He bounded up the steps and flung open the door. To his surprise a figure stumbled away and ran back. But Yellin' Kid was faster, and in a moment he had collared the man. It was the Mexican cook. "Hey, what the mischief you doin' here? Huh? Listening weren't you?" The Mexican shook his head. "What, then? If you weren't listenin' what were you doin'?" The cook pointed toward the kitchen and then to his mouth. He spread both hands, palms upward. "No more grub? Oh, I see. An' you was comin' to tell us?" "What's the matter, Kid?" the deputy called. "Who you talking to?" The Kid dragged the Mexican out into the yard. "This bird," he said. "Cook. The one we found here. He was hidin' behind the door--wants me to believe he came out to tell us there was no more eats. Why you run, hey? What's the idea of that?" He tightened his grip on the Mexican's collar. "Oh, let the poor Greaser alone, Kid," Bud objected. "He's all right. Just scared, that's all. The way you jerked open the door was enough to scare anyone." "Yea? Maybe. Anyway, I don't like this coot's looks. Back you go, Mex. Next time don't be snoopin' around like that. We'll get your stuff for you." He released his grasp, and the Mexican slunk back into the house. "Funny gink," commented Billee Dobb in a drawling tone of voice, as he stared at the door through which the cook had disappeared. "Queerest Mex I ever saw." "The old detective still on the job," the Kid laughed and grinned. "Well, Mr. Hawkins wants to get started. Guess you can order a whole stock of food, Dick. The store got a buckboard, deputy?" "Believe it has." "Then you can tell 'em what you want and they'll cart it over. Flour, bacon, bakin' powder, canned tomatoes, some yellow clings--don't forget them, Dick--and whatever else you can think of. Shirts can wait. All right, boys. Stay here, Dick, I'll bring your bronc." "The Kid wants to handle a pony again," Nort said, when the Kid had left. "He hated to lose that one of his." "Mighty fond of it," declared Bud. "While you're gone, Dick, I think I'll take a look around and see what I can find." "Wouldn't go too far," Hawkins cautioned. "Here's your bronc, Dick. Let's be on our way. See you fellers later. So long." The two--Dick and the deputy--rode toward the town. Billee Dobb resumed the smoking of his pipe. The effect of the exciting plan they had just heard seemed to have departed with the deputy, for the minds of those at the ranch turned again to the business of sheep farming. Billee spoke of "washes," and "dips," and of buying a few "hurdles." These terms were Greek to the boys, being experienced as they were only in cattle and not sheep raising, but Billee explained to them some of the peculiarities of the "woolies." He in a varied career had seen most of the life of the range, and it was no surprise to the boys to find he had once herded sheep.