“Seems like I’m gettin’ a heap of advice, one way and another, this afternoon,” Robin observed dryly.
“Mine won’t do you no harm,” Sutherland rumbled. “You’re young and by all accounts you sure got a temper. I don’t criticize you for that. I was that way myself once. But it ain’t healthy, no more. Now about this trouble between you and Mark Steele—forget it. There’s no sense in you two shootin’ each other up. You said a lot of nasty things down in Monty’s place. You made a bad break when you promised to kill Mark. You won’t want to, once you’ve slept on that. Nobody’s goin’ to question your nerve. I knew your father by reputation, and your folks in the South. Blood counts in men same as it does in stock. You don’t have to feel you got to shoot it out. Mark’ll drop it if you will.”
“Has he said so?” Robin asked.
“No,” Sutherland admitted. “But I know he will.”
“I make no promises,” Robin said slowly. “It wouldn’t be no use. I don’t think you know your range boss as well as you think you do. He couldn’t pass me up if he wanted to.”
“You mean you wouldn’t let him?” Sutherland interpreted.
“You can ask him what I mean. Maybe he’ll tell you. Maybe he won’t.”
“Why in hell don’t you say what you mean, out loud?” Sutherland demanded.
“Seems to me I said what I mean right out loud and plain to the party concerned this afternoon,” Robin answered. “I’m not swallowin’ anything just so your range boss won’t have to be mixed up in a fuss.”
“He’ll kill you sure, if you stack up against him,” Sutherland grumbled. “I don’t like the way you talk, Tyler. I’d hate to see a kid like you get his light put out by one of my men. But, darn it, you can’t call a man like Mark Steele a cow thief just because you’re sore at him over a girl. That ain’t reasonable, now is it? Mark hasn’t put on his war-paint. You’re the one that’s lookin’ for trouble.”