At the moment a fleck of cloud shrugged one side of the moon, putting all the silver spot-light upon the uniformed sergeant.
"A Mountie!" cried the rider. "Thank God for a Mountie!"
"No desire to deny the uniform of the service," said the sergeant. "What can I do for you, son?"
For answer, a concealing hat of black felt was swept off and hung upon the saddle. The cloud took itself still farther from out the orbit of the moon, which then played all its light upon the reddest strands of braided hair that ever a girl wrapped around her head. Such was the trust of the uniform that, honestly worn, never has failed woman, beast or mere man.
"Son!" laughed Childress. "One on me. What can I do for you, sister, that you're willing to thank God about in advance?"
The boy-clad girl plunged. "I'm Bernice Gallegher from the Lazy G Ranch. Some of that damn Yankee bunch down at Crow's Nest has been running off our stock. Thought I could get away with the boy stuff. One of our old punchers, the darned renegade, recognized me and chased me out."
She paused for breath. Sergt. Childress waited anxiously for her next word. The Crow's Nest renegades over in Montana and their particular connection with the rustling of stock out of Fire Weed was the detail which would take him into mufti in the next few days.
"Running me out of the Nest wasn't enough," went on the girl whose mane looked like flaming gold in the moonlight. "I went to the nearest county-seat of that State they call Montana. The Nesters followed, charged me with horse stealing, although this poor beast has been mine since he was a colt. They got up a posse of roughs that stood in. Been chasing me all afternoon—running me ragged. They're right behind me now, and my horse is all in. Any wonder I thanked the good God for meeting up with a Mountie?"
Years of training in emergency had made Childress a man of instant decision. For no part of a second did he doubt the girl's story. And there came confirmation thereof in the distant thud of many hoofs. To get the flame-haired youngling out of danger zone became his first consideration.
"We'll swap horses," he suggested, swinging from the silver beast's saddle. "Off that bay, miss, and on your way. Meet me at Soda Springs anytime to-morrow and we'll trade back."