fly look about
him."

"Well," said Mr. Cadwalader, "he has killed more men than he can count
on his fingers when he tries to go to sleep."

"I can't imagine it," I said, gazing with admiration at Buffalo Bill's
fine and kind face and splendid figure. "His friend does not look so
amiable."

"I should think _not_. That is the celebrated Mr. Holmes of Texas. He
is a terror in this part of the world."

"He looks it," I said. "See all the pistols he has about him. I can see
one in his coat pocket, and one in his vest pocket, and..."

"And many under his coat which you can't see."

Just at that moment the "terror" got up, and, lo! a pistol fell out of
his clothing on to the floor. Fortunately, it did not go off, but it
frightened us almost out of our senses (the ladies, of course). Buffalo
Bill picked up the weapon and handed it back to Mr. Holmes, who put it
quietly