He did not hesitate, at least not to any perceptible degree. His advance was slow, as if in doubt that the land agent really had summoned him. On the way he studied this new and unexpected problem. Even as untrained in femininity as was he, certain deductions were possible.
Her dress, he was inclined to believe, wasn't really a dress at all, but a skirt attached to a waist of French flannel, possibly out of respect to Strathconna, the city. Well-worn riding-boots which showed beneath the hem told him that much. Through the combination her figure showed that it was of the slender, curveless strength which comes from a life of activity in the open. Easily might she have been prettier; yet she might have been a whole lot worse. He had a thought-flash contrasting this unknown with the dashing brunette beauty of the Indian reservation race the previous morning. What had got into Fate to throw him twice within twenty-four hours out of his wonted man's man groove?
"As long as you two strangers happen to be interested in the same section of our wonderful Dominion," the agent opened urbanely, "it occurred to me that you ought to meet." He glanced for reference at the girl's application blank and then at the completed one originally offered by the man. "Miss Bernice Gallegher, of Fire Weed, permit me to present Mr. John Childress, of—of Montana."
There seemed nothing to do but offer his hand. The girl took it, but the shake was of the "pump-handle" variety. As soon as possible she broke the clasp. But her eyes remained upon him, puzzled, questioning. The sergeant knew she saw a resemblance to some one in her past life—that she was trying to place him. He breathed a prayer that the change from bright uniform to somber mufti would prove a sufficient disguise.
Had he heard the agent aright, no little illumination had come to the sergeant. "Miss Gallegher, of Fire Weed!" Only a few hours before he had been wondering why this particular section, key to one of the easiest outlets across the international boundary, had not been claimed, either by Gallegher or the Rafter A interests. And now this surprising young woman had been sent to buy it in and had arrived a moment too late!
There was a period of mutual embarrassment. The considerate land agent had turned to some files within the railing. The situation was theirs to do with as they might. But which one of them should open?
Childress felt the danger of those freckle-colored eyes, the freckles of which had escaped his notice that night at the border. Although well trained in the edict of the Mounted—"never fire first"—he considered that as applying to gun-fire rather than speech.
"I'm sorry we happened to pick upon the same section, Miss Gallegher," he said. "Of the countless others that are loose in the Dominion, isn't there one that would suit you as well?" With purpose well defined, he changed his voice from normal cadence.
"Beat me to it again," she mourned.
For the first time she laughed, but mirthlessly and without a smile.