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McSporran, back on his cot with hands clasped behind his head, gobbled an owlish "Hoot, mon! th' twa o' them thegither! . . . Losh! but that beats a' . . . but, hoo lang, O Lard? hoo lang?" From various sources George had picked up the broken ends of many strange rumours relating to the personality and escapades of one Constable Yorke, of the Davidsburg detachment, whom he had never seen as yet.
His eye fell on Redmond. "Wish I'd seen you before, Officer!" he remarked, "I'd have had a hobo for you. Beggar stole a ride on us from Glenbow, back there. The con's goin' to chuck him off here do you want him?" "No!" said Redmond shortly, "let the stiff go I'm going on to Davidsburg haven't got time to get messing around with 'vags' now."
Yer name's Ridmond, ain't it? -Whoa, now! T an' B! lively wid thim kit-bags, son! team's pretty fresh an' will not shtand." They swung off at a spanking trot. George surveyed the white-washed cattle-corrals and few scattered shacks which seemed to comprise the hamlet of Davidsburg. "Not a very big place, Sergeant?" he remarked, "how far's the detachment from here?"
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