“Better put that caballo in the stable so he can eat as well as you,” he said. “You look like you’d been ’round the Horn.”
“Mark Steele ain’t floatin’ around by any chance, is he?”
A brief glance telegraphed between the two Block S men. Robin could interpret that. They thought he was out for Steele.
“Naw,” Bud Cartwright said. “He ain’t been here but once this fall. You’d be more likely to locate him down around Cow Creek from what I hear.”
“I sure don’t hanker to locate him right now,” Robin smiled. “I’d rather locate a cup of hot coffee than anything I know.”
“Got your order,” Bud grinned. “She’s still steamin’ on the stove. There’s biscuits and a hunk of fried beef. Fly at it, Robin. We’re fed. Got to take a swing over toward Chip Creek. Make yourself at home.”
Robin stabled his mount. When he came back to the house the other two were in the saddle.
“We’ll be back somewhere between now an’ dark,” Doyle said. “Keep the fire goin’, kid.”
“I will if I stay,” Robin agreed. “I ain’t sure I will. Kinda like to get home. See how I feel after I’ve got some grub under my belt.”
“Well, the house is yours,” Bud drawled. “So long.”