he acquaintance of a merchant, Mr. Samuel
Dreifuss, who kept a little store of general merchandise. This
gentleman liked to converse with me in the German tongue and was very
kind to me, even offering to employ me at a liberal salary, which I, of
course, thankfully declined. One morning after breakfast I went to this
store to purchase an article of apparel. The door was unlocked and I
entered, but found no one present. I waited a while, and as Mr.
Dreifuss did not appear, I knocked at the bedroom door, which was
connected with the store. Receiving no response to my knocks, I opened
the door and entered. There was poor Mr. Dreifuss lying stone dead on
his couch. I knew that he was dead, for his hands were cold and clammy
to the touch. I was struck with astonishment. The day before had I
spoken to him, when he appeared to be hale and hearty. There were some
ugly, black spots on his face, and I thought that it was very queer. I
did not see any marks of violence on his person and nothing unusual
about the premises. I looked around carefully, as a boy is apt to do
when something puzzles him. Then I thought I would go up-town and tell
about this strange circumstance.

The store was the first building met with in the town if a person came
from the railway station. As I went toward the next house, which was a
short distance away, I was hailed by a tall, broad-shouldered man with
long hair, who commanded me to halt. I kept right on, however, meaning
to tell him about my gruesome discovery. As I advanced toward him he
retreated, and I called to him to have no fear, as I did not intend to
shoot. The big man shook with laughter and cried, "Hold, boy, stop
there a minute until I tell you something. They say that 'Wild Bill'
never feared man, but I fear you, a mere boy. Did you come out of that
store?" "Yes, sir," I said. "And did you see the Jew?" "Yes, sir," I
answered; "Mr. Dreifuss is dead." "How do you know that?" he
questioned. "His hands feel cold as ice," I said, "and there is a black
spot on his nose." Again the man laughed and said, "Do you know what
killed him?" "I do not know, sir," I answered, "but I was going uptown
to inquire." "Well," said the scout, "Mr. Dreifuss had the cholera."
"That's too bad," said I; "let us go back and see if we can be of any
assistance." "No, you don't," said the long-haired scout; "I have been
stationed here, as marshal of the town, to warn people away from the
place. You take my advice and