That was an indubitable fact. Sayre, as Rock knew, was a cattle owner as well as a banker. And Texas _was_ getting crowded. That was why the longhorns were swarming North and West to free grass and plentiful water, like droves of horned locusts. They were grazing year by year farther afield into regions dotted by the bones of the buffalo, bleaching where they but lately fell before the rifles of the hide hunters. Rock promised that he would remember the suggestion. They talked a while longer desultorily. Then a clerk asked if Mr. Sayre was busy. A man wanted to see him. Rock rose to his feet. “Sit still,” Sayre told him. To the clerk he said: “Tell him to come back in half an hour, and I’ll see him.” And when the door closed again he put both feet up on his desk, looked Rock over with an appraising eye, and said: “Fact is, young man, I sent fo’ yo’ because I want yo’-all to do something fo’ me when yo’ hit Montana. The question is, will yo’? Yo’ the man I want fo’ the job. Yo’-all will be well paid, and yo’ sho’ will be doing yo’ Uncle Bill Sayre a favor.” “Name your poison,” Rock said lightly. “What is it you’d have me do? I’m open to any kind of engagement, Uncle Bill. So long as you don’t aim to have me bushwhack some enemy for you and mail you his scalp.” Sayre grinned. Then he grew sober. “This is strictly confidential, son,” said he. “First off, do yo’ know the Maltese Cross? Dave Snell’s outfit. Used to range on the west fork of the Trinity.” * * * * * From where he sat, Rock could see the silver of the Trinity River looping by the town. He knew the upper Trinity only by hearsay. Texas is an empire, and its cattle kings were many, not all with honor and fame beyond their own little kingdoms. He shook his head. “Don’t matter. Dave Snell was a friend of mine. Yo’ dad knew him, too. He owned a lot of range. Ran about thirty thousand cattle. More’n a year ago he started to move all his stock to Montana. Took two herds up that season. There’s three more on trail now. Meantime Dave ups and dies. He leaves all he has to two children. A girl just come twenty-one, a boy sixteen. Said estate to be carried on as a going concern until the boy’s twenty-five. The income from this is to be paid to each annually, as he or she comes of age, and finally equally divided in the end. I’m an executor of this document. The other executor is a man named Walters-- ‘Buck’ Walters. Know him by name?” “No.” “Thought yo’ might. Don’t matter. He was once in that Pecos country yo’ve frequented lately. I’ll get down to cases pretty soon. This Buck Walters was range boss for old Dave for quite a spell before he died. Dave thought a heap of him. I don’t.” Uncle Bill stopped to roll a cigarette.