So they continued to ride. The school term ended. The two Mayne children came home from the Davis ranch. Robin kept pretty well out of the Bear Paws. He did not go to dances. It irked him a little to know what construction people would place on that. But he had no intention of putting his head in the lion’s mouth until he felt he had a chance to blunt the lion’s teeth. And Ivy didn’t seem to miss dancing--at least, not much. November brought frost, hard, steel-bright nights, days when the ground rang under shod hoofs like an anvil. There were flurries of snow but no great storm, only a tightening of the cold grip of winter. When the first snow whitened the range Robin and old Mayne were in a river bottom forty miles from the Bar M Bar with a pack outfit. Here they picked up a few head of Mayne stock. They drove them out of that bottom into another. In this second flat they rounded up a hundred head of wild cattle, getting a stand on the bunch against a steep earth wall. There was a sprinkling of unbranded Block S calves, fat sleek beasts still being suckled by their mothers. This was not the first time they had spotted unbranded Sutherland calves in out-of-the-way places. “He ain’t playin’ no favorites, is he?” Mayne grunted. “Before spring every one uh these’ll be packin’ a T Bar S. I wonder if Adam Sutherland is asleep?” The little herd stood quiet. Robin pointed silently, twice. Each time his finger marked something they had not yet encountered--a T Bar S cow with a big unbranded calf. This was a bunch the round-up had missed altogether. Old Mayne spotted the calves Robin indicated. He sat sidewise in his saddle, staring, scowling. Then he jerked the Winchester out from under his stirrup-leather and fired twice. The first T Bar S cow dropped like a stone. The second ran fifty yards and collapsed. Mayne thrust the rifle back into place, grinning wolfishly. The bunch scattered in a panic. He began to undo his rope. “You get your twine on that other calf,” said he. Robin rode up beside him. “Do you know what you’re doin’, darn you?” he demanded hotly. “’Course I know. I’m gittin’ back some of my own, by thunder,” the old man swore. “You git that calf.” “No,” Robin said. “I’m no thief. If you’re goin’ to get down to Mark Steele’s level, I quit you right here and now.” “Hell’s fire!” Mayne lifted both hands and cried aloud. “Ain’t he stole hundreds from me? Ain’t I a right to get even?” “Not this way,” Robin persisted stubbornly. “I’ll back you in any legitimate play as far as you want to go. But not in this. You’ve killed those cows and that can’t be helped now. But if you mark those calves, I tell you I’m through with anything that has to do with the Bar M Bar.” “You’re through anyhow,” Mayne raved in fury. “Mark’s got you buffaloed. He’ll nail your hide to his barn door. You’re just plumb scared, that’s all. I’ve done this before to T Bar S’s, and by the Lord, I’ll go on doin’ it!”