Stingaree
his long revolver. Few words were spoken from first to last; the Hon. Guy never put in his at all; but he watched the outlaw like a lynx, without betraying an undue attention, and when all was over he gave a sigh.
"So that's Stingaree!" he said, more to himself than to his comrades in humiliation; but the bush-ranger had cantered back into the scrub, and his name opened the flood-gates of a profanity which made Kentish wince, for all his knowledge of the world.
"Do you never swear at him till he has gone?" he asked when he had a chance. The driver leant across the legs of his friend.
"Not unless we want a bullet through our skulls," he answered in boorish derision; and the man between them laughed harshly.
"I thought he had never been known to shoot?"
"That's just it, mister. We don't want him to begin on us."
"Why didn't you give him a bit of your mind?" the man in the middle inquired of Kentish. "I never heard you open your gills!"
"And we expected to see some pluck from the old country," added the driver, wreaking vengeance with his lash.
Mr. Kentish produced his cigar-case with an
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