When he came up close, he took off his hat and made a bow. “Chentlemen of the roat, I salude you,” he says. “You haf kebt your promise to the letter, and you will fint that Albert von Schiller has kept his. Hauptman!” says he to Starlight,“I delifer to you the ransom of dies wothy chentleman and his most excellend and hochbesahltes laty, who has much recovered from her fadigues, and I demant his freetom.”

“Well done, most trust-repaying and not-ever-to-be-entirely forgotten herald,” says Starlight. “I hand over to these worthy free companions the frank-geld; isn’t that the term?—and when they have counted it (for they won’t take your word or mine), the Graf here—most high-born and high-beseeming, but uncommonly-near-ending his glorious career magnate—will be restored to you. Very pleasant company we’ve found him. I should like to have my revenge at picquet, that’s all.”

While this was going on Starlight had collared the bundle of notes from the doctor, and chucked it over quite careless-like to Moran. “There it is for you,” says he. “You can divide it between you. Dick and I stand out this time; and you can’t say you’ve done badly.”

Moran didn’t say anything, but he and Wall got off their horses and sat down on their heels—native fashion. Then they turned to, counting out the notes one by one. They were all fivers—so it took some time—as they neither of ‘em weren’t very smart at figures, and after they’d got out twenty or thirty they’d get boxed, like a new hand counting sheep, and have to begin all over again. It must have been aggravating to Mr. Knightley, and he was waiting to be let go, in a manner of speaking. He never showed it, but kept smoking and yarning with Starlight, pointing out how grand the sun was just a-setting on the Bulga Mountains—just for all the world as if he’d given a picnic, and was making himself pleasant to the people that stayed longest.

At long last they’d got to the end of the conning, and divided the notes. Moran tied his up in a bunch, and rolled ‘em in his poncho; but Wall crammed his into his pocket and made ‘em all stick out like a boy that’s been stealing apples. When they mounted their horses, Mr. Knightley shook hands with me and Starlight. Then he turns round to Moran and Wall—” We’re parting good friends after all’s said and done,” he says. “Just as well matters have been settled this way. Come, now, in cool blood, ain’t you rather glad, Moran?”

“Dashed if I know,” growls he. “All I know is, you’re deuced well out of it; your luck mayn’t be so good another time.”