So we passed the cattle and rode quietly along the road till we saw his dogcart coming; then we stopped inside a yarran scrub, just as he came by—a square-built man he seemed to be, muffled up in a big rough coat. It was a cool morning. We rode up sharpish, and showed our revolvers, singing out to him to “bail up.” He pulled up quick and stared at us. So we did at him. Then the three of us burst out laughing—regular roared again.

Who should it be but old George Storefield.

“Well, this is a prime joke,” says he. “I knew you were out somewhere on this road; but I never thought I should live to be stuck up by you, Dick Marston.”

I looked foolish. It was rather a stunner when you come to think of it.

“I beg a thousand pardons,” says Starlight. “Ridiculous mistake. Want of something to occupy our time.‘For Satan finds some mischief still,’ etc. Isn’t that the way the hymn runs? Wonderfully true, isn’t it? You’ll accept our apologies, Mr. Storefield, I trust. Poor Dick here will never get over it.”

“How was I to know? Why, George, old man, we thought it was the Governor turned squatter, or old Billy Wentworth himself. Your trade pays better than ours, let alone being on the square. Well, shake hands; we’ll be off. You won’t tell the girls, there’s a good fellow, will you?”

“I can’t promise,” says old George; “it’s too good a joke.” Here he laughed a good one. “It isn’t often a man gets stuck up by his friends like this. Tell you what; come and have some lunch, and we’ll talk it over.”

His man rode up then with the spare horse. Luckily, he was a good way behind, as fellows will keep when they’re following a trap, so that they can’t be any good when they’re wanted. In this case it was just as well. He hadn’t seen anything.

“Hobble the horses out and put on their nose-bags, Williams,” says he, “and then get out the lunch. Put the things under that tree.”

They took out the horses, and the chap got out a basket with cold beef and bread and a half a tongue and a bottle of good whisky and water-bag.

We sat down on the grass, and as we’d been riding since sunrise we did pretty well in the feed line, and had a regular good bit of fun. I never thought old George had so much go in him; but good times had made him twice the man he used to be.

After a bit he sends the groom down to the Cowall to water the horses, and, says he—