no!" His eyes glittered dangerously and his wide mouth wreathed into an
unholy grin, "'Tis a shmart man that iver puts ut over on me at th'
Orderly-room. . . Fwhy du I not sind him into th' Post? . . . eyah! fwhy
du I not? . . ."

Chin sunk on his huge chest, he mused awhile.

George waited.

"Listen, bhoy!" A terrible earnestness crept into the soft voice. "I'll
tell ye th' tale. . . . 'Twas up at th' Chilkoot Pass--in the gold rush
av '98. . . . Together we was--Yorkey an' meself--stationed there undher
ould Bobby Belcher. Wan night--Mother av God! will I iver forghet ut?
Bitther cowld is th' Yukon, lad; th' like av ut yu' here in Alberta du
not know. Afther tu crazy lost _cheechacos_ we had been that day. We
found thim--frozen. . . . A blizzard had shprung up, but we shtrapped
th' stiffs on th' sled an' mushed ut oursilves tu save th' dogs.

"I am a big man, an' shtrong . . . . but Yorkey was th' betther man av us
tu that night--havin less weight tu pack. I was all in--dhrowsy, an'
wanted tu give up th' ghost an' shleep--an' shleep. . . . Nigh unto
death I was. . . ."

The murmuring voice died away. A shudder ran through the great frame at
the remembrance, while the hand clutching the bottle trembled violently.
Unconsciously Redmond shook with him; for the horror Slavin was living
over again just then enveloped his listener also.

"But Yorkey," he continued "wud not let me lie down. . . . God! how that
man did put his fishts an' mucklucks tu me an' pushed an' shtaggered wid