"Oh, we're not exactly friends," said the girl, laughing her richly modulated, mirthless laugh.
"Just happened to brush stirrups," supplied the sergeant readily. "But this idea of sending for the Mounted sounds well to me. What are the formalities?"
All this time there had been nothing more than a nod of greeting from Sam Gallegher, who sat in his chair, puffing with less content than usual at a clay pipe, the stem of which had been broken close to its blackened bowl. Now he straightened up, with a wince from the pain in his injured leg, and by the mere movement commanded the attention of all.
"Don't know what the Mounted can do when we don't seem to be able to do anything for ourselves," he began, his voice grumbling. "But I'll sign in on any application you want to make. We don't seem to be getting far on our own protection account, and I'm thinking of something desperate, once this leg of mine gets saddle wise."
"What have you in mind, Gallegher?" asked the manager of Rafter A.
"That you'll know, Fitzrapp, when I've finished—or they've finished me. No less, I'll sign the application. How about you, small rancher, do you want the Mounted to send a special detail down into the Fire Weed?"
With difficulty Childress concealed his grin. "Sure," he said. "I've lost nothing as yet, but I've had nothing much to lose. So long as they're supposed to police the whole Dominion, we should be getting our share of their work. I'll sign anything you other owners will."
"Shouldn't have had everybody in on this," grumbled Fitzrapp. "The boys in scarlet will come down here and not know whom to suspect."
Childress took advantage of this slip. "So!" he remarked without bothering to raise eyebrows. "Is there some one under suspicion in this very delightful section of the province?"
"None but yourself," came promptly and quite aloud from Flame and he alone heard the softly breathed "Jack."