and they espied the Police cutter approaching them at a rapid pace.

"Like unto Jehu, the son of Nimshi!" murmured Yorke, "he's sure springing
old T and B up the grade."

Sergeant Slavin pulled up his smoking team along-side his two mounted
subordinates. "So ho, bhoys!" was his greeting, "fwhat's this bizness?"

Yorke rapidly acquainted him with all the details. At one point in his
narration he had occasion to turn to George: "That's how it was, Reddy?"
And the latter replied, "That's about the lay of it, Yorkey."

The sergeant listened, but absently. To them it did not seem exactly to
be an occasion for levity; but they could have sworn that, behind an
exaggerated grimness of mien, he was striving to suppress some inward
mirth, as his deep-set Irish eyes roved from face to face.

"Yez luk as if yez had been hung up an' dhragged tu--th' pair av yez," he
remarked casually.

Remembrance smote the two culprits. They exchanged guilty glances and
swallowed the home-thrust in silence.

Slavin clucked to his team. "Walk-_march_, thin!" said he.

Wheeling sharply about, they started down the trail again, the cutter
following in their wake. If their consciences would have permitted them
to glance back they would have remarked their superior's face registering
unholy delight.