Fergus, in the saddle now, and urging the mare
with his heels. So Stingaree whispered in the mare's ear; and with that
the strapped wires flew under his captor's nose, as the rider took the
fence, but not the horse.

At a single syllable the milk-white mare had gone on her knees, like
devout lady in holy fane; and as she rose her last rider lay senseless
at her master's feet; but whether from his fall, or from a blow dealt
him in the act of falling, the unhappy Fergus never knew. Indeed,
knowledge for him was at an end until matches burnt under his nose
awakened him to a position of the last humiliation. His throat and chin
topped a fence-post, the weight of his body was on chin and throat,
while wrists and muscles were lashed at full stretch to the wires on
either side.

"Now I'm going to shoot you like a dog," said Stingaree. He drew the
revolver whose muzzle had pressed into his own neck so short a time
before. Yet now it was broad daylight, and the sun coming up in the
bound youth's eyes for the last time.

"Shoot away!" he croaked, raising the top of his head to speak at all.
"I gave you leave before we started. Shoot away!"

"At ten paces," said Stingaree, stepping them. "That, I think, is fair."

"Perfectly," replied Fergus. "But be kind enough to make this so-called
man of yours hold his foul tongue till I'm out of earshot of you all."

Huge Howie had muttered little enough for him, but to that little
Stingaree put an instantaneous stop.

"He's a dog, to be shot like a dog, but too good a dog for you to
blackguard!" cried he. "Any message, young fellow?"

[Illustration: "Any message, young fellow?"]

"Not through you."

"So long, then!"

"Shoot away!"

The long barrel was poised as steadily as field-gun on its carriage.
Fergus kept his blue eyes on the gleaming ring of the muzzle.

The hammer fell, the cartridge cracked, and from the lifted muzzle a
tiny cloud flowed like a bubble from a pipe. The post quivered under
Carrick's chin, and a splinter flew up and down before his eyes. But
that was all.

"Aim longer," said he. "Get it over this shot."

"I'll try."

But the same thing happened again.

"Come nearer," sneered Fergus.

And Stingaree strode forward with an oath.

"I was going to give you six of them. But you're a braver man than I
thought. And that's the lot."

The bound youth's livid face turned redder than the red dawn.

"Shoot me--shoot!" he shouted, like a lunatic.

"No,