"Why didn't you tell?"

Yeager brought his big fist down heavily on the table. "Because of Phyl
Sanderson. That's why. She put it up to me, and I played her game. But I
ain't sure I'm going to keep on playing it. I'm a Malpais man. My father
has a ranch down there, and I've rode the range all my life. Why should
I throw down my friends to save a rustler caught in the act?"

"You've already tried and convicted me, I see."

"The facts convict you, seh."

"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.