He drew a deep breath, and then, with the poise of a practised swimmer, dived—cutting the water with barely a splash. For the space of a half-minute Yorke stared apprehensively at the swirling eddy, beneath which the other had vanished. The line still remained taut. Then he gave a gasp of relief, as Redmond's head re-appeared, and that young gentleman swam to the side. Extending a hand, the senior constable lugged his comrade to terra firma.
"That's good!" he ejaculated fervently. "D——n the fish, anyway! I guess you couldn't make—" He broke off abruptly, and remained staring at the dripping George with startled eyes. The latter's face registered unutterable horror, and he shook as with the ague. Speech seemed beyond him. He could only mouth and point back to the gloomy depths whence he had just emerged.
"Here!" cried Yorke, with an oath, "whatever is the matter, Reddy? Man! you look as if you'd seen a ghost!"
Then his own face blanched, as the shivering George bubbled incoherently, "B-b-body! b-b-body! My God, Yorkey! th-there's a s-s-stiff d-down th-there! Ugh! I d-d-dived right onto it!"
For a brief space they remained staring at each other; then, a strange light of understanding broke over Yorke's face, and he made a snatch at Redmond's clothes. "Come!" he jerked out briskly. "Get 'em on quick, Red, else you'll catch your death of cold—never mind about drying yourself—you can change when you get back."
In shivering silence his comrade commenced to struggle into his underclothes and "fatigue-slacks." Yorke snapped the line and reeled in the slack. "Stiff!" he kept ejaculating "stiff! Yes, by gad! and I can make a pretty good guess who that stiff is! . . . Burke'll have all the evidence he wants—now. You beat it, Reddy, as soon as you're fit and get him. A run'll warm you up. The grappling-irons are back of the stable. And say! tell him to bring a good long rope. Lord, I hope Doctor Cox hasn't left yet. I'll stay here, Reddy. Hurry up!"
An hour or so later, a morbidly expectant group gathered on the river-bank. Redmond, luckily, had reached the detachment just prior to the coroner's departure, and that gentleman now comprised one of a party. Slavin had hitched his team to a cotton-wood clump nearby, and was now busily rigging the double set of three-pronged grappling-irons. When all was ready, he motioned to his companions to stand back, and then, with a preliminary whirl or two, flung the irons into the pool, some distance ahead of the spot indicated by Redmond.
Slowly and ponderously he began the dragging recover, with the muscular skill of a man long inured to the gruesome business. His first effort was unsuccessful—weeds and refuse were all he salvaged. He tried again, with the same result. Cast after cast proved futile. After the last failure he turned and glowered morosely upon Redmond.
"'Tis either dhrunk or dhramin' ye must be, bhoy! There's nothin' there. I've a good mind," he added slowly "a d——d good mind tu shove ye undher arrest for makin' a friv'lus report tu yeh superior!"
Yorke now came to his comrade's rescue. "By gum, Burke," he flashed out "if you'd seen his mug when he came up out of that hole you wouldn't have thought there was anything frivolous about it, I can tell you!"