“And is it to make tunes for other folks to play?” Bob Birnie asked after a silence, covertly eyeing him. “No, sir. There's more money in cattle. I'll make my stake in the cow-country, same as you've done.” He looked up and grinned a little. “To the devil with your money and your she-stock! I'll get out all right--but I'll make my own way.” “You're a stubborn fool, Robert. The Scotch now and then shows itself like that in a man. I got my start from my father and I'm not ashamed of it. A thousand pounds--and I brought it to America and to Texas, and got cattle.” Bud laughed and got up, hiding how the talk had struck deep into the soul of him. “Then I'll go you one better, dad. I'll get my own start.” “You'll be back home in six months, lad, saying you've changed your mind,” Bob Birnie predicted sharply, stung by the tone of young Bud. “That,” he added grimly, “or for a full belly and a clean bed to crawl into.” Bud stood licking the cigarette he had rolled to hide an unaccountable trembling of his fingers. “When I come back I'll be in a position to buy you out! I'll borrow Skate and Maverick, if you don't mind, till I get located somewhere.” He paused while he lighted the cigarette. “It's the custom,” He reminded his father unnecessarily, “to furnish a man a horse to ride and one to pack his bed, when he's fired.” “Ye've horses of yer own,” Bob Birnie retorted, “and you've no need to borrow.” Bud stood looking down at his father, plainly undecided. “I don't know whether they're mine or not,” he said after a minute. “I don't know what it cost you to raise me. Figure it up, if you haven't already, and count the time I've worked for you. Since you've put me on a business basis, like raising a calf to shipping age, let's be businesslike about it. You are good at figuring your profits--I'll leave it to you. And if you find I've anything coming to me besides my riding outfit and the clothes I've got, all right; I'll take horses for the balance.” He walked off with the swing to his shoulders that had always betrayed him when he was angry, and Bob Birnie gathered his beard into a handful and held it while he stared after him. It had been no part of his plan to set his son adrift on the range without a dollar, but since Bud's temper was up, it might be a good thing to let him go.