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Page 22
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!"
It was a glorious day, sunny and clear, with the temperature sufficiently
low to prevent the hard-packed snow from balling up the horses' feet.
The trail ran fairly level along a lower shelf of the timber-lined
foothills, which on their right hand sloped gradually to the banks of the
Bow River in a series of rolling "downs." Sharply outlined against the
blue ether the Sou' Western chain of the mighty "Rockies" reared their
rosily-white peaks in all their morning glory--silent guardians of the
winter landscape.
Deep down in his soul young Redmond harboured a silent, dreamy adoration
for the beauty of such scenes as this. Under different conditions he
would have enjoyed this ride immensely. But now--with his mind a
seething bitter chaos consequent upon his companion's incomprehensible
behavior towards him, he rode in a sort of brooding reverie. Yorke was
equally morose. Not a word had fallen from their lips since they left
the detachment.
Right under the horses' noses a big white jack-rabbit suddenly darted
across the snow-banked ruts of the well-worn trail, pursuing its leaping
erratic course towards a patch of brush on the river side.
Simultaneously the animals shied, with an inward trend, cannoning their
respective riders together. Yorke reined away sharply and glared.
"Get over'" he said curtly, "don't crowd me!"
He spoke as a Cossack hetman might to his sotnia, and, at his tone and
attitude, something snapped within Redmond. To his already overflowing
cup of resentment it was the last straw. His promise to Slavin he flung
to the winds, and it was replaced with vindictive but cool purpose.
"Showdown!" he muttered under his breath, "I knew it had to come!" He
was conscious of a feeling of vast relief. Aloud he responded, blithely
and rudely, "Oh! to hell with _you_!"
Yorke checked his horse with a suddenness that brought the animal back
onto its haunches. Sitting square and motionless in the saddle for a
moment he stared at George with an expression almost of shocked
amazement; then his face became convulsed with ruthless passion.
The junior constable had pulled up also, and now wheeling "half-left" and
lolling lazily in his saddle with shortened leg stared back at his enemy
with an expression there was no mistaking. His debonair young face had
altered in an incredible fashion. Although his lips were pursed up with
their whistling nonchalance his eyes had contracted beneath scowling
brows into mere pin-points of steel and ice. He looked about as docile
as a young lobo wolf--cornered.
"Ah!" murmured Yorke, noting the transformation; and he seemed to
consider. He had seen that look on men's faces before. Insensibly,
passion had vanished from his face; the bully had disappeared; and in his
place there sat in saddle a cool, contemptuous gentleman.
"Are you talking back to me?" he said. He did not look astounded
now--seemed rather to assume it.
Redmond's scowling brows lifted a fraction. "Talking back?" he echoed,
"sure! Who the devil do you think you're trying to come 'the Tin Man'
over?"
Reluctantly Yorke discounted his first impressions. Here was no
self-conscious bravado. Warily he surveyed George for a moment--the cool
appraising glance of the ring champion in his corner scanning his
challenger--then, swinging out of the saddle, he dropped his lines and
began to unbuckle his spurs.
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