The sergeant was puzzled as to his procedure. There might be a plausible and satisfactory explanation for this strange action, in which case he would regret shooting a trespasser. On the other hand, he did not wish to be shot down himself, which was possible, if he stopped to ask questions which might require embarrassing answers. Moreover, there was that never-fire-first rule of the Mounted. The short man was coming rapidly toward him, and he had but a moment for decision.
His shooting hand was reaching for his gun when he recalled the quieter and most effective method of capture used on himself only a few days before. His aim with the rope was as sure as that of his revolver. Not for nothing had he patroled the Cypress Hills in his younger service days. Silently he adjusted the running knot into a sizable loop and shook out the strands.
When the oncomer was within a dozen yards of him he made his cast, the rope cutting through the air with a hiss that was startling in the nocturnal quiet. It settled over the intruder's shoulders before he realized what was happening, and a sharp jerk, into which Childress threw all his strength, drew the noose taut and effectively pinioned the other's arms, making it impossible for him to draw a weapon.
With the strike, Childress shouted: "Easy there, stranger, and you won't hurt yourself!"
The man who had been lassoed made no response, but began to thrash about in an effort to free himself. Resenting this struggle, Poison dashed into the open and assailed the captive with ferocious growls. Not being a man hunter, he refrained from closing in, as he would have done had the rope held a bear or a cougar, but he aided his master by diverting the attention of the struggler from the rope.
Childress began to work up on the string hand over hand, as he would have done had some outlaw horse been at the other end, not for one instant slackening the tie of the noose. It can't be said that his lessons in man roping were long past history, considering the way in which the Lazy G outfit had taken him. In his present effort he was abetted by the fact that his captive seemed anxious only to get away, and made no forward rush in attack. He was soon close enough to throw a fresh loop about the intruder, and then another which determined the issue of the capture. Reaching out he slipped the other's gun from its hip holster and was ready for parley.
He turned the pinioned one around until the moon lighted his face, and then started back in surprised recognition.
"You—O'Hara!" he exclaimed. "What the devil brings you across my trail?"
He knew the man—scarcely could have forgotten him since some years before, at no little risk to the integrity of his own hide, he had saved him from an enraged mob at end of steel on the Trans-continental railroad.
"I never knowed it was you, pard," the captive said huskily, "or I'd 'a' gone on a scout before tryin' to jam you. Call off your hound and slack the rope. I'll put you wise to something you'd ought to know."