Stingaree
night: it proved to be an empty sardine tin pricked by a stray lance from the slanting sun.
"We must be near," whispered Kilbride.
"We are there! You hear the creek? He has a gunyah there—that's all. Shall we rush it on horseback or creep up on foot?"
"You know the lie of the land, Bowen; which do you recommend?"
"Rushing it."
"Then here goes."
In a few seconds they had leaped their horses into a tiny clearing on the banks of a creek as relatively minute. And the gunyah—a mere funnel of boughs and leaves, in which a man could lie at full length, but only sit upright at the funnel's mouth—seemed as empty as the space on every hand. The only other sign of Stingaree was a hank of rope flung carelessly across the gunyah roof.
"He may be watching us from among the trees," muttered Kilbride, looking sharply about him. Bowen screwed up his eyes and followed suit.
"I hardly think it, Mr. Kilbride."
"But it's possible, and here we sit for him to pot us! Let's dismount, whether or no."
They slid to the ground. The trooper found himself at the mouth of the gunyah.
128
