They came out on the bench again less than half a mile from the plateau end. Between them and where they had crossed the canyon at least a hundred and fifty cattle showed. “Shucks, there sure would have been a bunch of stuff missed,” Tex grunted. “Let’s take a look into the bottom,” Robin said. “Let’s look at the old Missouri once more for a change.” “Go look your head off,” Matthews said good-naturedly. “I’ve seen her plenty. I near drowned in her two or three times. She’s no beautiful sight I long to see.” “All right. I’ll catch you.” Robin headed for the end of the bench on a high run. He wanted to look. He didn’t know what he expected to see. He didn’t know if there was anything to be seen. What he did lay eyes on was sufficient to make him whirl his horse back out of sight the moment his eyes peered over the high bank. Then he dismounted, crawled to the rim and lay flat on his stomach, just as he had lain and looked that afternoon on Birch Creek, a deeply interested spectator. There was a good deal of activity in that lonely bottom. Fairly in the middle of a flat three hundred yards wide and half a mile long Steele and Thatcher had bunched about a hundred head of cattle of all ages. With only two riders to hold them this herd surged first one way then another and the two horsemen kept their mounts on the jump. Yet now and then one or the other managed by a combination of speed and skill to cut off a cow and a calf and turn them toward the blind end of the flat. Robin watched for half an hour. By that time the job was done. At least thirty cows and calves had been separated from the herd. Then Steele and Thatcher headed the remnant of mixed stuff into the mouth of the wide canyon. Robin mounted and sped south to overtake Matthews, who loped along with little bunches of wild cattle streaking out ahead of him. Robin had seen enough. Back in that bottom was a lot of fine material for Steele and Thatcher to work on at their leisure when round-up was over. No riders would sweep that territory for seven months. Those cows and calves would winter in the bottom. They would not see a rider until that precious pair came down to run the T Bar S on the calves. God only knew what would befall the cows. But whatever happened to them, long before spring, cows and calves would be separated, and the fresh brand scars healed. No one would ever question that indelible mark of ownership.