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Gully's such a boshy starter, you know; always puts me out. Why can't they let Parrett do it?" And off they rattle, forgetting all about Cusack and his gallant father, and evidently convinced in their own minds that the flags and the carriages and the rosettes and all the festivities are solely in honour of the final heat of the junior hundred yards, in which they two are to take part.
"Larry Blake" a ruthless gleam flickered momentarily in Gully's deep-set, shadowy eyes "Larry Blake, I recognized as the son of the Governor of Barmsworth Prison old Gavin Blake. Sometimes this young fellow used to come around with his father, when the old gentleman was making his daily tour of inspection. I well remember the first time I saw him young Larry.
It was a hazardous mission they were bound on, as they all fully realized now, knowing the terribly ruthless character of the man they sought to apprehend. Descending the grade which led to the bend of the river they swung due east at a smart pace, following the winding Lower Trail. This last road ran past Gully's ranch, which lay some three miles distant.
"Arrah, thin! shut up, Yorkey!" hissed the sergeant in a warning aside, "they'll hear yez. Here they come." Presently the five were grouped together. Inspector Kilbride's stern features were set in a thoughtful, lowering scowl. Mr. Gully's tanned, leathery countenance looked curiously mottled. "Sergeant!" The inspector clicked off his words sharply. "This is a bad case.
"God bless you and take care of you, sir!" answered Frank. "I hope nothing will happen to you while I'm away, and I'll be back as soon as I can." The next moment he was making his way up the gully's side, and soon a triumphant shout announced that he had reached the road and was off for the lumber camp at his best speed.
Looking down upon the open space of the gully's bottom, we could see more than two-score corpses piled upon the logs of the road, or upon little mounds of black soil which showed above the level of the slough, half-hidden by the willows and tall, rank tufts of swamp-grass. Save for the dead, this natural clearing was well-nigh deserted.
Jerky conversation anent the many baffling aspects of the case in hand. Gully's name came up. His strange personality was discussed by them from every angle; impartially by Yorke frankly antagonistically by Redmond. "Yes! he is a rum beggar, in a way," admitted Yorke, "not a bad sort of duck, though, when you get to know him when he's not in one of his rotten, brooding fits.
Four Stable and play with the old beggar and feed him sugar nearly every day." Yorke laughed mischievously, and was silent awhile. "Gully's knocked about a deuce of a lot," he resumed presently. "Now and again he'll open up a bit and talk, but mostly he's as close as an oyster and the way he can drop that drawl and come out 'flat-footed' with the straight turkey why, it'd surprise you!
Frank was more fortunate. His timely spring, aided by the impetus of their descent, carried him clear of the horse and sleigh, and sent him headlong into a deep drift that filled a hollow at the gully's bottom. The snow-bank opened its arms to receive him, and buried him to the hips. The first shock completely deprived him of breath, and almost of his senses too.
I guess he made his getaway from yu' easy. Mighty long toime since yuh've bin able tu dhrag yeh're guts up that ladder lit alone squeege thru' th' thrap-dhure. Bet Lanky does all th' chorin'." He glanced around him impatiently, "But this here's all talk it don't lead nowheres. Hullo! this is Gully's team, ain't it?" He indicated a splendid pair of roans standing in a double stall nearby.
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