An inanimate monument of whitewashed stones glistened in the moonlight as though each boulder was of pure platinum. Not much to enthuse about, especially were you the one who had helped in its erection in the years of your youth; yet sight of it gripped John Childress, sergeant of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, much in the same way as Miss Liberty, down in New York harbor, takes hold of the immigrant entering the alleged promised land. For the moment he forgot that he had ever had a part in long-ago boundary-line marking. A touch of spur, a lunge of willing horse and he was on--he was across "Medicine Line," thus giving, as did the non-com in his thoughts, the Indian name to that more-o…
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