“Oh, somebody else’ll buy,” Robin answered. “I don’t aim to go into the cow business myself. The outfit I work for don’t care to have its round-up foreman ownin’ cattle.” “So you’ve bought the T Bar S and you want to sell it to me?” Sutherland commented thoughtfully. Robin watched Steele closely during this exchange of talk. He saw Mark start when he named the brand, noted the flick of his eyelids. Beyond that the man gave no sign. He _was_ cold-blooded, Robin thought. “What’s your price?” Sutherland asked. “Eighteen dollars a head,” Robin announced. “How many head you estimate the T Bar S’ll run?” Robin could have hugged the old man for those pointed questions. If anything could galvanize Steele into word or deed that might expose his hand, that sort of thing would. Selling his own stock--no matter if they were stolen--over his head, before his own eyes. “I can’t say very close because I don’t know how many more I’ll pick up. Right now I’ve got between three and four hundred head.” Sutherland continued to stare at him hard. “I might dicker with you,” he said slowly. “Can you give me a legal transfer of the T Bar S brand?” “I don’t know why not,” Robin said. “Anyway, I can deliver the cattle.” “I’ll give you sixteen dollars.” Robin took a few seconds to consider this, in reality to watch its effect on Shining Mark. And the effect seemed to be nil--unless a slight twisting of his mouth meant anything more than a covert sneer. “Split the difference,” he suggested. “Make it seventeen.” “All right. It’s a deal at seventeen,” Sutherland agreed. “I can depend on that?” Robin inquired. Sutherland frowned. “My word’s never been doubted. What you mean?” “Nobody’s doubtin’ it now,” Robin smiled broadly. “I just wanted to be sure you wouldn’t change your mind. I’ll have the last of the T Bar S’s picked up in a few days. Where do you want me to deliver?” “Just a minute,” Shining Mark broke in crisply. “Before you consider that deal closed I’d like to ask you who you bought the T Bar S from?” “I don’t know what your interest in the matter is,” Robin answered him coolly. “But since you ask polite it’s natural I’d buy from the man that owns it, Jim Bond of Helena.” “Have you got a bill of sale, and the brand transferred to your name?” Mark asked slowly. Robin’s lip curled as he looked at Steele and made his bluff good. “I’m proceedin’ to sell the T Bar S lock, stock an’ barrel to Adam Sutherland,” he said. “You can take it I know enough about the cow business to have a clear title.”