rouble 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.

Together they ate and smoked and slept, and in the morning after
breakfast they saddled and set out for Seven Mile. A man might have
traveled far without seeing finer specimens of the frontier, any more
competent, self-restrained, or fitter for emergency. They rode with
straight back and loose seat, breaking long silences with occasional
drawling comment. For in the cow country strong men talk only when they
have something to say.

The stage had just left when they reached Seven Mile, and Public Opinion
was seated on the porch as per custom. It regarded Keller with a stony,
expressionless hostility. Yeager with frank disapprobation.

Just before swinging from the saddle, Jim turned to the nester. "I'm
giving you an hour, seh. After that, I'm going to speak my little piece
to the boys."

"Thank you. An hour will be plenty," Keller answered, and passed into
the store, apparently oblivious of the silent observation focused upon
him