"Two guns are better than one against five," she said, panting. "It's my battle you're fighting and I've the right to help you shoot it out." From somewhere about her boy clothes she whipped an automatic.
"Too late," the sergeant groaned, as he saw the lead rider of the posse top the rise of Medicine Line. "Too late for a get-away. Behind me, woman!"
Childress would have made a perfect target as he stood mid-trail, the moon multiplying the brilliance of his uniform. But the weird light also showed the raiders what he was. Perhaps some of the band had felt the steel of the Mounted before. At any rate, his sharp "Who goes?" brought the girl's pursuers to a stop.
"We're chasing a hawse thief," drawled one of the interlopers, possibly the leader. "Let us pass an' we'll get him."
"Describe the stolen horse and the man you're after," said Childress. "The Mounted will get him for you."
There was momentary discussion in tones too low to carry to the ears of the uniformed obstruction.
"Come along with the description, if you're serious," prodded the sergeant.
"At him and over him, boys," someone of the five suggested. "Mounties never shoot first, you know."
Five horsemen lined up abreast, completely filling the trail. Touches of spurs must have ground the sergeant, and the girl behind him, into the dust, but neither of the two flinched.
With the heel of his boot Childress cut a line across the roadway. Doubting if any of the Americans could see, in the uncertain light, what he was about, the trooper explained.