A young cowboy walked into a dusty old café in Wyoming after spending the entire morning riding across the range.

He was starving.

The place was nearly empty except for an old cowboy sitting at the counter with his arms folded, staring silently at a big bowl of meaty chili.

The young cowboy ordered coffee and waited.

Five minutes passed.

The old cowboy still hadn’t touched the chili.

Another five minutes.

Nothing.

The young cowboy kept glancing at the bowl.

It smelled incredible.

Finally, hunger defeated manners.

“If you ain’t gonna eat that, mind if I do?”

The older cowboy slowly turned his head toward him.

“Nah, you go ahead.”

That was all the encouragement the young cowboy needed.

He pulled the bowl over and started eating.

And it was good.

Really good.

He shoveled spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, barely stopping to breathe.

The old cowboy simply sat beside him, quietly watching.

The young cowboy thought it was slightly strange, but free chili was free chili.

Soon, he reached the bottom of the bowl.

That was when his spoon hit something.

He moved a chunk of meat aside.

And there it was.

A dead mouse.

The young cowboy froze.

His face turned pale.

His stomach immediately rebelled.

Seconds later, he barfed the entire bowl of chili right back into the bowl.

The old cowboy looked down at the mess, nodded slowly, and quietly said,

“Yep, that’s as far as I got, too.”