o himself in the throes of delirium, ever his feverish eyes stared
beyond the hospital-walls westwards to Davidsburg.

With his brow contracted with an expression of vague worry, he was living
over and over again the memorable night in which he had gotten his wound.

"Slavin!--Yorkey!" he kept repeating, in tones of such yearning entreaty
that moved those individuals more than they cared to show. Yes, they
were both of them there, standing by the side of his cot; but the poor
sufferer's unseeing eyes betrayed no recognition.

The deep sorrow that oppressed Slavin and Yorke just then those worthies
rarely--if ever--alluded to afterwards. Passing the love of women is the
unspoken, indefinable spirit of true comradeship that exists between some
men.

For one brief, soul-baring moment the comrades stared at each other,
their self-conscious faces reflecting mutually their inmost feelings;
then Yorke turned to Sister Marthe.

"What does the Doctor say?" he whispered anxiously.

The nurse was about to make answer when the door was softly opened and
that gentleman entered the room, accompanied by Captain Bargrave and
Inspector Kilbride.

Involuntarily, from long habit of discipline, Slavin and Yorke, stiffened
to "attention" in the presence of their superiors, until, with a kindly,
yet withal slightly imperious gesture, the O.C. mutely signified them
to relax their formal attitude. The Regimental Surgeon, Dr. Sampson, a
tall, gray-moustached, pleasant-faced man, nodded to them familiarly and
proceeded to make minute examination of his patient's wound. From time
to time he questioned and issued low-voiced instructions to Sister
Marthe. Perfectly motionless, the grave-eyed quartette of policemen
stood grouped around the cot, silently awaiting the physician's verdict.

Throughout, poor Redmond had continued to toss and rave incessantly.
Much of his babbling was incoherent and fragmentary--breaking off short
in the middle of a sentence or dying away in a mumbling, indistinct
murmur. At intervals though, his voice rang out with startling clearness.

"Ah-a-a! Here he is!" he cried out suddenly, "Gully!"--all eyes were
centred on the flushed, unquiet face and restless hands. There seemed a
curious, morbid fascination in watching the workings of that
sub-conscious mind. "No use, Gully! You can't make it from there!"--the
twitching hands made a motion as of levelling a carbine--"No use, man!
I've got you covered. .