"Waddles is a right unpresuming sort of a man in most respects," Evans volunteered as they entered the cookhouse. "But he's downright egotistical about his culinary accomplishments." All through the meal the gigantic cook hovered near Billie Warren as she sat near one end of the long table. It was evident to Harris that the big man was self-appointed guardian and counsellor of the Three Bar boss. He showed the same fussy solicitude for her welfare that a hen would show for her helpless chicks. "Praise the grub and have a friend at court," Harris murmured in Evans' ear. Billie Warren had nearly completed her meal before the men came in. She left the table and went to her own room. When Harris rose to go he slapped the big man on the back. "I'd work for half pay where you get grub like this," he said. "That's what I'd call a real feed." Waddles beamed and followed him to the door. "It's a fact that I can set out the best bait you ever throwed a lip over," he confessed. "You're a man of excellent tastes and it's a real pleasure to have you about." Billie Warren opened the door and motioned to Harris. He went into the big front room that answered for both living room and sleeping quarters. A fire burned in the rough stone fireplace; tanned pelts, Indian curios and Navajo rugs covered the walls; more rugs and pelts lay on the floor. Indian blankets partitioned off one end for her sleeping room. "You had something to tell me," she observed, after he had remained silent for the space of a minute, sitting in the chair she had indicated and gazing into the fire. "And I'll have to start it a little different from the way I first counted on," he said. "Have any of the boys mentioned my name to you?" She shook her head and waited for him to go on. "You won't care much to hear it," he announced. "I'd thought some of spending two years here under some other name--but perhaps it's better to come out in the open--don't you think?"