Stingaree
"Rise another inch without my leave and you may be in blazes to see!"
"Look here, Bowen, what do you mean?"
"Only that Stingaree happens to be at home after all, Mr. Kilbride."
The victim's grin was no longer forced; the situation made for laughter, even if the laughter were hysterical; and for an instant it was given even to Kilbride to see the cruel humor of it. Then he realized all it meant to him—certain ruin or a sudden death—and the drops stood thick upon his skin.
"What of Bowen?" he at length asked hoarsely. The idea of another victim came as some slight alleviation of his own grotesque case.
"I didn't kill him," Stingaree.
"Good!" said Kilbride. It was something that two of them should live to share the shame.
"But wing him I did," added the bushranger. "I couldn't help myself. The beggar put a bullet through my hat; he did well only to get one back in the leg."
Kilbride longed to be winged and wounded in his turn, since blood alone could lessen his disgrace. On cooler reflection, however, it was obviously wiser to feign a surrender more abject than it might finally prove to have been.
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