“I’d grab the Steering Wheel, lock, stock and barrel,” Rock advised. “They may have stolen that herd in the South, for all we know. No, hardly. I told you the brands, didn’t I? That’s how you found out he bought ’em?”
Sayre nodded.
“There’s a heap to do,” he ruminated. “I have this whole darned thing on my shoulders now. Say, Rock, will you take hold here for me? You can name your own figure to run the Maltese Cross till this estate is cleaned up? Will you?”
Rock sat thoughtful for some seconds.
“I’ll tell you ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to-morrow, Uncle Bill,” he said. “Right now, I don’t know——”
He relapsed into frowning silence. After a time he said:
“I wonder if there’s a buggy around this ranch? I am too darned stiff and sore to fork a horse, and I want to go up to the Parke ranch.”
“There sure is,” Uncle Bill replied. “I drove one out from Benton. Say, Alice is up there, one of the men told me. How’d it be if I come along an’ drive you? I want to see that young woman.”
“Fine,” Rock agreed. “Kill two birds with one stone. Alice’ll be wanting to pin medals on us, I expect. She was death against Buck Walters. I don’t blame her much, seeing he killed off a boy she’d set her heart on.”
“Yes, I heard about him soon after I got here,” Uncle Bill observed. “They say he was a twin for you.”