He went to bed at midnight and lay for a few minutes in the dark room staring at the dim walls, smiling to himself. He did not care what came next. Shining Mark was still to be reckoned with. He still had his own word to make good. But that would be man to man, if at all. In Robin’s mind the T Bar S and theft still remained a problem to be solved if he desired to remain in the Bear Paws. But the outcome of any personal clash with Mark Steele was something Robin could now accept with composure. Somehow, in his mind, Shining Mark had shrunk to normal proportions. Or perhaps he himself had grown. He couldn’t say. But he knew how he felt. Robin ate breakfast in the morning, took horse and rode south, rode with a heart as light as the little clouds drifting around Shadow Butte. The Butte itself lifted its cone summit high above him. He rode past it on ground softened by spring rains, warmed by a spring sun, green with new grass and speckled with flowers. The creeks ran clear and strong. The Bear Paws nursed snowcaps on the highest peaks, white pyramids on a base of dusky pine. Crows sailed cawing around him. Meadow larks swung on sagebrush trilling their mating song. Robin lifted his lusty young voice in a ribald version of The Spanish Cavalier, a careless horseman chanting as he rode. He pulled up a minute on the ridge where he had watched the sunset with May Sutherland, and the singing mood passed. It was all different now. His face turned toward the Bar M Bar. He rode on soberly wondering what his welcome would be like. He stopped once more to gaze at the closed door of his own cabin, but he did not dismount. The new grass was springing thick in the bluejoint meadow. He smiled. He might have a use for that place yet. Ten minutes later he rode into Mayne’s. Old Dan himself stood in the stable door. He stared at Robin, speechless. “Well, I’m back,” Robin announced the obvious. Mayne shook his hand, but there was no heartiness in his grip. “You ain’t exactly overcome with joy, are you?” Robin challenged. “What’s wrong with you--or with me?” “Nothin’. Nothin’ a-tall,” Mayne protested. “Only--well, things is sorta different, I guess, from last fall.” “How?” Robin’s tone was curt. “Aw, hell,” Mayne growled. “I might as well give it to you straight. Me an’ Mark Steele has buried the hatchet. He’s bought a half interest in the Bar M Bar. We was a little wrong about them T Bar S’s. Anyway, that’s settled. So--well, you see how it is, don’t you?” “You’ve took Mark Steele in as a partner?” Robin stared with narrowing eyes. “Yeah. His old man died in Oklahoma an’ left him fifteen thousand cash. It come about kinda offhand. They hauled Mark up here after--after he got shot down Birch Creek, an’ we took care of him. He ain’t so bad when you know him.” “I see,” Robin said slowly. “So because he has a bunch of money to put in with you you’ve overlooked a little thing like him stealin’ your stock. You’ve taken a cow thief for a partner!”