registering unholy mirth, lounged in the doorway.

"Fwhat ye lukkin for, Yorkey?"

"Oh, nothing!" came that gentleman's answer.

"Ye'll find ut in th' bottle thin."

Insult was added to injury by the sergeant casually plucking that article
from it's "rist" and chucking it over.

Yorke's face was a study. "Oh!" cried he dismally, "what wit! . . . give
three rousing cheers!" . . . He mounted once more. "Well! there's no
denying you are one hell of a sergeant!"

That worthy one grinned at him tolerantly. "Get yez gone!" he spat back,
"an' du not linger tu play craps on th' thrail either--th' tu av yez!"

Long and grimly, with his bald head sunk between his huge shoulders, he
gazed after the departing riders. "Eyah! 'tis best so!" he murmured
softly, "a showdown--wid no ould shtiff av a non-com like meself tu butt
in. . . . An', onless I am mistuk that same will come this very morn,
from th' luks av things. . . . Sind th' young wan is as handy wid his
dhooks as Brankley sez he is! . . . Thin--an' on'y thin will there be
peace in th' fam'ly."

He re-lit his pipe and, shading his eyes from the snow-glare focussed
them on two rapidly vanishing black specks. "I wud that I cud see ut!"
he sighed, plaintively, "I wud that I cud see ut!"