I raised the gun and attempted to fire it, when I discovered that I was quite unable to do so. I could not move the trigger a hairbreadth. It was some kind of trick-lock, the secret of which was probably known to the owner alone. Gardiner laughed quietly. “A pretty thing, ain’t it? But I don’t believe you would have used the weapon against me just at present, even if you could—I’ll do you that credit.” “I’m not so sure of that,” said I, half jocularly. “Shoot me down like a dingo in a trap? No, no! A fair field and a chance for his hair even to an outlaw. That would be more your motto, Mr Fellgate, I’m sure. Why, I’d grant that myself even to a trooper, unless the case was very pressing.—But now, I must really come to the point.” During all this colloquy, none of the rest of the gang had put in a word, but smoked silently on, regarding me with stolid gravity. “I have always had a considerable admiration for the press as an institution,” Gardiner resumed, “but never so much as since making your acquaintance as an editor, Mr Fellgate. You have acted towards me in the most honourable and gentlemanly manner; and while those wretched and ignorant Sydney rags the _Herald_ and _Empire_ have refused to insert my letters contradicting the many lying and libellous statements they have published regarding myself and my mates, you have vindicated the claims of the press to being a free and impartial organ of public expression. Now, no man who knows Frank Gardiner ever accused him of forgetting a friend or a service. I consider, Mr Fellgate, that you have done me a real service in this matter, and acted like a gentleman all round, and I would like to show you that I am not insensible of this. Though I am a bushranger, I am not a blackguard. If you will be good enough to accept this trifle, just in recognition of my admiration for you as an editor, and of my personal regard, you will do me a favour, Mr Fellgate.” As he spoke, Gardiner took from his breast-pocket a small morocco case and handed it to me. I opened the case, and found inside a handsome gold watch. Seldom, I venture to think, in the history of presentations was any one made under more singular circumstances. It seemed to reverse all precedent. Tradition was being read backwards; for instead of a highwayman taking a watch from me, I was getting one from him. To devise such a situation in fiction were, of course, easy enough; but I am relating a true incident, and as such I am inclined to think that the case was unique.