"Where is he?" demanded Packard.
The cook rose gently and for a moment clasped his head with both hands. Then he immersed it gradually in his bucket of icy water. After which, drying himself with a dirty towel and setting the bucket of water on his stove, he turned red-rimmed eyes upon Steve.
"You're the guy I fed the other mornin', ain't you?" he asked.
Steve nodded.
"More'n which," continued the cook, "you're the guy as licked Woodsy las' night in Red Crick?"
Again Steve nodded.
"An' again you're claimin' to run the ranch here? An' to own it? An' to be ol' Hell-Fire's gran'son?"
"I asked you where Woods was," Packard reminded him sharply. The cook threw up his hand as though to ward off a blow.
"Whatcha yellin' in my ear for?" he moaned dismally. "Want to split my head off? Woodsy's over yonder; talkin' with a man name of Blenham. Ever hear of him?"
"Over yonder" plainly meant just across the creek where there was a little flat open space among the trees in which stood one of the larger shanties. Steve saw a stove-pipe sticking out crookedly through the shed roof; noted a thin spear of smoke. He spurred across the stream and to the timber boss's quarters.