The animal understood the tone, if not the words. He seemed completely
reassured, and advanced a step or two nearer. With the utmost swiftness
and dexterity, combined with an astonishing gentleness,--making no
gesture which might excite Roger's suspicion,--Sandy Flash thrust his
hand into the holsters, smiled mockingly, cut the straps of the
saddle-bags with a single movement of his keen-edged knife, tested the
weight of the bags, nodded, grinned, and then, stepping aside, he
allowed the horse to pass him. But he watched every motion of the head
and ears, as he did so.

Roger, however, seemed to think only of his master. Bending down his
head, he snorted warmly into Gilbert's pale face, and then swelled his
sides with a deep breath of satisfaction. Tears of shame, grief, and
rage swam in Gilbert's eyes. "Roger," he said, "I've lost everything but
you!"

He staggered to his feet and leaned against the bank. The extent of his
loss--the hopelessness of its recovery--the impotence of his burning
desire to avenge the outrage--overwhelmed him. The highwayman still
stood, a few paces off, watching him with a grim curiosity.

With a desperate effort, Gilbert turned towards him. "Sandy Flash," he
cried, "do you know what you are doing?"

"I rather guess so,"--and the highwayman grinned. "I've done it before,
but never quite so neatly as this time."

"I've heard it said, to your credit," Gilbert continued, "that, though
you rob the rich, you sometimes give to the poor. This time you've
robbed a poor man."