“No, suh, I sho’ don’t think a heap of my fellow executor,” he resumed. “Dave Snell was pretty specific in his will. He had a couple of months to think up all the details. I have a free hand with the business end, and all money is checked in and out of this bank. Buck Walters has a free hand with the cattle. The outfit’s pretty well moved into Montana. It was Buck’s notion in the first place. He says there’s no room to range the Maltese Cross on the Trinity no mo’. He says no sense havin’ ten thousand cattle in Montana and another ten thousand in Texas.” “May be right, at that,” Rock commented. “Maybe so, maybe so,” Sayre agreed. “But I’d a heap rather the Maltese Cross stock wasn’t on a range two thousand miles from Fort Worth, even if it is a mite better range. To cut it short, Rock, I don’t know what’s goin’ on up there, an’ I got ideas that make me uneasy. I want to know how he handles this outfit, and how he handles himself. I sent for yo’ specifically to ask if yo’-all would consider going up there and keep cases on the Maltese Cross fo’ me, Bill Sayre, personally. Will you?” “I’d do most anything you wanted me to do, Uncle Bill,” Rock said promptly. “But I’m no detective.” “Yo’ a practical cowman,” Sayre countered. “Yo’ know all the tricks of the trade. I don’t want no detective. What I want up there is a man that can size up what’s going on on a cattle range--a man that can’t be bought and is not easy fooled. I picked on yo’-all, for that reason.” “Thanks. Just what would you aim for me to do?” Rock asked. “Well, it’s easy to keep tab on what a man does with thirty thousand cattle if yo’ circulate in his vicinity,” Sayre observed. “_You_ ain’t no fool, Rock. I don’t care how yo’ manage it--whether yo’ work for another outfit or get a job with the Maltese Cross. Don’t care whether yo’ work at all; yo’ll be paid direct by me. What I want is fo’ yo’ to linger around in that territory and use yo’ eyes and ears. Yo’ll know in one season whether the outfit is going up or down, and whether Buck is shootin’ straight.” “You think maybe he isn’t?” “Buck Walters is young, ambitious, high-handed with men, and powerful fond of women,” Sayre said frowningly. “He dresses flash. He’s mighty fond of stiff poker. He’s a smart cowman, I’ll admit. But he’s been drawin’ big wages fo’ ten years and never held onto a dollar. Yo’ put a man like that in complete control of three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of live stock, with nobody to check up on him----” Sayre threw out his hands in an eloquent gesture.