No less astounding was the uncanny legerdemain displayed in drawing from and replacing the weapon in its place of concealment.  The Indians, attracted from the store by the sounds of shooting, began gabbling and gesticulating affrightedly, but when MacDavid spoke to them sharply in Cree they retreated inside again.

Some distance away, glaring at the dead dogs, the justice sat in his saddle, and from beneath his huge moustache he spat a volley of most un-magisterial oaths, delivered in a snarling, nasal tone foreign to the ears of his listeners.  A minute or so he remained thus, then his baleful eyes met the steady, meaning stare of the motionless quartette and his face changed to a blank, irresolute expression.  He made a motion of urging his horse forward, then, checking it abruptly, he wheeled about, loping away in his original direction.

The trader was the first one to find his voice.  “Well, my God!” he ejaculated.  “Did you ever see th’ like o’ that?”

His companions remained curiously silent.  “Gully!” he continued, with vibrating voice, “whoever’d a-thought that that drawlin’ English dude could shoot like that? . . .  Fred Storey should have been here. . . .”  Still getting no response to his remarks he glanced up wonderingly.  The three policemen were staring strangely at each other, and something in their expression startled him.

“Eh!  Why!  What’s up?” he queried sharply.

Then Slavin spoke grimly.  “Let’s go luk at thim dogs,” was all he vouchsafed.

They stepped forward and inspected the carcasses critically.  “Fifty yards away, if he was a foot!” said Redmond, “and he dropped them in one! two! three! . . .”

“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.