"I thought those protests to be cries for help," put in the sergeant, never to be entirely "cut down," regardless of the situation.
"Yes—yes," mumbled Fitzrapp, twisting his silken mustache. "Most unfortunate—that break of yours on the Whitefoot reservation. Shouldn't have made it, old top."
Sam Gallegher seemed puzzled about much of this exchange, knowing nothing of the events that lay behind.
To Childress the two women presented a striking contrast as they stood facing each other, the outer advantage to her in the "latest" of city-made habits. Yet there was a certain calm, like that of the prairie's sweep, in the red-head that should have cheered the crusty parent. The fact that she rose superior to the drawbacks of a range upbringing—held up her head, in fact, as though the wrapped braids about it were a crown of red gold—lifted her above the class so often in error derisively called "ranch bred."
Probably Ethel Andress did not mean to be patronizing—indeed her smile and graceful advance seemed essentially friendly—but even before she spoke directly to Flame there was something in her manner which Childress did not approve.
"We've just been discussing with your father," she began, "the advisability of asking the Royal Mounted to send some specials down here to put an end to this running our horse stock across the line to disappear in the American market. At just the right moment you ride in from somewhere with the only other ranchman in the Fire Weed country." She favored Flame with one of her most exclusive smiles. "It would seem possible that we could make the appeal to Ottawa unanimous, if your friend——"
Flame was quick, as always. "I'm sure we can count on Mr. Childress to join in any unified action," she said. "He just rode in with one of our horses that was stolen last Fall and packed on it was the mud-line hide of one of my steers. You're for sending for the Mounted, aren't you, Jack—Mr. Childress?"
"Oh—Jack!" The widow was quick.
"Don't want any outsiders in on this," grumbled Fitzrapp. "You shouldn't have spilled the beans, Ethel."
"About all from you, Tom!" The widow was smiling. "Don't mind him," she said to Childress. "The only suspicion against you, so far as I've been able to learn, has been that beautiful horse you ride and the fact that you picked upon a section of land each of us thought the other owned. Glad you've made friends with Miss Gallegher." She turned to Flame. "You're supposed to be rather difficult, you know."