open safe.

"House full of paltry paper!" said he. "I suppose it's the old
sportsman's custom to get rid of most of his heavy metal before closing
on Saturdays?"

Fergus said it was; he had himself stowed many a strong-box aboard
unsuspected barges for Echuca.

"Well, now's our time to leave you," continued Stingaree. "If I'm not
mistaken, their flight is simply for the moment, and in two or three
more they'll be back to batter in the bank shutters. I wonder what they
think we've done with our horses? I'll bet they've looked everywhere but
in the larder next the kitchen door--not that we ever let them get so
close. But my mate's in there now, mounted and waiting, and I shall have
to leave you."

"But I was coming with you," cried Fergus, aghast.

Stingaree's eye-glass dangled on its cord.

"I'm afraid I must trouble you to step into that safe instead," said he,
smiling.

"Man, I mean it! You think I don't. I've fought on your side of my own
free will. How can I live that down? It's the only side for me for the
rest of time!"

The fixed eye-glass covered the brick-red face with the molten eyes.

"I believe you do mean it."

"You shall shoot me if I don't."

"I most certainly should. But my mate Howie has his obvious limitations.
I've long wanted a drop of new blood. Barmaid's thoroughbred and strong
as an elephant; we're neither of us heavyweights; by the powers, I'll
trust you, and you shall ride behind!"

Now, Barmaid was the milk-white mare that was only less notorious than
her lawless rider. It was noised in travellers' huts and around
campfires that she would do more at her master's word than had been
known of horse outside a circus. It was the one touch that Stingaree had
borrowed from a more Napoleonic but incomparably coarser and crueller
knight of the bush. In all other respects the _fin de siecle_ desperado
was unique. It was a stroke of luck, however, that there happened to be
an old white mare in the bank stables, which the police had impounded
with solemn care while turning every other animal adrift. And so it
fell out that not a shot followed the mounted bushrangers into the
night, and that long before the bank shutters were battered in the
flying trio were miles away.

Fergus flew like a runaway bride, his arms about the belted waist of
Stingaree. Trees loomed ahead and flew past by the clump under a
wonderful wide sky of scintillating stars. The broad bush track had very
soon been deser