“Sure it’s my brand. There’s no need for more than two eyes to see that.”
McLagan’s quirt again began to beat his boot-leg. Jim understood the temper lying behind that nervous movement. He felt sick.
“Wher’ d’ye keep your brands?”
“There’s one here and one up in the hills, in my little implement shack, where I run my cattle. I keep that there for convenience.”
“Just so.”
Jim was groping under the bed on which Dan was reclining. He heard the reply, but chose to ignore it.
But he knew by its tone that suspicion had been driven home in this cattleman’s mind. He drew an iron out from amongst the litter under the bed, and held it up.
“That’s the iron,” he said. “It would be well to compare it on the brands. It is identical with the iron I keep up in the hills.”
“For convenience.”