And Robin had agreed; the more readily since he had a pride of his own and Sutherland had touched it deeply. He _would_ show this cattle king that a man could amount to something even if he were not of the pastoral blood royal that counted its cattle on a thousand hills. And there was Shining Mark to be coped with, one way or another before he, Robin Tyler, could ever ride at ease in the Bear Paws or lie down to sleep at night with no care in his mind. Neither task would be easy; the second held as great an element of personal danger as it did when Robin rode for Mayne. It seemed to him that as his career and outlook expanded life grew more complicated, clashes more inevitable, responsibilities greater. But he had no mind to shirk anything that loomed on his horizon. He reached his camp by Shadow Butte, slept on his plans, and flung his riders abroad at dawn. Their circle brought them near the Bar M Bar. Robin turned off all but Sam Connors and jogged with Sam down by his own cabin to have a look. He paused a second on the bank above to have a look around. Wild cattle were streaking westward before the J7 riders. The Mayne ranch lay in the creek bed, a huddle of buildings and corrals. Robin wondered, as he dropped into the flat, if Shining Mark had transferred himself to the Bar M Bar now that Sutherland had kicked him out. He and Connors rounded the cabin. Before the door a saddle horse that Robin knew stood with reins on the ground, head drooping in the bright morning sun. On the little stoop Ivy Mayne sat nursing her chin in cupped palms. She looked up as they drew rein, sprang to her feet and held out both hands. “Oh, Robin, Robin!” she cried. “I was thinkin’ about you.” Her cheeks were tear stained. The look on her face gave Robin a pang. And there was nothing he could do or say--nothing. He knew that. He sat in his saddle, silent. Sam Connors glanced at the girl, at Robin. “I’ll ride on a ways,” he said and was gone before Robin could stay him or bid him go. His own instinct was to ride on--and still--he couldn’t be brutal in the face of her distress. Ivy held out her hands again. “Get down, Robin, and talk to me--please,” she begged. “Please.” He dismounted. “I was a fool.” The words tumbled out of her hysterically. “Come back, Robin. I want you.” She flung herself at him. Robin caught her by the shoulders, held her at arm’s length, looked down at her sorrowfully. “Get hold of yourself,” he commanded. “Don’t act crazy. You don’t want me. You’d ’a’ kept me when you had me, if you’d wanted. You can’t play with a man, discard him, and pick him up again, just as you take the notion. You know that. What’s the matter with you?” She turned away from him with a stifled sob. “Oh, I know, I know,” she wailed. “I’ve lost you. I _am_ crazy. I’ve always been crazy. I ought to kill myself an’ I haven’t got the nerve. Oh Robin, Robin, I wish I was dead!”