Robin noted a T Bar S here and there. Some of the riders knew a Helena man owned that brand. None of them cared about the question of ownership. They were not owners. There were other brands on the range with absentee owners. Somehow, because a generous honesty was the accepted range standard the calves of such got branded with the mark their mothers bore, and the steers got shipped to market. If no special arrangement was made for looking after such cattle the big outfits looked after them anyhow. It kept the range in order. Unbranded stock at large was a temptation to men anxious to build up a big herd off a shoestring foundation. If a rustler could get away with stuff from a little owner he soon extended his operations to the big outfit. To the big cattleman a cow thief was an affront to his jealous sense of property rights--to the man with only a few head the same thief was a poisonous sneak who took the bread out of his mouth while he slept. Robin went about with his keen eyes wide open. He saw nothing suspicious nor did he expect to see such except by chance. For that chance he was always alert. And within a week, when the Block S worked certain ridges east of Birch Creek chance came his way. He had noted one thing. Invariably when Mark Steele led his riders on circle and scattered them by twos and threes to make a sweeping drive back toward the wagon, he kept Tommy Thatcher with him. That might have been accident or inclination. Every man has his preferences. If Mark preferred Thatcher’s company there was no one to gainsay his choice. For whatever reason, Thatcher and Steele were Siamese twins when it came to riding the outside. The odd fancy that the T Bar S spelled Thatcher & Steele took hold of Robin’s mind. He knew better. The T Bar S was an old brand. It had changed hands many a time. Still the idea lingered with Robin. On a certain afternoon the riders finished working a gathered herd. Every outfit, on its home range, took the first cut. When they had finished with the round-up the “reps” could ride in to see if anything of theirs had been overlooked. Steele waved to Robin. “Look ’em over,” he invited. “I cut a couple of your cows with unbranded calves.”