The long arm of the Mounted

by James French Dorrance

"You'll hardly need that—now," she smiled, with a gesture toward the gun.

So far not a word had been said about their meeting on the range the previous day, the salvage of the bogged cow and their forked lines of pursuit after the heartless skinner of the unfortunate steer. Childress was determined to say nothing, whatever Flame's interest in keeping the meeting a secret. If anything was said, she would have to do the talking.

The charge he had flung at Murdock was not sheer bluff, but based on something he had learned over in Montana when preparing for his entry into the province as a rancher. The expression of the Lazy G foreman had told him much that probably would be of use later on. There had been a double lynching over in the Bitter Root and the guilt of at least one of the victims later had been found exceedingly doubtful. That crime, of course, was entirely beyond the jurisdiction of the Mounted, but the "mistake" probably accounted for the presence of Murdock on the Lazy G and would be something to look into when he threw off the rôle of ranchman and donned the uniform of the service that is feared even as it is respected.

"If you knew the evidence we had against this rustler, Flame," began Murdock, his manner tense over the sudden change in a situation which he had thought entirely under his control, "you'd show less feeling for——"

"And if you knew what I knew," the girl cut in, "you'd have escorted Mr. Childress to the home ranch instead of tricking him into this box canyon and trying to put a brand on him. Let me tell you one or two things that happened yesterday. He came riding across the range from his own ranch to ours. He found me trying to snag one of my cows out of a bog where the fool bossy had sanded herself in. My misdirected efforts would have hung the cow in a minute or two if our neighbor"—she accented this for the benefit of the trio and to the glad surprise of the sergeant—"hadn't happened along. He waded into the bog and used his own hands as a shovel. Then he pushed and I pulled until we had her out. She'll probably be a total loss, but at least she'll pass out more naturally. Then a pair of buzzards attracted us and we came upon that poor steer—hided alive."

"We found the hide on this rustler's cayuse," inserted Murdock.

"He's not a rustler," flared Flame. "We both went after the brute who did that skinning—one on either side of the ridge that cuts in from the States. I rode to the line seeing nothing suspicious, then went home. Mr. Childress evidently got everything but his man. I'll bet he was headed for our ranch house when you scatter-brained roughnecks fell on him."

"Ain't this one hell of a mess?" muttered Rust to Roper as he coiled his string.

"You'll think you're in one hell of a mess for sure if you make any more mistakes," declared the girl. "Now take yourselves down to the lower ranch and see if you can't find some honest-to-goodness trouble." She turned to Childress. "I wish you would ride back with me; father's at home and I'd like you two real men to meet."

There was something of a groan from the handsome foreman, and she threw him a reproving look. Then she mounted and the two were off, Childress again leading the cayuse that had been stolen. They were well into the open, the regal Silver and her well-groomed bay mare jogging in friendly fashion side by side on the trail to the home ranch, before he spoke.