d
pulled out his watch. "'Tis four o'clock, begob! Twill turn bitther
cowld whin th' sun goes down."

The coroner smiled knowingly. "Talking about 'calks'!" he remarked; and
diving into the deep recesses of his fur coat he produced a
comfortable-looking leather-encased flask. "A little 'calk' all round
won't hurt us after that tramp, Sergeant!" he observed kindly.

Their transport presently arriving, they proceeded on their way to Cow
Run, Yorke and Redmond watching carefully for any tracks debouching from
the main trail. Occasionally they dismounted to verify the incriminating
hoof-prints which still continued eastward. In this fashion they finally
drew to the level of the river, where the trail forked; one arm of it
following more or less the winding course of the Bow River back westward.
At this junction they searched narrowly until they found unmistakable
indication of the blood-tinged tracks still heading in the direction of
Cow Run.

"What was that case of yours, Yorkey?" enquired Redmond. "You know--what
Slavin was talking about?"

"Mix-up over that horse," replied Yorke laconically, "disputed ownership.
A chap named Moran tried to run a bluff over Larry that he'd lost the
horse as a colt. They got to scrapping and I ran 'em both up before
Gully, the J. P. here. Moran got fined twenty dollars and costs for
assaulting Blake. Say! look at that sky! Isn't it great?"

They turned in their saddles and looked westward. Clean-cut against a
pale yellow-ochre background and enveloped in a deep purple bloom, the
mighty peaks of the distant "Rockies" upreared their eternal snow-capped
glory in a salute to departing day. Above, where the opaline-tinted
horizon shaded imperceptibly into the deep ultramarine of evening, lay
glowing streamers of vivid crimson cloud-bank edged with the gleaming
gold of the sunset's after-glow.

It was a soul-filling sight. Against it the sordid contrast of the
sinister business in hand smote them like a blow from an unseen hand, as
they resumed their monotonous scanning of the trail on its either side.

Yorke presently voiced the impression in both their hearts. "My God'" he
murmured "the bitter irony of it! 'Peace on Earth, goodwill towards
men' . . . and this!--what?"

CHAPTER VII

_Oh! Bad Bill Brough, a way-back tough
Raised hell when he struck town;
With gun-in-fist met Sergeant Twist--
It sure was some show-down_.