If they had never heard of the Tomahawk outfit it would do no good to name it.

If they had heard of it, they would wonder why the son of so rich a cowman as Bob Birnie should be hiring out as a common cowpuncher so far from home.

He had studied the matter on his way north, and had decided to let people form their own conclusions.

If he could not make good without the name of Bob Birnie behind him, the sooner he found it out the better.
He untied the steer, drove it back into the herd and rode over to where the high-nosed man was helping hold the "Cut." "Can you read brands?
We're cuttin' out AJ and AJBar stuff; left ear-crop on the AJ, and undercut on the AJBar." Bud nodded and eased into the herd, spied an AJ two-year-old and urged it toward the outer edge, smiling to himself when he saw how Stopper kept his nose close to the animal's rump.

Once in the milling fringe of the herd, Stopper nipped it into the open, rushed it to the cut herd, wheeled and went back of his own accord.