When the girls went back into the house, Margaret exclaimed, “Pinch me, Virg, will you? I want to make sure that I am a flesh and blood person and not a character in a book. I never felt so strange and unreal before in all my life.” Virginia laughingly placed an arm about her friend’s waist and hugged her hard. “Won’t that do as well as a pinch?” she inquired. “You are real enough, dear. Hark! The clock is striking the midnight hour. Let us return to our beds. I want to get some sleep. I must be up at a very early hour, for, as you know, we are expecting company for breakfast. “No, indeed, Megsy,” Virginia replied. “You will be glad to learn that our culinary troubles are over.” Then noting her friend’s puzzled expression, she added gaily. “We now have with us the best cook on the desert. Uncle Tex has had charge of the ‘chuck’ wagon at all of the roundups hereabouts for many years and the cow-boys would rather have him as chef than either a Frenchman or Chinaman.” “Good! Then our problem of finding a cook is solved,” Megsy said. Ten minutes later all was quiet in the V. M. Ranch house, for the girls, truly weary, were soon asleep. The sun was streaming into Virginia’s room when there came a rap on the door. Springing up, the girl slipped on her robe as she called, “Who is it?” “It’s yo’ Uncle Tex, Miss Virginia, dearie. Ah has breakfast a-started, but I thought yo’ all was a-oversleepin’ and maybe yo’d like me to call yo’.” “We’ll be with you in a moment, Uncle Tex. Thank you for calling us,” Virginia replied. The girls were just emerging from their bedrooms when Margaret, glancing through one of the wide living-room windows, exclaimed, “Here come six horsemen. Are they your expected guests?” “I suppose so,” Virginia replied, and she was right. A few moments later six men of middle age and all of them with weather-bronzed faces appeared at the back door. The young hostess bade them welcome with a kindly dignity and they were soon seated about the long table at one end of the sunny kitchen. Uncle Tex was busily making the griddle cakes for which he was justly famous, while Margaret and Virginia assumed the role of waitresses. “Don’t your cow-boys have breakfast about this hour?” a keen-eyed man evidently the leader of the posse, inquired. “I understand that there’s two as you’ve had a long time and a new one you call Tom.” Margaret glanced quickly at the face of her friend and was glad to see that Virginia was mistress of the situation. “Yes, we have three cow-boys,” she replied with indifference. “They left yesterday to ride the range.” This was the truth, for Tom had left just before midnight. “Which way did they all go?” was the next question. “I really don’t know,” was the calm reply. “It is not the custom of Lucky or Slim to tell me their plans for turning back the cattle.” “But this other fellow, the one you call Tom: perhaps you know which way he went,” the man persisted.