“You _are_ a damn fool,” Robin said angrily. “Ivy’s a blamed sight abler to stand off Mark Steele than you are. I’m a darned sight more interested in who she talks to than you are, an’ I sure wouldn’t jump any man for settin’ talkin’ to her in a hotel parlor. Darn it, he comes to the ranch, and you make him welcome.” “No more,” Mayne asserted with drunken emphasis. “’F he ever jingles his spurs on my porch again I’ll ventilate him.” After a minute he said thickly: “I found them dead cows below Cold Spring. I rode a week steady before I located the calves. I found ’em fresh marked. I can’t prove nothin’. But I found ’em.” “S-sh,” Robin warned. “Not so loud. What brand’s on the calves?” “T Bar S.” “Huh! I’ve seen a few around.” Robin wrinkled his brows. “Little bunch was thrown in on the Block S range a year ago. Supposed to belong to some Helena man.” “Yeah,” Mayne snorted. “I looked into that, too. Helena hell! The T Bar S is registered in Jim Bond’s name. I’ve known him a long time. He keeps a two-by-four saloon in Helena. Never owned a cow in his life. Them T Bar S’s was throwed in here last year, a hundred and fifty head mixed stock. I bet you Mark Steele put up the money. But I can’t prove it. I can’t prove nothin’--yet.” “Well, if you can’t prove nothing, you can’t, that’s all,” Robin said. “You just got to lay low, and see which way the cat hops.” “I’m goin’ to ask old Adam to-morrow if _he’s_ got any idea what’s goin’ on around here,” Mayne growled. “An’ I’m goin’ to ride an’ watch. Ride an’ watch,” he repeated darkly. “Ride an’ watch!” CHAPTER V--WATCHFUL WAITING Robin rode to camp alone. The Block S riders were all gathered in the Silver Dollar when he came back to where his night horse stood with the others in a row by the hitching rack. Through the windows he could see that a poker game had started. Tex Matthews was playing. Robin didn’t want to drink. With his mind fully occupied he somehow didn’t care to talk. He was aware of a faint reluctance to facing Mark Steele while Mark was in that hair-trigger mood--a trouble-breeding temper, certainly quickened by a few drinks, that might or might not have been generated by something Mayne had said in his cups. Steele was not rated a quarrelsome man. He could be arbitrary, high-handed, and he had never been known to give way an inch for any one. Even his ordinary genial manner could easily take on an edge. He had no known notches on his gun handle. But whatever obscure inner force it is, that makes some men positive, and others negative, in their human contracts, it resided in Mark Steele, and exacted a certain deference among men who were lightning-quick to resent any form of aggression.