Out of the corner of his mouth Redmond shot, tensely, "Dye think he--"

"Oh!" broke in Yorke resignedly, sotto voce. "You can't fool him! . . .
_Isch ga bibble_, anyway!"

"Yorkey!" an' "Reddy!" that worthy was mumbling tu himself--over and over
again, "_Yorkey_!" an' "_Reddy_!" "'Tis so they name each other--now!
Blarney me sowl! 'Tis come about! Fifty-fifty, tu--from th' mugs av
thim. Peace, perfect peace, in th' fam'ly at last! Eyah! I wud have
given me month's pay-cheque for a ring-side seat." He sighed deeply.

They reached the fatal spot. Slavin, his levity gone, stepped out of the
cutter and, retaining the lines of his restive team, stared long at the
gruesome spectacle before him, with a sort of callous sadness.

"These tu must have lain here th' night," he remarked, indicating the
frost-rimed forms, "have yez sized things up? Got th' lay av fwhere ut
happened?"

Redmond made affirmative response.

"Can you place him, Sergeant?" queried Yorke.

"Eyah! Onless I am vastly mishtuk. Whoa, now! shtand still, ye fules!
Fwhat yez a-scared av? Here, Yorkey! hold T an' B a minnut!"

He pushed over his lines to the latter and, producing a pair of
leather-cased brand-inspector's clippers, he cropped bare a circular
patch on the defunct horse's nigh shoulder. Shorn of the thick,
seal-brown winter hair, the brand was now plainly visible. Enlightenment