Mason laughed and tagged the answer as being the natural exaggeration of a hungry man. "Well, come along and eat, then--if you haven't forgotten how to make your jaws go. I've got Mose Freeman cooking for me; you know Mose, don't you? Hired him the day after the Fourth; the Mitten outfit fired him for getting soused and trying to clean out the camp, and I nabbed him before they had time to forgive him. Way they had of disciplining him--when he'd go on a big tear they'd fire him for a few days and then take him back. But they can't git him now--not if I can help it. A better cook never throwed dishwater over a guy-rope than that same old Mose, but--" He stopped and looked at Ford hesitantly. "Say! I hate like the deuce to tie a string on you as soon as you hit the ranch, Ford, but--if you've got anything along, you won't spring it on Mose, will you? A fellow's got to watch him pretty close, or--" "I haven't got a drop." Ford's tone was reprehensibly regretful. "You do look as if you'd put it all under your belt," Mason retorted dryly. "Left anything behind?" "Some spoiled beauties, and a nice new jail that was built by my admiring townspeople, with my name carved over the door. I didn't stay for the dedication services. Sunset was getting all fussed up over me and I thought I'd give them a chance to settle their nerves; loss of sleep sure plays hell with folks when their nerves are getting frazzly." He smiled disarmingly at Mason. "I'd kinda lost track of you, Ches, till I got your letter. I've been traveling pretty swift, and that's no lie. I meant to write, but--you know how a man gets to putting things off. And then I took a notion to ride over this way, and sample your grub for a day or so, and abuse you a little to your face, you old highbinder!" "Sure. I've been kinda looking for you, too. But--I wish you hadn't quite so big an assortment of battle-signs, Ford. Kate's got ideals and prejudices--and she don't know all your little personal traits. She's heard a lot about you, of course. We was married right after we came outa the North, you know, and of course--Well, you know how a woman sops up adventure stories; and seeing you was the star performer--" "And that's a lie," Ford put in modestly, albeit a trifle bluntly. "No, it ain't. She got the truth. And she's so darned grateful," he added lugubriously, "that I don't know how to square your record with that face! Unless we can rig up some yarn about a holdup--" He paused just outside the mess-house door and eyed Ford questioningly. "We might--" "No, you don't. If you've gone and lied to her, and made me out a little tin angel, you deserve what's coming. Anyway, I won't stay long, and I'll stop down here with the boys. Call me Jack Jones and let it go at that. Honest, Ches, I don't want to get mixed up with no more females. I'm plumb scared of 'em. Lordy me, that coffee sure does smell good to me!"