pproval, to the captive who was still his master with
the tongue. With all his villainy, the bushranger was man enough to
appreciate another man when he met him; but Carmichael's last word
flicked him on a bare nerve.

"Don't you dare to talk to me about murder," he rapped out. "I've never
committed one yet, but you're going the right way to make me begin! As
for Bishop Methuen, I have more respect for him than for any man in
Australia; but his horse was worth two of my mate's, and that's all I
troubled him for. I didn't even tie him up as I would any other man. We
just relieved the two of them of their boots and clothes, which was
quite as good as tying up, with your roads as red-hot as they
are--though my mate here doesn't agree with me."

The man with the beard very emphatically shook a matted head, now
relieved of the stolen helmet, and observed that the quicker they were
the better it would be. He was as taciturn a bushranger as he had been a
bishop, but Stingaree was perfectly right. Even these few words would
have destroyed all chance of illusion in the case of his mate.

"The very clothes, which become us so well," continued the prince of
personators, who happened to be without hair upon his face at this
period, and who looked every inch his part; "their very boots, we have
only borrowed! I will tell you presently where we dropped the rest of
their kit. We left them a suit of pyjamas apiece, and not another
stitch, and we blindfolded and drove 'em into the scrub as a last
precaution. But before we go I shall also tell you where a search-party
is likely to pick up their tracks. Meanwhile you will all stay exactly
where you are, with the exception of the store-keeper, who will kindly
accompany me to the store. I shall naturally require to see the inside
of the safe, but otherwise our wants are very simple."

The outlaw ceased. There was no word in answer; a curious hush had
fallen on the captive congregation.

"If there is a store-keeper," suggested Stingaree, "he'd better stand
up."

But the accomplished Chaucer sat stark and staring.

"Up with you," whispered Carmichael, in terrible tones, "or we're done!"

And even as the book-keeper rose tremulously to his feet, a strange and
stealthy figure, the cynosure of all eyes but the bushrangers' for a
long minute, reached the open end of the veranda; and with a final
spring, a tall man in silk pyjamas, his gray beard flying over either
shoulder, hurled himsel