Wallie was on his knees absorbed in his task of keeping the gravy from scorching when a sound made him turn quickly and look behind him. A large man on a small white pony was riding toward him. He looked unprepossessing even at a distance and he did not improve, as he came closer. His nose was long, his jaw was long, his hair needed cutting and was greasy, while his close-set blue eyes had a decidedly mean expression. There was a rifle slung under his stirrup-leather, and a six-shooter in its holster on his hip was a conspicuous feature of his costume. He sat for a moment, looking, then dropped the bridle reins as he dismounted and sauntered up to the camp-fire. Wallie was sure that it was "Boise Bill," from a description Pinkey had given him, and his voice was slightly tremulous as he said: "Good evening." The stranger paid no attention to his greeting. He was surveying Wallie in his riding breeches and puttees with an expression that was at once amused and insolent. "Looks like you aimed to camp a spell, from your lay-out," he observed, finally. "Yes, I am here permanently." Wallie wondered if the stranger could see that his hand was trembling as he stirred the gravy. "Indeed! How you got that figgered?" asked the man, mockingly. Wallie replied with dignity: "This is my homestead; I filed on it this morning." "Looks like you'd a-found out if it was open to entry before you went to all that trouble." Boise Bill shuffled his feet so that a cloud of the light wood-ashes rose and settled in the gravy. Wallie frowned but picked them out patiently. "I did," he answered, moving the pan. "Then somebody's lied to you, fer I filed on this ground and I ain't abandoned it." "You've never done any work on it, and Mr. Tucker has my filing fees and application so I cannot see that there is any argument about it." Wallie was very polite and conciliatory. "You'll find that filin' is one thing and holdin' is another in this man's country." Quite deliberately he scuffled up another cloud of cinders. "I will appreciate it," said Wallie, sharply, "if you won't kick ashes in my gravy!" "And I will appreciate it," Boise Bill mocked him, "if you'll git your junk together and move off my land in about twenty minutes." "I refuse to be intimidated," said Wallie, paling. "I shall begin a contest suit if necessary." "I allus fight first and contest afterward." Boise Bill lifted his huge foot and kicked over first the pan of ham and then the gravy. Wallie stood for a second staring at the tragedy. Then his nerves jumped and he shook in a passion which seemed to blind and choke him. Boise Bill had drawn his six-shooter and Wallie was looking into the barrel of it. His homestead, his life, was in jeopardy, but this seemed nothing at all compared to the fact that the ruffian, with deliberate malice, had kicked over his supper! "Have I got to try a chunk o' lead on you?" Boise Bill snarled at him.