“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” she whispered. Then she flung herself at Robin, clung to him. She buried her face in his shoulder, shaking with sobs. “Oh, it’s awful, Robin,” she cried. “I can’t bear it. It’s awful!” “Can’t bear what?” Robin asked. He had no key to her mood. He couldn’t tell whether her grief was for him or Mark or for herself, or whether this tragedy in which she was involved simply oppressed her beyond endurance. But her grief racked him. He knew no way to comfort her. He could not stay to comfort her. For a moment he thought of explaining that this trouble had arisen simply because Mark Steele was a thief trying to cover his trail. But it was a little late for explanation which did not alter facts. They had never told Ivy the real truth. And Mark was dead. It didn’t matter now. She withdrew from his arms and began nervously to gather up dishes. Robin watched her for a minute. Some sort of impalpable barrier was between them. Nothing he could say or do would make it any different. “Well, I got to get organized,” he said and rose. Ivy looked at him once, went on with her work. Old Mayne appeared in the doorway. “What you aim to do?” he inquired uneasily. “Stand pat, or light out?” “What you think yourself?” Robin asked. It was an idle question. He knew what he would do. He was only curious to know what Mayne really wanted him to do. “If it was anybody but Sutherland you might come clear,” Mayne grumbled. “With the Block S pullin’ the strings you’ll get manslaughter sure as blazes.” “Suppose I stand trial and get a year, or two, or ten?” Robin went on. “Where’ll I be at with you two when I come out?” Mayne glanced at his daughter, wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. The girl stood silent. Robin looked from one to the other. A faint sardonic smile fluttered about his lips. “You got a home here anytime you come back,” Mayne said. “You know that.” There was no warmth in the assurance. Robin felt that when he had ridden out into the night something like relief would be the most definite sensation in the agitated breasts of these two. “Well, you don’t need to worry,” he said at last. “I’m not goin’ to stand arrest. I don’t know as any Tyler ever did, come to think of it. Chances are if they send a deputy sheriff after me he’ll ride careful, prayin’ to God he don’t come on me. There’s a lot of territory between here an’ Texas where a man can make a fresh start.” He walked out without waiting for an answer. Mayne followed with a lantern. Robin saddled Red Mike, led him out and dropped the reins at the bunk house door. There were a few odds and ends he wanted, clothes he would need. In twenty minutes he was ready, rifle slung under his stirrup leather, a hundred rounds of ammunition belted on, his clothes in a war bag across his saddle. He turned with his hand on the stirrup and walked back to the house. He couldn’t leave Ivy like that. He was sick inside, but he couldn’t go without a word.