Thus Robin as he looked to the homeward side of the big river. In all the jumbled area behind him no man rode in the dead of winter. The Judith Basin cow outfits had their home ranches far south in a creek and meadow country. The cattle that ranged where he had been would see no riders before the spring round-up. The PN on the Judith a few miles above was the only habitation within a hard day’s ride of where he stood--south of the river. Robin was tempted to ride to the PN to eat warm food, to sleep in a bed once more. But there was also the urge for home. Directly across from him a little way up Birch the Block S had a line camp. Two riders held it down, as much to keep the men occupied as for aught they could do for the Sutherland interest in winter. Robin knew both riders stationed there. He could lie over an hour, get something to eat, reach home by dark. He had not eaten in twenty hours. His mouth watered at the mere thought of hot coffee. The chance of Shining Mark turning up there was remote. Robin knew why Mark and Thatcher kept to the lower end of the Block S range. In any case, as he rode up Birch Creek, he must pass this camp. And he would never again step aside an inch for Mark Steele or any other man. Something of the hardness of the winter frosts seemed to be creeping into Robin’s soul. An hour later he rode through sagebrush that reached to his knees and came to a cabin and a stable in one corner of a small pasture fenced with poles. Smoke wavered from a pipe. Two saddled horses stood before the door. A head thrust out as Robin drew rein. “Hello, cowboy,” Ed Doyle greeted. “You lost, or just goin’ some place?” “Neither,” Robin returned. “Been some place, that’s all.” “Well, get down an’ rest your saddle,” Doyle invited. Robin got stiffly down. Doyle’s red-headed companion took a shrewd look at Robin and his mount. “Better put that _caballo_ in the stable so he can eat as well as you,” he said. “You look like you’d been ’round the Horn.” “Mark Steele ain’t floatin’ around by any chance, is he?” A brief glance telegraphed between the two Block S men. Robin could interpret that. They thought he was out for Steele. “Naw,” Bud Cartwright said. “He ain’t been here but once this fall. You’d be more likely to locate him down around Cow Creek from what I hear.” “I sure don’t hanker to locate him right now,” Robin smiled. “I’d rather locate a cup of hot coffee than anything I know.” “Got your order,” Bud grinned. “She’s still steamin’ on the stove. There’s biscuits and a hunk of fried beef. Fly at it, Robin. We’re fed. Got to take a swing over toward Chip Creek. Make yourself at home.” Robin stabled his mount. When he came back to the house the other two were in the saddle. “We’ll be back somewhere between now an’ dark,” Doyle said. “Keep the fire goin’, kid.” “I will if I stay,” Robin agreed. “I ain’t sure I will. Kinda like to get home. See how I feel after I’ve got some grub under my belt.”