"Your understanding of the facts, I reckon you mean." "I haven't noticed that you're giving me any chance to understand them different," Yeager cut back dryly. The nester took from his pocket a little pearl-handled knife, picked up a potato from a basket beside him, and began to whittle on it absently. He looked across the table at the man sitting on the bed, and debated a question in his mind. Was it best to confess the whole truth? Or should he keep his own counsel? "I see you've got Miss Sanderson's knife. Did you forget to return it?" Yeager made comment. For just an instant Keller's eye confessed amazement. "Miss Sanderson's knife! Why--how did you know it was hers?" he asked, gathering himself together lamely. "I ought to know, seeing as I gave it to her for a Christmas present. Sent to Denver for that knife, I did. Best lady's knife in the market, I'm told. Made in Sheffield, England." "Ye-es. It's sure a good knife. I'll ce'tainly return it next time I see her." "Funny she ever let you get away with it. She's some particular who she lends that knife to," Jim said proudly. Keller wiped the blade carefully, shut it, and put the knife back in his pocket. Nevertheless, he was worried in his mind. For what Yeager had told him changed wholly the problem before him. It suggested a possibility, even a probability, very distasteful to him. He was in trouble himself, and before he was through he expected to get others into deep water, too. But not Phyllis Sanderson--surely not this impulsive girl with the blue-black hair and dark, scornful eyes. Wherefore he decided to keep silent now and let Yeager do what he would. "I reckon, seh, you'll have to do your own guessing at the facts," he said gently. "Just as you say, Mr. Keller. I reckon if you had anything to say for yourself you would say it. Now, I'll do what talking I've got to do. You may stay here twenty-four hours. After that you may hit the trail for Bear Creek. I'm going down to Seven Mile to tell what I know." "That's all right. I'll go along and return the pocketknife." Yeager viewed him with stern disgust. "Don't make any mistake, seh. If you go down it's an even chance you'll never go back." "Sure. Life's full of chances. There's even a chance I'm not a rustler." "Then I'd advise you not to go down to Seven Mile with me. I'd hate to find out too late I'd helped hang the wrong man," Yeager dryly answered. CHAPTER V AN AIDER AND ABETTOR Having come to an understanding, Yeager and Keller wasted no time or temper in acrimony. Both of them belonged to that big outdoors West which plays the game to the limit without littleness. They were in hostile camps, but that did not prevent them from holding amiable conversation on the common topics of Cattleland. Only one of these they avoided by mutual consent. Neither of them had anything to say about rustling.