quite what he expected. Patsy would not even listen.

"Py cosh, I not stand for dose poys no more," he declared, wagging his
head with its shiny crown and the fringe of grizzled hair around the
back. "I not cook grub for dat Irish und dat Big Medicine und Happy
Jack und all dose vat cooms und eats mine pies und shpoils mine pread
und makes deirselves fools all der time. If dose fellers shtay on dis
camp I quits him alreatty." To make the bluff convincing he untied his
apron, threw it spitefully upon the ground and stamped upon it
clumsily, like a maddened elephant.

"Well, quit then!" Chip was fast losing his own temper, what with the
heat and his hunger and a general distaste for camp troubles. "This
jangling has got to stop right here. We've had about enough of it in
the last month. If you can't cook for the outfit peaceably--" He did
not finish the sentence, or if he did the distance muffled the words,
for he was leading his horse back to the vicinity of the rope corral
that he might unsaddle and turn him loose.

He heard several voices muttering angrily, but his wrath was ever of
the stiff-necked variety so that he would not look around to see what
was the matter. The tumult grew, however, until when he did turn he
saw Patsy stalking off across the prairie with his hat on and his coat
folded neatly over his arm, and Irish and Big Medicine fighting
wickedly in the open space between the two tents. He finished
unsaddling and then went stalking over to quell this latest
development.

"They're trying to find out who was to blame," Weary informed him when
he was quite close. "Bud hasn't got much tact: he called Irish a
dough-head. Irish didn't think it was true humor, and he hit Bud on
the nose. He claims that Bud pitched him into that dishpan uh dough
with malice aforethought. Better let 'em argue the point to a finish,
now they're started. It's black eyes for the peacemaker--you believe
_me_."

While the dusk folded them close and the nighthawks swooped from afar,
the Happy Family gathered round and watched them fight. Chip and Weary
thoughtfully went into the bed-tent and got the guns which were stowed
away in the beds of the combatants, so that when their anger reached
the killing point they must let it bubble harmlessly until the fires
which fed it went cold. Which was exceeding wise of the two, for Big
Medicine and Irish did get to that very point and raged all over the
camp because they could not shoot each