this shtiff committed an' let Ridmond take thrain wid um tu th' Post.
Yu' return wid th' harses!"

"Why can't Redmond nip down there on a way-freight and do the whole
thing?" said Yorke, a trifle sulkily. "It seems rot sending two men
mounted for one blooming hobo."

"Eyah!" murmured Slavin with suspicious mildness, "'tis th' long toime
since I have used me shtripes tu give men undher me wan ordher twice."

Yorke flashed a slightly apprehensive glance at his superior's face.
Then, without another word, he reached for his side-arms, bridle, and
fur-coat. He knew his man.

Redmond followed suit and they adjourned to the stable.

"I saw that beggar yesterday--on my way up," remarked George,
ill-advisedly.

Yorke stared. "The hell you did! . . . why didn't you vag him then?" he
retorted irritably.

Bursting with silent wrath at the "choke-off," with difficulty Redmond
held his peace. In silence they saddled up and leading the horses out
prepared to mount. Yorke swung up on the splendid, mettled
black--"Parson." He had an ideal cavalry seat, and as with an easy grace
he gently controlled his impatient horse, with an inscrutable, mask-like
countenance he watched Redmond and the sorrel "Fox."

With toe in the leather-covered stirrup the latter reached for the