“I guess there’s others don’t like him much,” Robin agreed. “And I don’t suppose he cares. Will I put your horse in the barn, Miss Sutherland?”
“Oh, no, don’t bother. Just lay the saddle by the steps and turn him loose.”
Robin did so. May stood by until the chestnut went free.
“Well, I reckon you want to get in your little trundle bed.” Robin lifted his hat. “So, I’ll ramble.”
“Good-night,” said May softly. “Take care of yourself, Robin Tyler. Don’t let any bad horses fall on you so you won’t be able to go to dances in the Bear Paws this winter.”
“No fear,” Robin shook the extended hand and turned to his stirrup. “It won’t be bad horses that’ll keep me from dancin’. Good-night.”
In twenty minutes Robin was in his blankets, in a camp still all but deserted. Sleep came slowly. When he did fall asleep he dreamed a lot of fantastic stuff in which Mark Steele, Ivy, himself, May Sutherland, dead cows, lonely sage-grown bottoms, herds of T Bar S’s and dancing couples mixed and whirled in a disorderly fantasy. And somehow he seemed to move amid these scenes and persons with his hands tied behind his back, the sport of all the others.
CHAPTER IX
A DIFFERENT SORT OF DANCE
The first circle the Block S made the next morning covered that portion of the Range between the home ranch and Shadow Butte. Afternoon saw the outfit camped on Little Birch a gunshot above Robin’s homestead. That evening Steele assigned him to “cocktail”, range slang for the short watch on herd between supper and dusk. Then he was slated for middle guard. Even if he had desired to ride down and see Ivy, Robin had no time. He was not sure he should go. Ivy’s anger did not always evaporate like mist in the brightness of her lover’s smile. In another day or two she might be able to laugh at that tantrum. To-night the sun might still be setting on her wrath.
When they rode at dawn they passed within a hundred yards of the house. That afternoon the chuck wagon rolled down Birch to a point near Cold Spring. For four days the Block S worked in the heart of Dan Mayne’s range, without Mayne once appearing at the round-up. Usually when the outfit worked his territory the old man rode with them. Robin guessed that Mayne kept away because he couldn’t stand close contact with the man who was stealing his stock. Anyway Robin had his instructions and he knew marketable beef when he saw it. A third of the cattle in each round-up carried the Bar M Bar. Robin cut over a hundred prime beeves into the day herd for shipment.