y murmur up
among the timber-lined spurs of Crag Canon.

And a huge, gaunt lobo wolf, lying at the crest of the draw, flung up his
gray head and howled back his awful note--seemingly in echo: "There is
no God! no God!"

[1] Note by Author--Canada's official executioner at this period.

CHAPTER XVI

"Feel my pulse, sir, if you want to,
but it ain't much use to try--"
"Never say that," said the Surgeon,
as he smothered down a sigh:
"Chuck a brace, for it won't do, man,
for a soldier to say die!"
"What you say don't make no diffrunce, Doctor,
an'--you wouldn't lie. . . ."
"THE OLD SERGEANT"

"Git there! Come a-Haw-r-r, then! Whoa!" With a flourish, Constable
Miles Sloan, the Regimental Teamster, swung the leaders of his splendid
four-in-hand and pulled up at the front entrance of the Holy Cross
Hospital. Slewing around on his high box-seat he addressed himself to
the drag's occupants, Slavin and Yorke.

"I don't know whether they will let you see him, or not," he remarked
doubtfully, "he's a pretty sick man."

"We will chance ut, anyway," mumbled Slavin, as he and Yorke climbed out
of the rig. "Ye'd best wait awhile, Miles! We shan't be long."

Quietly--very quietly, Sister Marthe opened the door of room Number
Fifty-six, and with list-slippered noiselessness stepped out into the
corridor.

"Oh, Mon Dieu!" she ejaculated, startled at the sudden apparition of two
scarlet-coated figures standing motionless outside the door, "Oh,
m'sieurs, 'ow you fright me!" and the expressive eyes under the white
coif and the shoulders and supple hands of the French-Canadian
Nursing-Sister made great play.

Yorke saluted her with grave courtesy. "Sister," he said anxiously, "how
is Constable Redmond doing? Can we see him?"

She glanced irresolutely a moment at the handsome, imploring countenance
of the speaker, and then her gaze flickered to his huge companion. The
silent, wistful appeal she read in the latter's grim, cadaverous face
decided her.

"_Eheu_!" she said softly, "'e is a ver' seeck man . . . but come then,
m'sieurs, if you wish it!"

Cautiously they tip-toed into the room behind her.

Yes! They decided, he was a "seeck" man all right! So sick that he
could not raise his flushed, hollow-cheeked young face from the pillow to
salute his comrades with his customary impious bonhomie. Now, gabbling
away t