a stout heart. Both were brave men; neither was
really to be feared. But the man behind upon the thoroughbred, the man
in front, the man now on this side and now on that, with his braying
laugh and his vindictive voice--triumphant as though he had taken the
bushrangers himself, and a blatant bully in his triumph--was none other
than the formidable Superintendent whose undying animosity the
bushrangers had earned by the two escapades associated with his name.

Yet the outlaw never flattered him with word or look, never lifted chin
from chest, never raised an eye or opened his mouth until Howie's knock
on the head caused him to curse his mate for a fool who deserved all he
got. The thoroughbred was caracoling on his other side in an instant.

"You ain't one, are you?" cried the taunting tongue of Superintendent
Cairns. "Not much fool about Stingaree!"

The time had come for a reply.

"So I thought until yesterday," sighed the bushranger. "But now I'm not
so sure."

"Not so sure, eh? You were sure enough last time we met, my beauty!"

"Yes! I had some conceit of myself then," said Stingaree, with another
of his convincing sighs.

"To say nothing of when you guyed me, damn you!" added the
Superintendent, below his breath and through his teeth.

"Well," replied the outlaw, "you've got your revenge. I must expect you
to rub it in."

"My fine friend," rejoined Cairns, "you may expect worse than that, and
still you won't be disappointed."

Stingaree made no reply; and it would have taken a very shrewd eye to
have read deeper than the depth of sullen despair expressed in every
inch of his bound body and every furrow of his downcast face. Even the
vindictive Cairns ceased for a time to crow over so abject an adversary
in so bitter an hour. Meanwhile, the five horses streamed slowly through
the high lights and heavy shadows of a winding avenue of scrub. It was
like a hot-house in the dense, low trees: not a wandering wind, not a
waking bird; but five faces that dripped steadily in the shade, and all
but caught fire in the sun. Ahead rode Howie, dazed and bleeding, with
his callous young constable; the sergeant and his chief, with Stingaree
between them, now brought up the rear. By degrees Stingaree raised his
chin a little, but still looked neither right nor left.

"Cheer up!" cried the chief, with soothing irony.

"I feel the heat," said the bound man, uncomplainingly. "And it was just
about here it happened."

"W