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.

"That same old yellow sinner," confirmed Melton complacently.

The Chinaman himself was shocked for a moment out of his Oriental stolidity. A delighted smile spread over his face and he broke into an excited jargon of "pidgin English," of which the refrain was:

"Velly glad slee. Wah Lee velly glad slee."

Then in a burst of grateful memory he threw himself to the floor and tried to put their feet upon his head, as a token that he was their slave for life. But they jerked him upright in a torrent of eager questioning.

"You old rascal."

"How did you ever get here?"

"I thought you were back in China by this time."

But Wah Lee's smile was more expansive than his vocabulary was extensive.

"Him tell," he said, pointing to Mr. Melton.

"I thought it would be a surprise party," that worthy chuckled as he refilled his pipe. "So I didn't tell you anything about it nor did I tell the Chink that you were coming. It was a surprise, all right," and he chuckled again.

"It won't take very long to explain," he went on when his pipe was drawing well. "You remember that after you got back from your trip to the Canal you gave him money enough to go West and start a little laundry business wherever he might choose to settle down. It seems he drifted out to Helena, where there's quite a colony of Chinks, and started in to wash and iron. As nearly as I can understand his gibberish, he was doing pretty well, too, until he got mixed up in one of those secret society feuds that play hob among those fellows. It seems that he belonged to the On Leong clan and the Hip Son Tong got after him. They sent on to 'Frisco for some highbinders—those professional killers, you know—and Wah Lee got wind of the fact that he was one of the victims marked for slaughter. Naturally, he was in a fearful stew about it, and just when things were at their worst I happened to be in Helena on business and ran across him. Of course, I'd never have known him, for all Chinks look alike to me, but he recognized me in a minute and begged me by all his gods to help him out. He knew it wouldn't do any good to go from one city to another, because they'd get him sure, and his only chance was to be smuggled off into some country place where they might lose track of him. It seemed rather hard lines for the old fellow, and though I didn't care much to mix up in the rescue stunt, I didn't have the heart to turn him down. So he sold out his shop to one of his own society, and I brought him out at night. I didn't know just what I'd do with him, but it turns out that he is a dandy cook, and Mrs. Melton insists that my running across him was a rare streak of luck."

"It certainly was for him, anyway," said Bert. "I'd hate to have anything happen to the old boy. He had a pretty rough deal in Mexico."

"He did, for a fact," agreed Melton reminiscently, "and he hasn't gotten over it yet. A little while ago one of my men brought in a snake that he had killed on his way back from town. The boys were looking at it when the Chink happened to come along, and one of them, in a joke, threw it at him. You never saw a fellow so scared. I thought for a minute he was going to throw a fit."

"I don't wonder," said Dick soberly.

For he, as well as Wah Lee, would never look upon one of those hideous reptiles without a shudder. As clearly as though it were yesterday, he saw again that morning in the Mexican hills, when, tied to a tree, he had looked upon the monster rattlesnake that was to torture him, and prayed that he might have courage to die without disgracing his manhood. Wah Lee, his companion in captivity, had been brought out first, thrown flat on the ground and fastened securely to stakes. Just out of reach, a rattlesnake, with a buckskin thong passed through its tail, was tied to a stake. Tortured by rage and pain, the reptile struck at the Chinaman's face, but couldn't quite make the distance. Then water was poured on the thong and it began to stretch. With each spring the awful fangs came nearer, and it was only a question of minutes before they would be embedded in the victim's flesh. Then, from the woods, Melton's bowie knife had whizzed, slicing the snake's head from his body, and the next instant in a rain of bullets the rescuing party had burst into the clearing.

Later on, they had found Wah Lee on their hands, and at his earnest entreaties had taken him with them to Panama. There he had found employment in the house of a wealthy Japanese landholder, and by the merest chance had been able to convey to Bert a hint of the conspiracy to destroy the Canal. The plot had been frustrated by Bert's daring exploit, and on the return of the party to America Wah Lee had again accompanied them. When they had provided for him and sent him West they never thought that again their paths would cross. Yet here he was, as bland and smiling as ever, on this remote ranch in the Rocky Mountains. The world was only a small place, after all.

For a long time after he had trotted away again to his duties in the kitchen they sat discussing the exciting events that his reappearance had brought back to their minds. Then, at last, Melton arose and shook the ashes from his pipe.

"I reckon you youngsters are about ready to turn in," he said. "You've had a long ride and it's getting pretty late. We'll have plenty of time to chin before the summer's over. For I give you fair warning," he added with his genial smile, "I've got you roped now and I ain't going to let you go in a hurry."

He took them up to their rooms, cool, spacious and provided with every comfort. There with a cordial good-night he left them.

Their windows faced toward the north and commanded a magnificent view of the mountains. Tall, solemn, majestic, they towered upward in wild and rugged beauty. The moon had risen and the distant peaks were flooded with light. It was a scene to delight the soul of an artist and the boys lingered under the spell.

"Just such a night as when we crouched in the shadow of that big rock in the Mexican forest," murmured Bert. "Do you remember, Tom?"

"Yes," answered Tom; "but I don't think the moon will ever again see us in such a desperate fix as we were in that night."

Which showed that Tom had not the gift of prophecy.

CHAPTER III