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Page 58
"I'd like fur ye tu dhrop in agin, thin," continued the sergeant slowly,
"if ye have toime? There's a little matther I wud like tu dishcuss wid
yu'--'tis 'bout that same man."
Doctor Cox glanced sharply at the speaker's earnest, sombre face. A
certain sinister earnestness underlay the simple words, and it startled
him.
"Very good, Sergeant!" he agreed, "I'll call in on my way back. Well!
good-by, all of you, for the time being!"
They followed him outside and watched the rig depart on its journey
westward. It was Redmond who broke the long silence.
"Well, sacred Billy! What do you know about that?" he ejaculated tensely.
And the trio turned and looked upon each other strangely, their faces
registering mutual wonderment and conviction.
"Sleep?" murmured Yorke, "No, by gum! . . . no more could Macbeth, with
King Duncan and Banquo on his chest o' nights! . . . Well, that settles
it!"
But Slavin made a gesture of dissent. "As you were, bhoys!" was his
sober mandate. "Sleeplishness's no actual proof . . . but it's a
pointer. Th' iron's getthin' warrm--eyah! d----d warrm! . . . but we
cannot shtrike yet."
CHAPTER XII
But a truce to this strain; for my soul it is sad,
To think that a heart in humanity clad
Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate end,
And depart from the light without leaving a friend.
Bear soft his bones over the stones!
Though a pauper, he's one whom his Maker yet owns!
"THE PAUPER'S DRIVE."
They ate dinner more or less in silence. Slavin had relapsed into one of
his fits of morose taciturnity. At the conclusion of the meal, Yorke and
Redmond drew a bench outside, and for awhile sat in the sun, smoking.
"He's got 'Charley-on-his-back' properly to-day," remarked the
sophisticated Yorke, with a sidelong jerk of his head, "old beggar's best
left alone, begad! when he' get's those fits on him." He sniffed the
fresh air and gazed longingly out over the sunlit, peaceful landscape,
flooded with a warm, sleepy, golden haze of summer. "Lord! but it's a
peach of a day" he continued, "say, gossip mine, did you think to get
that fishing-tackle at Martin's this morning?"
George nodded affirmatively. Yorke rose and stepped indoors. "Say,
Burke," he said persuasively, "there's not much doing this
afternoon--how's chances for me and Reddy going down to the Bend for a
bit? The water looks pretty good just now. You'll want to have a lone
chin with the Doctor, anyway, no use us sticking around."
The sergeant, engrossed in a crime-report, acceded gruffly to the
request. "Run thim harses in first, tho'!" he flung after his
subordinate, "an' du not yu' men get tu far away down-shtream, in case I
might want yez."
"That's 'Jake,'" was Redmond's comment, a moment later, "no use trying
fly-fishing to-day, though, Yorkey--too bright. We'd better fish deep.
Here, you get the rods all fixed up, and catch some grasshoppers, and
I'll chase out in the pasture and run the horses in."
Some half an hour later found them trudging down the long slope below the
detachment that led to the nearest point of the Bow River. Here the
river described a sharp bend southward for some distance, ere resuming
its easterly course. Arriving thither, they fished for awhile in
blissful content; their minds for the time-being devoid of aught save the
sport of Old Izaak. Picking likely spots for deep casts, they meandered
slowly down-stream, keeping about twenty yards apart. At intervals,
their piscatorial efforts were rewarded with success. Four fine
"two-pounders" of the "Cut-Throat" species had fallen to Yorke's
rod--three to Redmond's. Then, for a time the fish ceased to bite.
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