Starlight made a bow, polite to the last, and passed out. Jim was on his horse as we got to the stable door. Warrigal fetched Starlight’s, and in half a minute Jim and he were off together along the road full split, and I had as much as I could do to catch them up within the next mile. It wasn’t twenty miles to Whitman’s place, Darjallook, but the road was good, and we did it in a hour and twenty minutes, or thereabout. I know Starlight lit a match and looked at his watch when we got near the front gate.

We could see nothing particular about the house. The lights shone out of the windows, and we heard the piano going.

“Seems all right,” says Starlight. “Wonder if they came, after all? They’ll think we want to stick the place up if we ride up to the hall door. Get off and look out tracks, Warrigal.”

Warrigal dismounted, lit a couple of matches, and put his head down close to the soft turf, as if he was going to smell it.

“Where track?” says Starlight.

“There!” says Warrigal, pointing to something we couldn’t see if we’d looked for a month. “Bin gone that way. That one track Moran’s horse. I know him; turn foot in likit cow. Four more track follow up.”

“Why, they’re in the house now, the infernal scoundrels,” says Starlight. “You stay here with the horses, Warrigal; we’ll walk up. If you hear shooting, tie them to the fence and run in.”

We walked up very quiet to the house—we’d all been there before, and knew where the front parlour was—over the lawn and two flower-beds, and then up to the big bow-window.