“They’re ‘balling-up’ pretty bad, Sergeant!” remarked Redmond.  And, as he spoke the “off” horse suddenly slipped and fell, and, plunging to its feet again, a leg slid over the cutter’s tongue.

“Whoa, now! whoa!” barked Slavin, with an oath, as the mettled, high-strung animal began to kick affrightedly.  Slipping again it sank down in the snow and remained still for some tense moments.

Like a flash Redmond sprang from the cutter, and rapidly and warily he unhooked the team’s traces.  This done he crept to their heads and slipped the end of the tongue out of the neck-yoke ring.  Slavin by this time was also on his feet in the snow, with the situation well in hand.  He clucked softly to his team, the fallen horse plunged to its feet again and the next moment all was clear.  George, burrowing around in the snow unearthed a big stone, with which he proceeded to tap the team’s shoes all round until the huge snow-clogs fell out.  In silence the two men hooked up again and were soon on their way.

“H-mm!” grunted the big Irishman at last, eyeing his subordinate with a sidelong glance of approval, “h-mm! teamster?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Sergeant” responded Redmond deprecatingly, “of course I’ve been around teams some—­down East, on the old man’s farm. . .  I don’t know that I can claim to be a real teamster—­as you judge them in the Force.”

“H-mm!” grunted Slavin again, “ye seem tu have th’ makin’s anyway.”  He expectorated musingly.  “Wan time—­down at Coutts ’twas—­a young feller was sint tu me for tu dhrive.  Mighty chipper gossoon, tu.  ‘Teamster?’ sez I—­’Some!’ sez he, as if he was a reg’lar gun at th’ business—­’but I’m gen’rally reckoned handier wid a foursome ‘n a single team.’”

“‘Oh!’ sez I, ‘fwhere?’ An’ he tould me—­Regina.  Sez I thin ’’tis Skinner Adams’s undershtudy ye must have bin?—­for he was Reg’mentil Teamster Sarjint there, an’ sure fwas a great man wid a four-in-hand team.’”

“‘Fwat, ould Skinner Adams?’ sez me bould lad, kind av contempshus-like, ‘Humph! at shtringin’ out four I have Skinner Adams thrimmed tu a peak.’  We was dhrivin’ from th’ station tu th’ detachmint—­same like tu we’re doin’ now.  Whin we gits in I unhitches an’ puts up th’ team.  ’Give us a hand tu shling th’ harniss off!’ sez I tu him—­an’ me shmart Aleck makes a shtab at ut wid th’ nigh horse.  He was not quite so chipper—­thin, an’ I noticed his hands thremblin’, an’ he was all th’ time watchin’ me close how I did wid th’ off harse.  I dhraws off wid th’ britchin’ on me arrum—­’Come!’ sez I—­an’ he shtarts in—­unbucklin’ th’ top hame-shtrap.

“‘As ye were!’ sez I ‘that’s enough!  I’m thinkin’ th’ on’y ‘four’ you iver shtrung out me young flapdhoodle was a gang av prisoners, an’ blarney me sowl! ye shall go back tu th’ Post right now, an’ du prisoner’s escort agin for awhile.’”

They had now reached the top of the grade where the trail swung due east, and faced a dazzling sun and cutting wind which whipped the blood to their cheeks and made their eyes water.