"Slap through the head, too!" muttered Yorke. "Burke!"—he added suddenly. Slavin met his eye with a steady, meaning stare; then, at something he read in his subordinate's face, the sergeant's deep-set orbs dilated strangely and he swung on his heel.
"Aye!" he ejaculated with an oath "I was forghettin' thim—come bhoys! let's go luk for thim. Shpread out, or we may miss the place."
"Empty shells," explained Yorke to the others, "automatic ejection—you remember, Reddy! We may find them."
Keeping a short distance apart, they sauntered forward, trying to recall the spot Gully had shot from. For awhile, with bent heads, they circled slowly about each other, carefully scrutinizing the short turf. Presently the trader uttered a low exclamation. "Here's th' place!" he said, pointing downwards. The others joined him and they all gazed at the cluster of deeply-indented hoof-marks, indicating where the horse had propped and whirled about.
"Aha!" said Redmond, suddenly.
"Got ut?" queried Slavin.
For answer George dropped a small discharged shell into the other's outstretched palm. The sergeant made swift examination. A shocking blasphemy escaped him, and for an instant he jerked back his arm as if to fling the article away, then, recovering himself with an effort, he handed it to Yorke, who peered in turn.
The latter made a wry face. "Hell!" he ejaculated disgustedly, "it's a 'Savage' this—thirty-two at that!" He lowered his voice. "The other was a thirty-eight Luger—what?"
"Time an' agin," Slavin was declaiming in impotent rage and with upraised fist,—"Time an' ag'in—have we shtruck a lead on this blasted case—on'y tu find ut peter out agin. . . . Oh! how long, O Lord? how long? . . ."
MacDavid stopped in turn. "Here's th' other two, Sarjint," he said. Slavin dropped the shells into his pocket and for a space he remained in deep thought. Then he turned to the trader.