you'd let him go. But I've got
to remember that this man has twisted you round his finger before
to-day, led you by the hand like a blessed old child, and passed himself
off for me! Look at the fellow; look at me; and ask yourself candidly if
you're the man for the job. But don't ask me, unless you want my opinion
of you a bit plainer still. No; you go on with the others. The two of
you can manage Howie; if you can't, you put a bullet through him! This
is my man; and I'm his, by the hokey, as he'll know if he tries any of
his tricks while you're gone!"

Stingaree did not move a muscle. He might have been dead; and in his
disappointment it was the easier to lie as though he were. Really
bruised, really battered, really faint and stiff and sore, to say
nothing of his bonds, he felt himself physically no match for so young a
man--with the extra breadth of shoulder and the extra length of arm
which were part and parcel of his deformity. With the elderly sergeant
he might have had a chance, man to man, one arm to two; but with
Superintendent Cairns his only weapons were his wits. He lay quite still
and reviewed the situation, as it was, and as it had been. In the very
moment of his downfall, by instinctive presence of mind he had preserved
the use of his right hand, and that was a still unsuspected asset of
incalculable worth. It had been the nucleus of all his plans; without a
hand he must have resigned himself to the inevitable from the first.
Then he had split up the party. He heard the sergeant and the constable
ride off with Howie, exactly as he had intended two of the three captors
to do. His fall alone introduced the element of luck. It might have
killed or maimed him; but the risk had been run with open eyes. Being
alive and whole, he had reduced the odds from three against two to man
and man; and the difference was enormous, even though one man held all
the cards. Against Howie the odds were heavier than ever, but Howie was
eliminated from present calculations. And as Stingaree made them with
the upturned face of seeming insensibility, he heard a nonchalant step
come and go, but knew an eye was on him all the time, and never opened
his own till the striking of a match was followed by the smell of bush
tobacco.

The shadow of the hop-bush was spreading like spilt ink, and for the
moment Stingaree thought he had it to himself. But a wreath of blue
smoke hovered overhead; and when he got to his elbow, and glanced
be