“Of course you can always quit the country,” Mark said significantly, and swung his horse away in a lope. So that was it! Robin sat looking after the Block S range boss. He had thought himself cool and he found that he was shaking with anger and he knew that his face was white. Probably Shining Mark thought those were the signs of a man who was getting the fear of God put in his heart. So _that_ was the play. Put fear into him so that he would quit the Bar M Bar, quit the country. Men had shifted ranges before now to avoid trouble with a potential killer. Steele was all that. Robin didn’t doubt that Shining Mark would make his word good. He had made other men walk around him by virtue of some inner force to which weaker spirits submitted. Robin had recognized that dynamic quality long before he had dreamed of a personal clash with Mark Steele. But he did not believe that Mark had reached the stage where he considered it necessary to bushwhack him. His personal safety necessitated Robin Tyler’s mouth being stopped from mentioning cows dead of sudden death and calves stealthily branded. Robin did not believe Steele had yet reached the point where he would deliberately pick a row in public--force him to burn powder. That would be too raw. That in itself would arouse a curiosity as to what fire lay behind the smoke. Steele’s game seemed clear to Robin. It was simply to treat him like any other man in public and privately to goad him beyond all endurance until in desperation he belted on a six-shooter and started something. Whereupon in self-defense Mark would kill him in a workmanlike manner. Mark was deadly with a six-shooter. He had killed nothing but badgers, prairie dogs and the ubiquitous tin can with his belt-gun since he had been with the Block S. But he had potted whatsoever he shot at with a skill and precision which argued long practice. He was fast on the draw. He shot as a man throws a stone, with instinctive rather than measured aim. Perhaps one range rider in a hundred ever developed that perfect coördination of hand and eye with a .45 Colt. The man who had it--along with unquestioned courage--could be reasonably assured of respectful consideration from his fellows. No, Robin told himself, he would not walk into _that_ trap. CHAPTER X--A WORD AND A BLOW No man can altogether escape the dominant influences of his environment. For good or evil his thought and action must be colored by the thought and action of his fellows, as his speech will be colored by the current idioms.