“Well, I’m back,” Robin announced the obvious.
Mayne shook his hand, but there was no heartiness in his grip.
“You ain’t exactly overcome with joy, are you?” Robin challenged. “What’s wrong with you—or with me?”
“Nothin’. Nothin’ a-tall,” Mayne protested. “Only—well, things is sorta different, I guess, from last fall.”
“How?” Robin’s tone was curt.
“Aw, hell,” Mayne growled. “I might as well give it to you straight. Me an’ Mark Steele has buried the hatchet. He’s bought a half interest in the Bar M Bar. We was a little wrong about them T Bar S’s. Anyway, that’s settled. So—well, you see how it is, don’t you?”
“You’ve took Mark Steele in as a partner?” Robin stared with narrowing eyes.
“Yeah. His old man died in Oklahoma an’ left him fifteen thousand cash. It come about kinda offhand. They hauled Mark up here after—after he got shot down Birch Creek, an’ we took care of him. He ain’t so bad when you know him.”
“I see,” Robin said slowly. “So because he has a bunch of money to put in with you you’ve overlooked a little thing like him stealin’ your stock. You’ve taken a cow thief for a partner!”
“That’s tall talk, young feller,” Mayne growled.