“He had old Dave hypnotized,” he went on. “I think Dave was a damn fool to give him such a swing. I may be wrong about Walters. If I am, so much the better fo’ him. But I aim to play my hunch. I mean to see that the Snell estate don’t get the worst of it, no way. I feel more than ordinary responsibility in this. Dave was my friend. I can’t leave my business here to go up into Montana every few weeks to keep tab on Buck Walters. Next best thing is to send a man I can trust.” “I’m young and ambitious,” Rock mused. “I don’t shy none from poker games; in fact, I horn into ’em deliberate because I frequently beat ’em. I’ve held down good jobs, too, in the last three years, without savin’ much of my wages. Gosh, Uncle Bill, are you sure I’m to be trusted?” The old man gazed at him affectionately. “I know yo’,” he said, “and I know yo’r breed. Will yo’ do this for me, Rock?” “Why, sure,” Rock agreed. “I don’t suppose it would be very difficult for me to get a pretty good idea of how this Buck Walters is handling the Maltese Cross.” “That’ll be good enough,” Sayre nodded. “If yo’re on the ground takin’ notice, I’ll be satisfied. Le’s see,” he stopped to reflect, “yo’ll be into Montana about September. I don’t issue no orders, son. Use your own judgment. Barrin’ a hard season, nothing much ever happens on a cow range in the winter.” “Don’t you fool yourself,” Rock said seriously. Then he stopped. Old Uncle Bill was grinning at him understandingly. “I ain’t going to prime yo’ with no false ideas, Rock,” he declared. “Yo’ just circulate around in that vicinity as it suits yo’ and let me know how she stacks up.” “Whereabouts in Montana is the Maltese Cross located?” Rock inquired. “Marias River. Their post office is Fort Benton--no’thern part of the territory. You’re bound for the Marias with the Seventy Seven. Course, she’s a long stream. The Maltese Cross is on the lower end, near where the Marias joins the upper Missouri.” “I understood the Seventy Seven was headed for the Musselshell,” Rock observed. “Maybe yo’-all understood that, son, but that herd’ll be turned loose on the Marias,” Sayre said positively. “I get that info’mation from the men that’s backin’ the Duffys. Joe Duffy is on trail with a herd in the same brand, too, from the Panhandle.” “I didn’t know. Don’t matter to me, nohow,” Rock said, “so long as I get to Montana. I’m bound North, like the bear that went over the mountain, to see what I can see. And I won’t be on the Seventy Seven pay roll after I get there. I sort of feel that in my bones.” * * * * * Sayre opened a drawer. His hand came out with a small canvas bag which clinked gently, as he laid it on the oak desk and slid it across to Rock.