But he didn’t get it. Tex Matthews and half a dozen other hands, divining his intention, grabbed him. They could hold him, but they could not stop his mouth. He ceased struggling to be free, twisted himself to face Steele who stood erect now, ready for anything, cool, alert, almost debonair, smiling slightly. Things were coming Steele’s way now.
“You dirty dog!” Robin said to him. “You’ve been tryin’ to work me up to something, and you’ve done it. You and your twin on the floor! You want to choke me off because I know too much. You two-faced cow thief! You would-be killer that sicks another man onto somebody else. Why don’t you come out in the open and do your own dirty work?”
“You’re crazy, kid,” Mark said mockingly. “You sure got a powerful temper. You’re plumb reckless with words.”
“Not as reckless as you are with other men’s stock.”
“Well,” Shining Mark shrugged his shoulders, “if other men aren’t men enough to look after their stock—as you call it—I don’t see where I’m to blame because your girl asks me to ride home with her.”
He shrugged his shoulders again, contemptuously.
“Oh, oh!” Robin choked on his words. “By God, Steele, I’ll kill you for that.”
“Lord, it’s a windy day.” Shining Mark settled his hat on the back of his dark head. His tone was nonchalance itself. “Now you’ve made your little war-talk, suppose you get the boys to turn you loose so you can make it good. When you’re ready. Go heel yourself if that’s how you feel. You can always find me.”
“Turn me loose,” Robin commanded. “I’m through talkin’.”
They let him go and stood clear. All but Matthews. Tex stood beside Robin. He kept his hand lightly on Robin’s arm.