t him at it, and,
creeping away as silently as he had come, described a circle and came
noisily on the bushranger from the front. The result was that Stingaree
was not startled into firing, but stopped the intruder at due distance
with his revolver levelled across the open copy of _Punch_.

"I heard you singing _Pinafore_," cried Kentish, cheerily. "And I find
you reading _Punch_!"

"How dare you find me?" demanded the bushranger, black with passion.

"I thought you wouldn't mind. I am perfectly innocuous--look!"

And, divesting himself of his shooting-coat, he tossed it across for the
other's inspection; he wore neither waistcoat nor hip-pocket, and his
innocence of arms was manifest when he had turned round slowly where he
stood.

"Now may I not come a little nearer?" asked the Hon. Guy.

"No; keep your distance, and tell me why you have come so far. The
truth, mind, or you'll be shot!"

"Very well," said Kentish. "They were dreadful people on the coach----"

"Are they waiting for you?" thundered Stingaree.

"No; they've gone on; and they think me mad."

"So you are."

"We shall see; meanwhile I prefer your company to theirs, and mean to
enjoy it up to the moment of my murder."

For an instant Stingaree seemed on the brink of a smile; then his dark
face hardened, and he tapped the long barrel in rest between his knees.

"You may call it murder if you like," said he. "That will not prevent me
from shooting you dead unless you speak the truth. You have come for
something; what is it?"

"I've told you already. I was bored and disgusted. That is the truth."

"But not the whole truth," cried Stingaree. "You had some other reason."

Kentish looked down without speaking. He heard the revolver cocked.

"Come, let us have it, or I'll shoot you like the spy I believe you
are!"

"You may shoot me for telling you," said Kentish, with a quiet laugh and
shrug.

"No, I shall not, unless it turns out that you're ground-bait for the
police."

"That I am not," said Kentish, growing serious in his turn. "But, since
you insist, I have come to persuade you to give up every one of these
letters which you have no earthly right to touch."

Their eyes met. Stingaree's were the wider open, and in an instant the
less stern. He dropped his revolver, with a laugh, into its old place at
his side.

"Mad or sane," said he, "I shall be under the unpleasant necessity of
leaving you rather securely tied to one of these trees