shes would have sufficed to kill
him." He clipped the hair around a ghastly gaping crevice at the base of
the head.

Suddenly he peered closely, uttered an exclamation, peered again and drew
back. "Sergeant!" he said sharply, "D'ye see that?--No need to ask you
what that is!" In an unbroken portion of the back of the skull he
indicated a small, circular orifice. The trio craned forward and made
minute examination. Slavin ejaculated an oath and glanced up at
Yorke--almost remorsefully.

"I take ut all back," he said. Meeting the coroner's blank, enquiring
stare he added: "Booze, Docthor--we thought ut might be. . . . Yeh know
Larry!"

The physician of Cow Run nodded understandingly. Slavin bent again and
made close scrutiny of the bullet-hole. "_Back_ av th' head, no powdher
marks!" He straightened up. "Docther, are ye thru? All right, thin!
Guess we'll book up an' start in."

Methodically they all produced note-books and entered the needful
particulars. The lanky individual who had driven the coroner out brought
forward a tarpaulin and spread it on the ground. With some difficulty
the over-shoed foot was disengaged from the imprisoning stirrup, the body
rolled in the tarpaulin and deposited in the rear of the doctor's cutter.
The saddle and bridle were flung into the Police cutter. They then
rolled the dead horse clear of the trail.

That night the coyotes held grim, snarling carnival.

Slavin turned to Redmond. "Ye've located th' place, eh?" The latter
nodded. "All right, thin, get mounted, th' tu av yez, an' lead on!"

Keeping needfully wide of the broad, claret-bespotted swath in the snow,
the party started trailing back. Yorke and George rode ahead. The
latter glanced around to make sure of being out of earshot of their
sergeant.

"We-ll of all the hardened old cases! . . . Slavin sure does crown 'em!"
he muttered to his comrade.

"Hardened!" Yorke laughed grimly. "You should have seen him up in the
Yukon! The man's been handling these rotten morgue cases 'till he'd
qualify for the Seine River Police. He's got so he ascribes well-nigh
everything now to 'dhrink an' th' divil.'" His face softened, "but I
know the real heart of old Burke under it all."

About two miles down the trail Redmond halted.

"Here it is!" he said. And he indicated an irregular, blood-soaked,
clawed-up patch in the snow where the sanguinary swath ended. They
dismounted. Slavin drawing up alongside the