“How?” Robin inquired.
“Well,” Sutherland drawled. “You can go to work for the Block S for one thing. You said nobody loved you and you were out of a job. I’ll give you a job.”
“I couldn’t work for the Block S, as things stand,” Robin said impatiently. “You know that.”
“Don’t see why. You’re a cow-puncher. I can use you.”
“See here,” Robin told him bluntly. “I’ve ideas of my own. The only way I’d ever work for the Block S would be to run it.”
“All right,” Sutherland said abruptly. “I’ll give you a whirl at being a range boss. Mark Steele has quit me. Think you can fill his boots? It’ll take a man.”
“I fill my own boots,” Robin answered slowly. “That’s good enough.”
A slow smile spread over Sutherland’s broad face.
“You’ll be the youngest wagon boss in Montana, I reckon,” he drawled.
Robin didn’t answer. But his heart leaped within him. To attain the seat of the mighty at a single bound! It seemed incredible. He had made a reckless statement bear rich fruit. When he told Sutherland that the only way he would work for the Block S would be to run it he had been sincere enough; but that was only an oblique way of stating that he didn’t want to be a Block S rider as matters stood. This was a horse of a different color. When it came to that he was a cowman. Responsibility had no terrors for him. If he could handle men? Well, why not? Power is a sweet morsel for any man to set his teeth in. Robin had confidence without vain conceit. He knew himself equal to the job.