“Nothing at all, nothing at all,” deprecated Melton.  “You gave me a chance for a lovely scrap, just when I was beginning to wonder whether I’d forgotten how to fight.  I’ve felt ten years younger ever since.”

“You don’t need to get any younger,” retorted his wife in affectionate reproach.  “You’re just as much of a boy as you ever were.  I declare,” she laughed, turning to her guests; “I ought to call him Peter Pan.  He’ll never grow up.”

“Well, he’s a pretty husky youngster,” grinned Tom, looking admiringly at his host’s two hundred and forty pounds of bone and muscle.

But now Mrs. Melton’s housewifely instincts asserted themselves, and she shooed the boys off to their rooms to rid themselves of the dust of the journey, while she bustled round to get supper on the table.

A few minutes later and they were gathered at supper in the brightly-lighted, well-furnished dining-room of the ranch.  It was a jolly party, where every one radiated happiness and good nature.  There was not a particle of stiffness or pretence in that wholesome environment.  The delight of their hosts in having them there found an echo in the hearts of the boys, and they were soon on as genial and friendly a footing as though they had known them all their lives.

And that supper!  To the hungry boys, with their naturally keen appetites still further sharpened by the long ride, it seemed a feast fit for the Gods.  The table fairly groaned beneath the weight of good things placed upon it.  Crisp trout freshly taken from the mountain brook, a delicious roast flanked by snowy mounds of potatoes and vegetables just plucked from the garden patch, luscious berries warm with the sun, deluged with rich cream, and pastries “such as mother used to make” offered a challenge to the boys that they gleefully accepted.  They ate like famished wolves, while Mrs. Melton bridled with pride at the tribute paid to her cooking; and, when at last they had fairly cleared the board, they sat back with a sigh of content at duty well performed.

“How about those belts?” laughed Melton, as he lighted his pipe.

“Tight as a drum,” Tom answered for all.  “You called my bluff, all right.”

“Sallie certainly knows how to cook,” said Mr. Melton, patting his wife’s hand.

“You mustn’t give me all the credit,” smiled Mrs. Melton, smoothing out her apron.  “That Chinese cook you brought back with you the last time you went to Helena is certainly a treasure.  I don’t know how I’d get along now without him.”

“That reminds me,” said Melton, with a quick glance at his wife.  “Just send him in here for a minute, will you?”

She went into the kitchen and a moment later returned, followed by a Chinaman, who shuffled along in his heelless slippers.

The boys glanced at him indifferently for a moment.  Then a startled recognition leaped into their eyes.

“Wah Lee,” they cried in chorus, jumping to their feet.