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"Luks as if he'd shtruck back tu Cow Run again," he said with conviction. "Must have come from there, tu thracks was goin' and comin' an' ye noticed, fwhin we climbed out av th' coulee back there. We must luk for a harse wid th' nigh-hind badly 'calked. Yorkey! yu' get back an' tell that Lanky Jones feller tu come on. Hitch yez own harses behint our cutter an' take th' lines."
And luk here!" he added savagely, pointing to the bare feet, "here's another of Mr. Man's little jokes no boots. If they'd have been lift on they'd have shtuck tighter'n glue in that water. Reddy was 'bout right, Yorkey! Gully, d n him! did frame us that day. Must have used thim himsilf tu make thim thracks wid early in th' mornin' behfure he met up wid us on th' thrail. Oh, blarney my sowl! Yes!
Gully!" he gasped out imploringly, "it's Yorkey, I tell you oh, don't pick off Yorkey! . . . Drink? . . ." the unnaturally bright eyes stared unseeingly at the motionless figure of the O.C., standing at the foot of the cot "Not so much now since looking after him. . . . Not a bad chap. . . . We fought once. . . . Yes, Sir! . . . had hell of a fight! . . . Pax? . . . sure! bless you! buried ruddy hatchet auld lang syne Slavin. . . . St.
"A quare chap is Yorkey," he continued gently shielding a match-flame and puffing with noisy respiration "a good polisman knows th' Criminal Code from A tu Z eyah! but mighty quare. I misdoubt how th' tu av yez will get along." He sighed deeply, muttering half to himself, "I may have tu take shteps this time! . . ." A rather ominous beginning, thought George.
At the same time, no insubordinate Englishman, named Crooked-nosed Yorkey, and made in proportion, ever did, or ever will, suffer manual mauling at the hands of an English gentleman or any other gentleman, for that matter. What a fool the gentleman would be! No; Crooked-nosed Yorkey is always given in charge; and it takes three policemen to run him in. English fair-play!
"W'y, gorblimey!" said Hardy, "Ain't that queer? that's jes' wot I wos a-thinkin' . . . Well, Gawd 'elp Sorjint Slavin now!" With which cryptic utterance he resumed his eternal polishing. "Amen!" responded the farrier piously, "Reddy, here, an' Yorkey on th' same detachment. . . . What th' one don't know t'other'll teach him. . . . You'd better let 'em have th' parrot, too."
"'Tis put th' kibosh on many a good man in th' ould Force has this same dhrink. Th' likes av Yorkey there" he jerked his head at the lighted window "shud never touch ut never touch ut! . . . Cannot flirrt wid a bottle 'tis wedded they wud be tu ut. Now meself" he paused impressively "I can take me dhrink like a ginthleman can take ut, or lave ut alone." Absorptive demonstration followed.
In his right hand he grasped opened a small pen-knife. "Aw, quit it!" he retorted rudely, "I'll only be under a minute hold the line taut straight up and down, Yorkey, so's I can see where to dive." He drew a deep breath, and then, with the poise of a practised swimmer, dived cutting the water with barely a splash.
"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.
I'll sind a man shortly an' vag um! So long! Oh, hold on, Nick! . . . May th' divil niver know ye're dead till ye're tu hours in Hivin! Fwhat? Oh, thank yez! Same tu yez! Well! . . . so long!" "Hobo worryin' Nick Lee at Cow Run. Scared av fire in th' livery-shtable. Go yu', Yorkey!" He eyed George a moment in curious speculation. "Yu' had betther go along tu, Ridmond!
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