"Very well, sir," answered Bowles, with military stiffness. "Very well! I will see you in the morning, then." He bowed and strode off down the path, his new shaps flapping ponderously as he walked; and the old cattleman brushed his eyes to drive the mad thought away. CHAPTER IV BRIGHAM If his strategic victory over Henry Lee had given Bowles, the pseudo cowboy, any swelled-up ideas about taking the Bat Wing outfit by storm, he was promptly undeceived when he went up against Gloomy Gus, the cook. Gus had set the sour dough for men old enough to be Mr. Bowles' grandfather; men who were, so he averred, the superiors of any punchers now living and conspicuously prompt at their meals. In striking contrast to these great souls, Bowles had lingered entirely too long up at the big house; and when, after tying up his horse and feeding him some of Mr. Lee's long-treasured hay, he came dragging up to the chuck-wagon, the hour of grace had passed. Gloomy Gus was reclining beside his fire in converse with a red-headed cowboy, and neither of them looked up. "Ah, pardon me," began Mr. Bowles, with perhaps a trace of condescension in his voice; "can you tell me where I will find the cook?" The red-headed cowboy sat like a graven image, with his eyes fixed on the fire, and finally the cook replied. "You'll find him right here, Mister," he said, "from four o'clock in the mornin' till sundown--and then, by grab, he quits!" The injured emphasis with which this last was enunciated left no doubt as to the identity of the speaker, and Bowles murmured polite regrets; but, coming as he did from a land where cooks are not kings, he continued with the matter in hand. "So sorry," he purled, "if I am a little late; but Mr. Lee told me to come down here and ask you to give me some dinner." "Huh!" grunted the cook. "Did you hear that, Brigham?" The cowboy nodded gravely and squinched his humorous eyes at the fire. He was a burly young man, dressed for business in overalls and jumper, but sporting a big black hat and a fine pair of alligator-topped boots; and from the way his fat cheeks wrinkled up it was evident he was expecting some fun. The cook regarded Bowles for a minute with evident disapproval; then he raised himself on one elbow and delivered his ultimatum. "Well, Mr. Man," he rasped, making his manner as offensive as possible, "you go back and tell Mr. Lee that I won't give you no dinner. Savvy? Ef you'd come round when you first rode in I might've throwed you out somethin', but now you can rustle yore own grub." At these revolutionary remarks, Mr. Bowles started, and for a moment he almost forgot his breeding; then he withdrew into himself, and let the gaucherie pass with the contempt which it deserved. But it is hard to be dignified when you are hungry, and after several minutes of silence he addressed himself to the cowboy. "Excuse me," he said, "but is there any other place nearby where I could buy a little food?"