Robin was satisfied up to a certain point. He had an idea how they worked. He knew who they were. No doubt of that remained. He was pretty sure that although there might be Bar M Bars in that throwback, there must be other brands, that in every place where this pair of thieves took the outside circle there would be cows and calves thrown back to be worked on later. Robin felt sure they played no favorites. He wondered what Adam Sutherland would say if he knew. He did not have to wonder how Dan Mayne would take it. Robin wished he had prevailed on Tex to ride with him to that jump-off. He had only his own word, as yet, in spite of what he had seen. So he couldn’t talk, even to Tex Matthews, whom he liked and felt he could trust. He could only relate this tale of wonders beheld to Dan Mayne, whom he couldn’t trust to keep still. Still, Robin was sanguine that in time, in not too great a span of time, Steele and Thatcher, with a little secret assistance from himself, would tangle themselves in their own ropes. The stock inspectors would get them, if a necktie party from the Bear Paws didn’t get them first. He rode fast. He wanted to be well ahead of those two driving the canyon. He took the opposite side of the bench from Tex and stirred the running cattle to even greater speed. Matthews spurred up to join him. “Hey, what’s the rush?” he inquired. “What for the Blocker graze? Sutherland wouldn’t thank you for meltin’ the tallow off’n his steers’ ribs thataway.” Robin let that go by. It struck him that he had better stop Tex from casual talking. “Say, Tex,” he put it bluntly. “Don’t you let out I rode down where I could look into the river bottom, will you?” Matthews stared at him for a second. Robin matched his gaze without change of expression. The Texan suddenly shrugged his shoulders. “I’m deef, dumb an’ blind,” said he. “What’d we do? Cross the canyon, see a few head behind us, a little back, an’ get ’em?” “Yes, if anybody asks,” Robin agreed. “Guess maybe we _had_ better run a little fat off these steers,” Tex drawled, “else we sure will have Mark inquirin’ where in hell we were at. An’ you don’t want him gettin’ curious? Eh?” “You’re gettin’ curious?” The Texan shook his head. “I been on many a cow range since I quit the Rio Grande,” said he. “An’ on some of ’em I learned not to be curious. It’s a wise cow-hand that knows enough to keep his mouth shut. The flies don’t get in.” “Blow flies,” Robin muttered. Tex laughed. “You’re a bright kid,” he said teasingly. “Let’s push these cows on an’ talk about the weather.”