The long arm of the Mounted

by James French Dorrance

Mounting the silver beast, but leaving the flea-bitten cayuse with reins dropped, in the hope of inviting its rider's return, Childress rode slowly over the immediate back trail. His search trail-side for the torture-taken hide was eventually rewarded. He found it in a gunny sack where the pursued had tossed it into a clump of alders. He rode back toward the outlaw's deserted mount.

Night was falling rapidly and what to do became something of a problem. Even if the cayuse would lead at the end of a rope, the strange back trail would prove a problem. It would be midnight before he could hope to reach the Lazy G home ranch, even could he find it in the dark. An arrival at such time must cause a commotion that would not further his purpose of getting an exact grasp of the Fire Weed rustling situation. Moreover, and quite important, there was still the chance that the skinner would regain his nerve and return for the abandoned cayuse.

Changing the hiding place of the sacked hide, he led Silver back to within gun range of the grazing clump that the ugly cayuse seemed to fancy. There he found a cover for both his beast and himself, determined on a night's vigil and a daylight ride to the Gallegher ranch in case nothing developed.

There were a couple of emergency rations in his saddle bag, and he made quite a meal under the circumstances of a camp fire's inadvisability. There was a bare fragment of moon that night, not enough to see with any accuracy. But he knew the keenness of Silver's ears, and that he could depend upon them. If any human approached, the horse would give warning, by snort or by tug upon the rope by which he attached the horse to himself.

"Nothing like a real horse for an alarm clock," he murmured sleepily. "Hope that Flame had sense enough to ride home whatsoever!"

He was more tired than he had realized before throwing himself down upon his improvised couch of brush. Every muscle of his body from gun-belt up ached from the strain of that hemlock crossing. After covering himself with the slicker, carried rolled on the cantle of his saddle, he soon slept.

Next morning, after a night of no alarms, he remembered that he had dreamed. Most unusual for him to remember dreams! These that now came to mind were mixed—of a flame girl and a siren widow. He was not exactly clear about them. He could not be sure just where they had taken him and he possessed no dream-book for their interpretation. But the fact that he had dreamed at all was troubling. He must needs watch his step.

Childress decided that the skinner did not mean to return, either for his cayuse or his cruel booty. He would take both to Galleghers and let the old ranchman do with them as he thought best. They should serve as something of an introduction for his uninvited visit.

Without difficulty he caught the small horse which seemed willing enough to come along. Packing with him the sack-covered hide was a different matter. The blood scent, so distasteful to animals, had grown stronger over night. But finally he succeeded in calming the beasts, and they were off for his destination of yesterday.

Once packed the cayuse led easily enough and good progress was made after they got beyond the "rough." They had passed the scene of yesterday's bovine tragedy, when he saw three horsemen ride out of a draw some distance ahead and quarter in his direction. Without increasing his speed, he held his course, knowing that unless the trio changed their direction they would meet within half a mile. Considering the compass point from which they appeared, it was reasonable to suppose that they were Lazy G riders. While they likely would be curious and ask questions, they scarcely would make trouble for a stranger headed toward their home ranch in the full light of a brilliant prairie morning.