“I know within a dozen head how many unbranded calves are scattered around here,” Nona said finally. “We had an open winter. We should have at least seventy or eighty more calves than last year. Yet the tally is less.” “The range is covered to the last fringe,” Charlie stated. “They’ll make a few more rides, but they won’t show much. I don’t savvy it either, Nona, but that’s the count.” “How did the Cross come out on their calf crop?” she inquired. “Nobody knows but Buck. I wouldn’t ask him.” The girl stared at the porch floor for a second, frowning. “I don’t understand it,” she said. “There ought to be more calves than that.” Charlie didn’t comment. After a minute she got up and went inside. Shaw looked at Rock smoking in silence. “Say, old-timer,” he remarked abruptly, but in a discreet undertone, “there’s some whisperin’ about you in the Maltese Cross outfit.” “Yes?” Rock became alert. “What do they whisper? And who’s whispering?” “I don’t know who started it,” Charlie said. “I heard it the first day you rode in with me and Alice Snell and Joe Bishop. I don’t like to repeat gabble, but seems to me you’d ought know.” “Shoot!” Rock smiled. “It’s just a whisper,” Charlie mumbled seriously. “Nobody said a word to me direct. I just overheard here and there. They say you’re rustlin’.” “_Me_--rustling?” Rock perked up in astonishment. For the moment he forgot his assumed identity. The idea was so utterly ludicrous. He laughed. Recollection sobered him. This must be more Martin history. “Ye’ah. Got you hooked up with them Burris boys over behind the Goosebill,” Charlie murmured. “Talkin’ about rawhide neckties. Some of them Texicans in Buck’s crew are bad hombres, Doc.” Rock knitted his brows. He hadn’t heard before of the Burris boys. The Goosebill he had seen only as an oddshaped hill standing blue on the southwestern sky line, halfway between the Marias and Fort Benton. “Well, you reckon I’ve been draggin’ the long rope in my spare time and should be a candidate for their kind attentions?” he asked. Shaw snorted. “I might ’a’ known you’d make a joke of it,” he complained. “I wonder who wants to get me so bad as that?” Rock said under his breath. “Buck Walters, of course,” Charlie returned promptly. “Who else? Just like his damn left-hand ways. Didn’t you never figure he’d shoot at you over somebody else’s shoulder? As a matter of fact, I’m satisfied Buck aims to get you.” “Why?” “Say, you know why well enough,” Charlie blurted irritably. “You been flirtin’ with the undertaker all spring. You ain’t a fool.” “You mean Alice Snell?” Rock hazarded a guess.