“You have rustled, by God—an’ you’ve done worse!” Sutherland gritted.
Shining Mark looked at him unmoved.
“That’s open to argument,” he said brazenly. “You’ve got stock detectives. You’ve got men with eyes in their heads. They’ve been around me all the time. If you think you got a case, go ahead. I’ve got a clear conscience, Sutherland. And I own that T Bar S brand. Nobody’s goin’ to sell it but me—an’ don’t you forget that, Mr. Robin Tyler.”
“I told you before you may have papers enough to choke a cow,” Robin said. “But possession is nine points of the law, I’ve heard. I’ve got the cattle. I’ll deliver ’em to the Block S. You can gamble on that.”
“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t,” Shining Mark snarled. “I’m here to tell you you won’t. I’ll tell you something more. I’ll——”
“That’s enough, Steele,” Sutherland stepped between them. “You make a break on this porch and you’ll go feet first off the ranch. You shut up an’ ride while the ridin’s good. An’ keep ridin’.”
“Oh, I’ll ride off your ranch fast enough,” Steele said with an ugly laugh. “But after that I’ll ride where I damn please. This is a free country, Sutherland. You can’t run me out of it because you don’t like me to own stock on your range.”
“I don’t care a whoop about you ownin’ stock on my range,” Sutherland growled. “But it sure don’t set well on my stomach to have a man I trusted turn out both a liar an’ a thief.”
Shining Mark laughed sardonically. He turned and clanked down the steps.
“Talk’s cheap but it takes money to buy whisky,” he flung back over his shoulder. “Say what you like. Think what you like. But don’t monkey with my cattle or you’ll burn your fingers—both of you.”