“You’ll have to jump out, I guess,” said he. “Sutherland’ll get you buried for life if you stand trial, no matter how good a defence you got. How’d the play come up?”
Robin told him briefly. The old man listened, shaking his head.
“You ain’t got a chance in the world, unless you could prove Mark was actually stealin’,” he gave his opinion. “Thatcher’ll swear black is white an’ white’s no color at all. Gosh, Robin, I wish you hadn’t got Steele.”
“If I’d ’a’ known you’d back water in a pinch maybe I wouldn’t,” Robin said slowly. “He didn’t steal my calves. I could ’a’ let it slide. I could ’a’ told Shinin’ Mark I was deaf, dumb, an’ blind about what went on on this range, and he would have left me alone. You’re a poor stick, Mayne.”
“I ain’t either. I’m as game as the next,” Mayne retorted. “But I can go broke on lawyers an’ witnesses a whole lot quicker than Adam Sutherland, an’ get put outa business besides. It’s all right for you wild kids to rip an’ tear regardless. It’s took me thirty years to collect a thousand head of cattle an’ a home.”
He strode up and down the bare floor mumbling to himself. Robin sat thinking. He would have to go on the dodge. If he stood pat he would be under arrest within forty-eight hours. Mayne was frightened. He could see that. The old man wanted only to wash his hands of the whole business.
Ivy came to the door and beckoned. Robin sitting with downcast eyes did not notice. She came in, looked from one to the other.
“What’s wrong now?” she demanded. “Somethin’ is.”
“This crazy kid has gone an’ killed Mark Steele,” Mayne flared up. “We’re tryin’ to figure what he’d better do.”
“I’ll do my own figurin’,” Robin said tartly. He had already made up his mind. “I’m goin’ to eat an’ ride. You can rest easy. I won’t mix you up in no big trial.”