"I take ut all back," he said. Meeting the coroner's blank, enquiring
stare he added: "Booze, Docthor--we thought ut might be. . . . Yeh know
Larry!"

The physician of Cow Run nodded understandingly. Slavin bent again and
made close scrutiny of the bullet-hole. "_Back_ av th' head, no powdher
marks!" He straightened up. "Docther, are ye thru? All right, thin!
Guess we'll book up an' start in."

Methodically they all produced note-books and entered the needful
particulars. The lanky individual who had driven the coroner out brought
forward a tarpaulin and spread it on the ground. With some difficulty
the over-shoed foot was disengaged from the imprisoning stirrup, the body
rolled in the tarpaulin and deposited in the rear of the doctor's cutter.
The saddle and bridle were flung into the Police cutter. They then
rolled the dead horse clear of the trail.

That night the coyotes held grim, snarling carnival.

Slavin turned to Redmond. "Ye've located th' place, eh?" The latter
nodded. "All right, thin, get mounted, th' tu av yez, an' lead on!"

Keeping needfully wide of the broad, claret-bespotted swath in the snow,
the party started trailing back. Yorke and George rode ahead. The
latter glanced around to make sure of being out of earshot of their
sergeant.

"We-ll of all the hardened old cases! . . . Slavin sure does crown 'em!"
he muttered to his comrade.