“What I wanted to ask you,” Sutherland turned to him and spoke, “was what you’re doin’ on my range with the J7 round-up?”
“Oh, well——” Robin scarcely hesitated. This was as good an opening as he wanted. It seemed almost as if Sutherland had made it for a purpose. He couldn’t possibly know what Robin was there for, but he could not have led up to Robin’s opening gun more directly. “As a matter of fact I ambled up here partly to ask you if you had any objection to me combing your range—and partly to see if I could make a little deal in cows with you. I bought a bunch of cattle the other day. That’s what I’m doin’ this side the river; gatherin’ ’em. I wouldn’t mind sellin’ ’em to you. I only bought them on spec.”
Sutherland stared at him for a few seconds and Robin wondered if he would turn and rend him or follow the lead—if he would understand by any chance what Robin was driving at.
“I’ll buy cows any time the price is right,” he said indifferently. “You’re sort of expandin’, aren’t you? What you got to sell?”
“The T Bar S brand. There’s a lot of ’em clutterin’ up your range.”
“If I don’t buy you out,” Sutherland inquired, “what do you aim to do with ’em?”
“Oh, somebody else’ll buy,” Robin answered. “I don’t aim to go into the cow business myself. The outfit I work for don’t care to have its round-up foreman ownin’ cattle.”
“So you’ve bought the T Bar S and you want to sell it to me?” Sutherland commented thoughtfully.
Robin watched Steele closely during this exchange of talk. He saw Mark start when he named the brand, noted the flick of his eyelids. Beyond that the man gave no sign. He was cold-blooded, Robin thought.
“What’s your price?” Sutherland asked.