ts, their black, hard
serge breeches, with broad, yellow stripes down the thighs, possessed
a businesslike appearance not to be found in a modern soldier's
uniform. These things were for sheer hard service.

The life of these men was made up of hard service. It was demanded of
them by the Government; it was also demanded of them by the conditions
of the country. Lawlessness prevailed on these fair, sunlit plains;
lawlessness of man, lawlessness of Nature. Between the two they were
left with scarce a breathing space for those comforts which only found
existence in dreams that were all too brief and transitory.

Nominally, these men were military police, yet their methods were far
enough removed from all matters martial. Theirs it was to obey orders,
but all similarity ended there. Each man was left free to think and
act for himself. Brief orders, with little detail, were hurled at him.
For the rest his superiors demanded one result--achievement. A crime
was committed; a criminal was at large; information of a contemplated
breach of the peace was to hand. Then go--and see to it. Investigate
and arrest. The individual must plan and carry out, whatever the odds.
Success would meet with cool approval; failure would be promptly
rewarded with the utmost rigor of the penal code governing the force.
The work might take days, weeks, months. It mattered not. Nor did it
matter the expense, provided success crowned the effort. But with
failure resulting--ah, there must be no failure. The prestige of the
force could not stand failure, for its seven hundred men were required
to dominate and cleanse a territory in which half a dozen European
countries could be comfortably lost.

Presently Sergeant McBain spoke again. His steady eyes were still
fixed upon the horizon.

"Say, that's her," he said. "There she is. Coming right up like a mop
head. That's the pine at Rocky Springs. Further away to the left
still, boys."

He turned his horse, and the race against time was continued.
Somewhere ahead, on the southern trail, a gang of whisky smugglers
were plying their trade. Inspector Fyles had said, "Go, and--round
them up."

The odds were all against these men, yet no one considered the
matter. Each, with eyes and brain alert, was ready to do all of which
human effort was capable.

Now that definite direction over those wastes of grass had been
finally located, the sergeant, a rough, hard-faced Scot, relaxed his
vigilance. His mind