“Uh-huh. Borrowed some men an’ horses from old Al, and came over here on a—— Oh, well, call it a prospecting tour.”
“I kinda suspected as soon as I seen your phiz,” Charlie murmured. “You’ll be goin’ up around the Sweet Grass for a spell, eh? You full-handed?”
Rock laughed.
“Do you crave excitement that much?” he bantered. “Don’t you reckon Nona needs you worse than I do?”
“Not for a few days. I might be darned useful to you, if you’re lookin’ for corrals in out-of-the-way places.”
“Oh, no!” Rock said. “A few days back you sung a different tune. You’re remembering things you’d forgotten. You do know something, then?”
The boy shook his head. He got down off his horse. Rock followed. There was a clear space of dusty clay by Charlie’s feet. He squatted on his spurred heels.
“Not the way you think,” he said in an undertone. His boyish face grew sober and intent. A trace of excitement warmed his eyes. “What you said that last night started me thinkin’. I got uneasy. I never did have much likin’ for Buck Walters. Too darned smooth and high-handed—too arbitrary. I got to thinkin’ that if anybody was puttin’ over somethin’ in the rustlin’ line, why should they overlook the TL? A little outfit is always safe to pick. So I organized myself the next day and whooped it up for the Sweet Grass. An’ I found that set of corrals with the brandin’ chute that Doc mentioned. I didn’t know where they were, but I worked on round-up all around the Sweet Grass last summer an’ this spring. I knew where not to look for such a thing.”
“And you found them? Did you find out anything else?” Rock questioned eagerly.