osite 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.

"Not expecting to meet Mr. Bear, he didn't have any gun along. Mr. Bear
was surely on the wah-path that day. He made a bee line for my friend to
get better acquainted. Nothing like presence of mind. That cow-puncher
got his rope coiled in three shakes of a maverick's tail, his pinto
bucking for fair to make his getaway. The rope drapped over Mr. Bear's
head just as the puncher and the hawss separated company.

"Things were doing right sudden then. My friend grabbed the end of that
rope and twisted it round and round a young live oak. Then he remembered
an appointment and lit out, Mr. B