"Oh, no; you couldn't be vain if you tried. None of the Bransfords were ever vain--or conceited. But they all have had good appetites," she told him, shaking a finger at him. "And if you don't eat heartily I shall believe your long absence from home has taken some of the Bransford out of you!" She pulled a chair out for aim, and took another at the table opposite him. Sanderson ate; there was no way out of it, though he felt awkward and uncomfortable. He kept wondering what she would say to him if she knew the truth. It seemed to him that had the girl looked closely at him she might have seen the guilt in his eyes. But apparently she was not thinking of doubting him--it was that knowledge which made Sanderson realize how contemptible was the part he was playing. She had accepted him on trust, without question, with the implicit and matter-of-fact faith of a child. He listened in silence while she told him many things about the Bransfords--incidents that had occurred during his supposed absence, intimate little happenings that he had no right to hear. And he sat, silently eating, unable to interrupt, feeling more guilty and despicable all the time. But he broke in after a time, gruffly: "What's the trouble between Dale and the Nylands?" Instantly she stiffened. "I forgot to tell you about that. Ben Nyland is a nester. He has a quarter-section of land on the northwestern edge of the basin. But he hasn't proved on it. The land adjoins Dale's. Dale wants it--he has always wanted it. And he means to have it. He also wants Peggy Nyland. "Dale is a beast! You heard Peggy tell how he has hounded her. It is true; she has told me about it more than once. Dale hasn't told, of course; but it is my opinion that Dale put the Double A cattle into Ben's corral so that he could hang Ben. With Ben out of the way he could take the Nyland property--and Peggy, too." "Why did he use Double A cattle?" Mary paled. "Don't you see the hideous humor of that? He knows Peggy Nyland and I are friends. Dale is ruthless and subtle. Can't you understand how a man of that type would enjoy seeing me send my friend's brother to his death--and the brother innocent?" "Why didn't you tell Dale the cattle did not belong to you?" Mary smiled faintly. "I couldn't. To do so would have involved Ben Nyland in more trouble. Dale would have got one of his friends to claim them. And then I could have done nothing--having disclaimed the ownership of the stock. And I--I couldn't lie. And, besides, I kept hoping that something would happen. I had a premonition that something _would_ happen. And something did happen--you came!" "Yes," said Sanderson inanely, "I came." He drew a large red handkerchief from a pocket and mopped some huge beads of sweat from his face and forehead. When the handkerchief came out a sheet of paper, folded and crumpled, fluttered toward the floor, describing an eccentric circle and landing within a foot of Mary's feet.