"But you wouldn't do that?" cried Smith, his face showing the alarm which he felt at the threat.
"I don't know but that it will be my duty to do so before long," cried the officer, shaking his head like a petty tyrant, who wished to inspire fear.
"I have been two days on the road," he continued, "searching for his gang. If you can give me any information, Smith, that is of real value, why, perhaps—"
"But I can give information," cried Smith, who, awed by the great man's presence, appeared to have forgotten all about the death of Darnley.
"Ah! of the scamp's gang?" the officer asked, with eagerness.
"Where are they?" demanded the lieutenant, leading Smith one side.
"Six of them are dead—and with them, Black Darnley," cried Smith.
"You are trifling with me," said the officer, sternly.
"No—upon my word; but ask the Americans, they will tell you all."
"Is it so?" asked the policeman, turning towards us with an air entirely changed from that with which he had first addressed us.
We confirmed the report, and gave the particulars.
He listened to us with astonishment; and yet his wonder was not unmixed with admiration. I saw him try to suppress that feeling, but it would find vent, John Bull like, and with an oath he exclaimed—
"By G——! you Americans are a wonderful people. You seek adventures with as much gusto as a knight-errant of the olden times. If I had a dozen such as you two under my charge, I'd soon free this neighborhood of bushrangers."
"There would be but one difficulty," answered Fred, with a laugh.
"And pray what is that?" asked the lieutenant.
"Why, Yankees have a great desire to lead, instead of being led."
He drew us one side, so that his men could not overhear his remarks, and said—
"Of course you knew that a large reward was offered for the death of Darnley and his gang."
We reiterated our ignorance, and the officer looked at us in astonishment.
"Then let me give you joy—for you have completed one of the best day's work that you ever began. Give me the proof that Darnley and his gang are dead, and I will put you in the way of obtaining the reward."
"We did not sell our rifles for gold," replied Fred, "but to assist an old man to revenge his daughter's injuries. If you can serve Smith and the old convict, we will willingly forego all thoughts of a reward."
In a few words we stated the case, and put him in possession of the facts relative to our taking up arms. He listened to us patiently, and when we had finished, said—
"If you can give convincing proof that the gang of bushrangers has been broken up, I can certainly promise you a free, unconditional pardon for Smith and the stockman. But I must first see the bodies of the dead men, and have your certificate of the gallantry of the parties named."
"How can we manage that?" we asked.
"By delaying your journey, and accompanying me to the spot."
Fred and myself consulted for a moment and agreed to do so. A day or a week was nothing to us, if Smith could be made a free man. We called to him:—
"Smith," said Fred, "do you wish a pardon from government?"
The poor fellow flushed red in the face, and then the blood receded and left his cheeks pallid as death.
"If you wish a free and unconditional pardon, you must go with us back to the haunts of Darnley," Fred said.
The tears started to his eyes with delight, and for a moment he was incapable of motion; but in another second he bounded to the side of the cattle, and with nervous fingers was unhitching the yokes and turning the brutes loose upon the wide prairies, to feed upon the rank grasses which abounded on the sides of the stream.
CHAPTER X.
DESPERATE DEEDS OF TWO CONVICTS.—LIEUT. MURDEN'S STORY.
The sun was pouring down with Australian brilliancy and power, but we cared but little for the heat, if we could gain the scene of the battle before a gang of bushrangers reached the spot, and concealed the bodies. It was, therefore, with considerable uneasiness that we saw the lieutenant of police coolly dismount from his horse, throw the bridle to one of his men, with directions to remove the saddles from the animals, and let them drink their fill at the stream, and afterwards be allowed to graze on the rank grass.
"How is this?" I asked; "are we not to start immediately? Delays are dangerous."
"Patience, my friends," returned the officer, leading the way towards the stockman's hut. "I value your lives too much to think of asking you to undertake a jaunt of twelve or thirteen miles at noonday, when the sun is hottest."
"But we are capable of the task," replied Fred, energetically.
"I have no doubt of it, gentlemen; but if you can endure heat and privation, my men and horses cannot. Why, before we could gain the edge of yonder wood, half of the men would be sun-struck, and two-thirds of the animals would expire for the want of water. No, no, trust to me, and let us take the cool of the evening."
"But we shall reach the woods too late to make an investigation," I said.
"It is very probable," answered the officer, entering the hut, where the convict's daughter was lying on a rude bedstead, made of the skin of an ox.
"But have you no fear of an ambuscade?" exclaimed Fred, who began to entertain an opinion that the lieutenant was not well posted on the subject of bush-fighting.
"Not in the least," replied the Englishman, removing his coat and heavy sword belt, and stretching himself on a box.
"O, then you will keep skirmishers in advance of the main body, I suppose?" Fred said.
"No," answered the officer, lighting his pipe: and then, observing an expression of surprise on our faces, he continued—
"Do you take me for such a greenhorn as to suppose that I would enter a wood after dark? No, sir; I've studied the habits and cunning of bushrangers for many years, and seen much service during that time. I shall start near dark, halt half a mile from the edge of the forest, and remain there until daylight. Does that suit your ideas of our peculiar kind of warfare?"
We could offer no objections to the plan proposed; and as we were to spend the day in idleness, looked around the hut for something to make a breakfast on. The policeman guessed our thoughts, for he called one of his men, and gave him an order.
"Get coffee and breakfast ready, Maurice," he said, "and when ready, serve it here."
The man bowed, saluted his superior, and retired with military precision.
"An old soldier," said the lieutenant, carelessly; "he has served through half a dozen campaigns in India."
"And did he never rise above the ranks?" I asked.
"Never obtained a position higher than that of corporal; but that is not extraordinary in the English army. Promotion with us goes with birth and influence, not merit and brave deeds. Maurice has distinguished himself in many a hotly-contested field; yet now, in his old age, he draws a trifling pension, and is glad to be enrolled in the police force of Melbourne, where better pay and quick promotion awaits him."
"As you