e you and the Doctor going to do? Going back to Cow Run
tonight, or what?"

"Don't think it," replied the teamster laconically. He glanced towards
the open door and assumed a listening attitude. "Th' Sarjint an' him's
out there now--chewin' th' rag 'bout it--hark to 'em!"

Ceasing their cleaning operations for a space, the two constables
listened intently to the raised voices without. "No! no! no!" came
Slavin's soft brogue, in tones of vehement protest to something the
coroner had said, "I tell yu' 'tis not right, Docthor, that yu' shud run
such risk! Wid us 'tis diff'runt--takin' th' chances av life an'
death--just ord'nary course av juty. . . ."

"Oh, tut! tut! nonsense, Sergeant," was the physician's brisk response.
"You forget. I've taken those same chances before, too, and, by Jove! I
can take 'em again! All things considered," he added significantly,
"seems to me--er--perhaps just as well I should be on hand."

Yorke and Redmond exchanged rueful grins. "The old sport!" quoth the
latter admiringly. "Damme, but I must say the Doc's game!"

"It's the old 'ex-service spirit'," said Yorke quietly, "rum thing!
Always seems to crop out, somehow, when there's real trouble on hand."

Nonchalantly puffing a huge cigar, the object of their remarks presently
strolled back into the room, followed by the sergeant. "Behould th'
'last coort av appeal,' Docthor," began Slavin majestically. With a
whimsical grin he indicated his subordinates. "Bhoys," he explained,
"contrairy tu my wishes, th' Docthor insists on comin' wid us this night.
Now fwhat yez know 'bout that?"

"Tried to shake me!" supplemented that gentleman tersely, waving his
cigar at the last speaker. "What's this court's ruling?"

A stern smile flitted over Yorke's high-bred features. "Appeal
sustained," he announced decisively, "eh, Reddy?"

For answer, his comrade arose and silently wrung the doctor's hand; then,
without show of emotion, he resumed his seat and likewise his cleaning
operations. Yorke, as silently, duplicated his comrade's actions. The
ex-Naval surgeon said nothing; but his eyes glistened strangely as he
dropped into an easy chair and proceeded to envelope himself in a cloud
of smoke,

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. "Doc