From where he sat, Rock could see the silver of the Trinity River looping by the town. He knew the upper Trinity only by hearsay. Texas is an empire, and its cattle kings were many, not all with honor and fame beyond their own little kingdoms. He shook his head.
“Don’t matter. Dave Snell was a friend of mine. Yo’ dad knew him, too. He owned a lot of range. Ran about thirty thousand cattle. More’n a year ago he started to move all his stock to Montana. Took two herds up that season. There’s three more on trail now. Meantime Dave ups and dies. He leaves all he has to two children. A girl just come twenty-one, a boy sixteen. Said estate to be carried on as a going concern until the boy’s twenty-five. The income from this is to be paid to each annually, as he or she comes of age, and finally equally divided in the end. I’m an executor of this document. The other executor is a man named Walters— ‘Buck’ Walters. Know him by name?”
“No.”
“Thought yo’ might. Don’t matter. He was once in that Pecos country yo’ve frequented lately. I’ll get down to cases pretty soon. This Buck Walters was range boss for old Dave for quite a spell before he died. Dave thought a heap of him. I don’t.”
Uncle Bill stopped to roll a cigarette.
“No, suh, I sho’ don’t think a heap of my fellow executor,” he resumed. “Dave Snell was pretty specific in his will. He had a couple of months to think up all the details. I have a free hand with the business end, and all money is checked in and out of this bank. Buck Walters has a free hand with the cattle. The outfit’s pretty well moved into Montana. It was Buck’s notion in the first place. He says there’s no room to range the Maltese Cross on the Trinity no mo’. He says no sense havin’ ten thousand cattle in Montana and another ten thousand in Texas.”
“May be right, at that,” Rock commented.
“Maybe so, maybe so,” Sayre agreed. “But I’d a heap rather the Maltese Cross stock wasn’t on a range two thousand miles from Fort Worth, even if it is a mite better range. To cut it short, Rock, I don’t know what’s goin’ on up there, an’ I got ideas that make me uneasy. I want to know how he handles this outfit, and how he handles himself. I sent for yo’ specifically to ask if yo’-all would consider going up there and keep cases on the Maltese Cross fo’ me, Bill Sayre, personally. Will you?”
“I’d do most anything you wanted me to do, Uncle Bill,” Rock said promptly. “But I’m no detective.”