he stars. Stingaree
knew the handful of gaunt, unsheltered huts the lights stood for. They
were an inn, a store, and police-barracks: Clear Corner on the map. The
bushranger galloped straight up to the barracks, but skirted the knot of
men in the light before the veranda, and went jingling round into the
yard. The young constable in charge ran through the building and met him
dismounted at the back.

"What's the matter, sir?"

"He's gone!"

"Stingaree?"

"He was worse than we thought. Your man all right?"

"No trouble whatever, sir. Only sick and sorry and saying his prayers
in a way you'd never credit. Come and hear him."

"I must come and see him at once. Got a fresh horse in?"

"I have so! In and saddled in the stall. I thought you might want one,
sir, and ran up Barmaid, Stingaree's own mare, that was sent out here
from the station when we had the news."

"That was very thoughtful of you. You'll get on, young man. Now lead the
way with that lamp."

This time Stingaree had spoken in gasps, like a man who had ridden very
far, and the young constable, unlike his sergeant, did not know his
voice of old. Yet it struck him at the last moment as more unlike the
voice of Superintendent Cairns than the hardest riding should have made
it, and with the key in the door of the cell the young fellow wheeled
round and held the lamp on high. That instant he was felled to the
floor, the lamp went down and out with a separate yet simultaneous
crash, and Stingaree turned the key.

"Howie! Not a word--out you come!"

The burly ruffian crept forth with outstretched hands apart.

"What! Not even handcuffed?"

"No; turned over a new leaf the moment we left you, and been praying
like a parson for 'em all to hear!"

"This chap can do the same when he comes to himself. Lies pretty still,
doesn't he? In with him!"

The door clanged. The key was turned. Stingaree popped it into his
pocket.

"The later they let him out the better. Here's the best mount you ever
had. And my sweetheart's waiting for me in the stable!"

Outside, in front, before the barracks veranda, an inquisitive little
group heard first the clang of the door within, and presently the
clatter of hoofs coming round from the yard. Stingaree and Howie--a
white flash and a bay streak--swept past them as they stood confounded.
And the dwindling pair still bobbed in sight, under a full complement of
stars, when a fresh outcry from the cell, and a mighty hammerin