Old Adam was still nursing the unlighted cigar when May and Robin came out on the porch ten minutes later, ten minutes precisely by the clock.
“Good-by,” Robin said to her. “I’m on my way.”
She put her face up to be kissed and Robin kissed her without regard to her male parent. Then she went back into the house. He stood a moment.
“You got no particular orders for me, I suppose?” he inquired.
“No. I told you to use your own judgment. It’ll be two weeks before beef round-up starts. We’ll see what breaks by then.”
Robin went jingling his spurs down the porch steps. At the bottom Sutherland halted him with a word.
“Look, kid,” he said. “You keep your eyes peeled for Mark. The minute you think you’ve got him right—you call on Tom Coats. Don’t go takin’ the law into your own hands.”
“All right.” Robin smiled to himself. “I guess I won’t do nothin’ rash.”
He had not told Sutherland that he already had one of Tom Coats’ men on hand for just such an emergency, nor that he, himself, was clothed in the majesty of such law as Chouteau county afforded. That was his own affair.
He rode away, not altogether happy, but fairly hopeful. He had truthfully repeated Sutherland’s ultimatum to May and she had counseled patience.