Bud's dissimulation was never great. Nan watched the play of his expression. There was no smile. As the silent moments passed his brow became heavier. The furrow deepened between his eyes, and once there came that rather helpless raising of his hand to his forehead. Then, too, she observed the compression of his lips, and the occasional dilation of his nostrils. Each observation carried conviction, and the weight upon her heart grew almost insupportable.
Finally he laid the letter down and went on with his meal. But he did not even glance at the wrappered newspaper.
In self-defense Nan was forced to break the silence. If it had remained she felt she must scream. Instead she smiled over at him, and indicated the newspaper.
"The Calthorpe Times, isn't it?" she said without a tremor.
"Can't say."
The harsh tone was intended to convey indifference.
"Won't you open it?" she asked. "Maybe Jeff's marked a piece."
Then Bud gave a display such as Nan had never witnessed in him before.
"Say, ain't we never to get food a feller ken eat?" he cried. "That nigger slut needs firin' right away. Guess she couldn't cook a dry hash on a round-up. I'm quittin'. This stew 'ud choke a she-wolf."
His eyes were hot. He thrust his plate away from him and pushed back his chair. But Nan's calmness defeated his almost childlike subterfuge.