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Page 31
"Let's see'f he's got any letters or anything in his pockets--to make
sure!" began Redmond eagerly. Suiting the action to the word he bent
down to investigate. But Slavin intruded a huge arm. "Hould on, bhoy!"
he said, with all an old policeman's fussiness over rightful procedure.
"Du not touch! That is th' coroner's bizness. Did they not dhrill that
inta yeh at Regina?"
He stared thoughtfully at the corpse. "Dhrink an' th' divil! eyah!
dhrink an' th' divil!"--sadly. "Larry, me pore bhoy! niver more will ye
come a-whoopin' ut out av Cow Run on yeh 'Duster' horse . . .
shpiflicated belike an' singin' 'Th' Brisk Young Man." Austerely he
glanced at Yorke, "'Tis a curse, this same dhrink!"
"How do you know the poor beggar was drunk?" queried the latter, a trifle
sulkily. "He may have been as sober as you or I."
"Shpeak for yehsilf!" retorted Slavin dryly, "Ah! this must be Docthor
Cox comin' now!"
A cutter containing two men was approaching them rapidly. Presently it
drew up alongside the group and a short, rotund gentleman, clad in furs,
sprang out and came swiftly, bag in hand. He was middle-aged, with a
gray moustache and kind, alert, dark eyes. Greeting the policemen
quietly, he turned to the broken body.
"Tchkk! good God!" He shook his head sadly. Redmond thought he had
never seen a medical man so unprofessionally shocked. Presently he
straightened up and turned to Slavin. "Can you identify him, Sergeant?"
That worthy nodded. "Eyah! 'tis Larry Blake, I'm thinking Docthor. Best
frisk him now an' see, I guess. Maybe he has letthers."
Hastily diving into his bag the coroner produced a pair of long keen
scissors and slit the short, frozen sheepskin coat. In the breast-pocket
of the coat underneath, amongst other miscellany two old letters rewarded
his search. He glanced at the superscriptions and handed them up to
Slavin.
"Larry Blake it is," he said. He felt the soggy, pulped head. "Skull's
stove right in. Any one of these smashes would have sufficed to kill
him." He clipped the hair around a ghastly gaping crevice at the base of
the head.
Suddenly he peered closely, uttered an exclamation, peered again and drew
back. "Sergeant!" he said sharply, "D'ye see that?--No need to ask you
what that is!" In an unbroken portion of the back of the skull he
indicated a small, circular orifice. The trio craned forward and made
minute examination. Slavin ejaculated an oath and glanced up at
Yorke--almost remorsefully.
"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.
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