“I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts you reach the end of one inside of forty-eight hours, Mr. Rustler,” flashed back Healy.

And with an evil, significant grin he was gone.  They heard the sound of retreating hoofs die in the distance.

But his visit had told the prisoner two things.  A hurried wholesale drive of rustled cattle was being made across the line into Sonora, and it was being done in such a way as to fasten the suspicion of it upon the nester who had not appeared at the dance and had not been seen since that time.  The irony of the thing was superb in its audacity.  Healy and his friends would get the profit from the stolen cattle, and they would visit the punishment for the crime upon him.  Evidence would be cooked up of course, and the retribution would be so swift that his friends would not be able to save him.  This time his enemy would take no chances.  He would be wiped out like a troublesome insect.  The thing was diabolic in the simplicity of its cleverness.

Keller watched his jailer now like a hawk.  He was ready to take the first chance that offered, no matter how slight a one it seemed.  But the man was vigilant and wary.  He never let his hand wander a foot from the handle of the weapon he carried.

Silently Irwin cooked a second meal.  They sat down to it opposite each other, Keller facing the open window.  While his jailer plied the knife, his revolver again lay on the oilcloth within reach.

“While I’m your guest and eating at your expense, I want to be properly grateful,” the nester told his vis-a-vis.  “Some folks might kick because the me-an’-you wasn’t more varied, but I ain’t that kind.  You’re doing your best, and nobody could do more.”

“The which?” asked Irwin puzzled.

“The me-an’-you.  It’s French for just plain grub.  For breakfast we get bacon and coffee and biscuits.  For supper there’s a variety.  This time it is biscuits and coffee and bacon.  To-morrow I reckon——­”

Keller stopped halfway in his sentence, but took up his drawling comment again instantly.  Only an added sparkle in his eyes betrayed the change that had suddenly wiped out his indolence and left him tense and alert.  For while he had been speaking a head had slowly raised itself above the window casement and two eyes had looked in and met his.  They belonged to Phil Sanderson.

Never had the brain of the prisoner been more alert.  While his garrulous tongue ran aimlessly on, he considered ways and means.  The boy held up empty hands to show him that he was unarmed.  The nester did not by the flicker of an eyelash betray the presence of a third party to the man at table with him.  Nevertheless his chatter became from that moment addressed to two listeners.  To one it meant nothing in particular.  To the other it was pregnant with meaning.

“No, seh.  Some might complain because you ain’t better provided with grub and fixings, but what I say is to make out the best we can with what we’ve got,” the slow, drawling voice continued.  “Some folks cayn’t get along unless things are up to the Delmonico standard.  That’s plumb foolishness.  Reminds me of a friend of mine that happened on a grizzly onct while he was cutting trail.