"No white man'll ever have to eat after _him_," he muttered.

To ease his outraged feelings still farther, he picked up the Pilgrim's knife and fork, and sent them after the plate--and knives and forks were not numerous in that particular camp, either.

After that he felt better and picked up the coffee-pot, lighted a fire and cooked himself some breakfast, which he ate hungrily, his wrath cooling a bit with the cheer of warm food and strong coffee.
The routine work of the line-camp was performed in a hurried, perfunctory manner that day.

Charming Billy, riding the high-lines to make sure the cattle had not drifted where they should not, was vaguely ill at ease.

He told himself it was the want of a smoke that made him uncomfortable, and he planned a hurried trip to Hardup, if the weather held good for another day, when he would lay in a supply of tobacco and papers that would last till roundup.