“Thank you,” said the Sergeant, as he closed his book with a snap and put it in his pocket. “Good night.”
“Good night,” said the traveller, as he led his horse into the stable. “If I can be of any use, send for me in the morning.”
“It’s pretty certain that this man never saw them,” said the Sergeant, “therefore they were not on the road when he passed them. They must have been, as you say, in the bush. There is plenty of hope yet, sir, but I should advise you to get up pretty early to-morrow morning, if you want to see my mounted men start. Good night.”
With a gloomy response, Mr. Tomkinson turned his steps towards the Bank, there to toss on a sleepless bed till morning.
CHAPTER XXXII.
The Quietude of Timber Town Is Disturbed.
The crowd which had gathered in front of the verandah of the Post Office of Timber Town was made up, as is not uncommon with crowds, of all sorts and conditions of men. There were diggers dressed in the rough clothes suitable to their calling and broad-brimmed felt hats; tradesmen, fat with soft living, and dressed each according to his taste; farmers, in ready-made store-clothes and straw hats; women, neatly, if plainly, dressed as suited the early hour of the day; a few gaily-dressed girls, and a multitude of boys.
Nailed to the wooden wall of the building was a poster, printed with big head-lines, upon which the interest of all present was centred.
NOTICE.