"I've dragged a dead-line. Just try to cross it—any one, or all, of you—and learn that a Mountie shoots, perhaps not first, but always last."
"Hell!" growled one of the night riders.
"'Tain't worth the risk," advised another.
Childress waited, gun in hand, until patience ceased to be one of his virtues. "You're on Canadian soil, gents. The prospect isn't favorable for any crop of armed invasion. Better head back home before you start something you can't fertilize. Otherwise I'll have to take you in charge."
"We're five to one," suggested the leader.
"Five to two," corrected a shrill voice from behind the sergeant. "Come to it, you cowardly Crows!"
Childress groaned inwardly at this unexpected intervention. Why couldn't women stay where they were put? Yet, perhaps, the shrilled invitation turned the tide of conflict. A moment's hesitation and the rope-carriers from the States turned their horses and trotted away into the night.
"To whom am I indebted?" asked Bernice as they walked back to their waiting mounts.
"Suppose we set it down to Lady Luck and your own nerve, young woman."
She might have pouted had there been any chance of his seeing the same in the flickering light. "But my father, when I tell him about it to-night, will wish to write a letter to headquarters commending your bravery."