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He beat it out quick for th' East-bound as had just come in. Said he was runnin' down to Calgary. He ain't back yet. Guess he wudn't want to go gettin' mixed up in anythin' like that, either him bein' a J. P." Slavin looked at Yorke. "Let's have a luk at that gun av Moran's!" he remarked. "Fwhat is ut?" Yorke handed the weapon over. "'Smith and Wesson' single-action," he said.
"Not quite so humorous as it seemed to be at first, I reckon," he commented, dryly. "Slavin," and he prodded the red giant once more with his foot, "I'm going out; if you make any attempt to leave this room within the next five minutes I 'll kill you in your tracks, as I would a mad dog. You stacked cards twice to-night, but the last time I beat you fairly at your own game."
"Yes! wance an' 'Father, th' ould rapparee! he went for me baldheaded for not reporthin' ut tu." With a sort of miserable heartiness Slavin cursed awhile at the recollection.
Suddenly the nasal voice of the teamster, Lanky Jones, made itself heard. "How 'bout me?" he drawled, "ain't I in on this, too? I kin look after th' hawsses, anyways, fur yeh!" "Arrah thin! hark tu um?" said Slavin, in mock despair. "Docthor, 'tis a bad example ye're setting All right, thin, Lanky, ye shall come, an' ye wish ut. An' as man tu man I thank ye!
"Yes! d n him! I wish he had got out before this bizness started. Yes! he's bin here right along, Sarjint! why? what's up?" Slavin evaded the direct question for the moment. Silently awhile he gazed at the three wondering faces. "Now, I'll tell yez!" he said slowly. And briefly he informed them of the murder omitting all detail of the clues obtained later.
Slavin rolled off his cot with a grunt and strode heavily to the front door, which he opened. Redmond silently followed him and together the two men stepped out into the crisply-crunching hard-packed snow. It was a magnificent night.
"H-mm!" grunted Slavin, summing up the situation with native simplicity, "That's ut, eh? but, for all ye have th' spache an' manners av a ginthleman ranker somehow somehow I misdoubt ye're a way-back waster like Misther Yorkey here!" That hardened "ginthleman," absently sipping his coffee, flung a faintly-derisive, patient smile at his accuser.
Two minutes later and Thad gave vent to an ejaculation. "It's all up now, Hugh!" he said, in a half-disappointed tone. "What is?" demanded his comrade wonderingly. "The Chief has arrested Tip Slavin, I mean. He must have heard what Owen Dugdale had to say about meeting Tip Slavin smoking a cigarette on the road to the mill-pond, and set a trap for him.
His haggard eyes implored Redmond's. "No! no! never again . . . I swear it. . . ." There came a long, painful silence. "See here; look!" began Yorke suddenly. He stopped and surveyed George, a trifle anxiously. "Mind! . . . I'm not trying to justify myself but get me right about this now. Don't you ever start in making a mistake about Slavin blarney and all. No, Sir!
"Say, Burke!" he continued in an awe-struck voice "this is like a leaf out of O'Brien's book, with a vengeance. You remember him, that cold-blooded devil who Pennycuik nailed up in the Yukon used to shoot 'em and shove their bodies under the ice?" Slavin nodded gloomily. "At Tagish, ye mane? Yeah! I 'member ut. Penny sure did some good wurrk on that case."
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