Probably Tex Matthews and Robin were abroad more than the ordinary business of the range required. They rode partly because old Mayne chafed under an uneasy sense of property rights wantonly violated--partly because they desired of their own accord to overlook nothing. In that wide sweep of plain and rolling hill and endless canyons, wherever that four-legged loot was abroad, there was always the chance of the unexpected, a chance to catch Mark Steele red-handed, to get evidence that would convict him before the law which reflected the dominant material interest of the time and territory, inasmuch as it functioned with greater speed and precision in the matter of stolen stock than it ever did in a mere question of human life. Sometimes Robin, in the kitchen helping Ivy dry the supper dishes or sitting beside her by the rough fireplace in the front room, would wonder if this ugly tangle was quietly unraveling itself--or if this were just a lull. Since the day they clashed in Big Sandy he had not laid eyes on Shining Mark. Except for remaining away from dances in the Bear Paws where Mark was likely to be, he had not deliberately avoided the man. Indeed, from Chase Hill to the mouth of Cow Creek, from Cold Spring to the Missouri he had ridden alert and watchful, eager to come on the man about his nefarious undertakings. He doubted now that he would. Mark would be well aware that he must step more softly than ever since Tex Matthews rode for Mayne. Yet Mark might be abroad with his running iron in spite of everything. About three weeks after Tex joined Robin one of the Davis boys rode into Mayne’s and stopped for a meal. “There’s a dance at the schoolhouse Saturday night,” he announced. “Saturday night?” Robin regarded him intently. “All right. We’ll be there with bells on.” They were all looking at him curiously, young Davis, Tex, Ivy, her father, even the two juveniles. Robin felt that he was under fire. “We’ll be there,” he repeated. “You tell ’em so.” “I won’t go,” Ivy broke out, after the Davis boy had ridden away. “You know what’ll happen. Mark Steele’ll be there. Please, Robin! Let’s not go.” “I’ve said I’d go,” Robin murmured. “An’ I’m sure goin’. I’m not goin’ to winter in my hole like a darned badger. I won’t start no fuss. If _he_ does----” “We’ll all go,” Tex put in. “Tommy Thatcher’s rangin’ around. Better to show ’em you ain’t afraid.” So in the end they prevailed over Ivy’s fears. And neither Mark Steele nor Tommy Thatcher attended the dance. Whether from discretion or because they had business elsewhere Robin never learned. They danced all night with hearts as light as their heels and rode home in a frosty sunrise. When Robin and Tex drew off their boots in the bunk house to sleep an hour or so Tex said: “I heard Steele an’ Thatcher been down in the Cow Creek line camp over a week. We might take a _pasear_ around that way.”