“Yes,” broke in the man who had not as yet spoken, whose name was Mike, “when I was doing the cooking for young Bell, I heard him say he expected all three that day.”
“You lie,” said Jack, turning to the first speaker. “I shot a bloke who said his name was Stanley, and he had a black beard. It’s you who were drunk; and if I find you’ve been playing me any of your old tricks, I’ll shoot you as dead as a ‘nit.’ I knows what I knows. There’s only that cursed nigger about now, and Mike here says as he knows for sure that he’s always away shootin’ birds with his gun. I ’av’nt followed them nuggets down from the north to be baulked now. I’ve ’ad one bite of ’em, and I’ll ’ave another, and the girl at the same time. Now the gipsy’s ‘copped’ I’ll do it; I’ll collar the wench through blacks and whites. Well, I’ve told you two what to do; but I’ll tell you again, else you’ll make a ‘hash’ of it. You”—this to the tallest man—“get into the house first, and lead the way, as you know where the ‘swag’ is; and you”—to Mike—“must hold the horses ready outside. T’other blokes I’ve told to look after the camp whilst we’re away. Now you two get back to your ‘Humpy,’ and meet me here to-morrow night after sundown, and mind you’re both sober.” Saying which, Jack took a pull at a bottle he had with him, kicked out his fire, and prepared to sleep in an old blanket which he pulled off one of the horses.
These men consisted of a portion of the murderous gang who, under the guise of “free selectors,” had for present purposes settled down in the district.
These outlaws, partly from fear, more from the hope of gain, supplied the man they called Jack with food, acted as scouts for him, and, under the pretence of looking for country, made it their business to find out stations and branch banks which were worth “sticking up;” whilst Jack himself was nothing less than the famous bushranger of the day, John Magan.
An escaped convict, he had committed more murders—many of them of the most cold-blooded description—and robberies, single-handed, than had any of the other gangs by which the country was infested. He had long since been outlawed, and a price put upon his head. However, by constantly changing his camp and assuming different disguises, but more particularly by having so many of his “pals” in league with him, he was still free.
More than once had the police tracked him to his lair, fired at, and even hit him, as they believed, but hitherto he had borne a charmed life, and seemed actually proof against powder and lead, whilst his assailants came off second best in the fight, and Magan escaped on his horse, which he always kept ready saddled close to him.
According to agreement the conspirators met again the next evening at the appointed time, and arming themselves, proceeded at once by the nearest route to Bulinda Creek.
So far everything seemed to favour their plans, for the night was pitchy dark, and not a sound could be heard as they approached the house.
When they arrived within a stone’s throw of the building they dismounted, and leaving Mike to hold the horses, Jack and his companion crawled to the steps of the verandah. The tall man ascended first, and in his stockinged feet gained the bedside of Mrs. Bell; he then felt for, and commenced to drag silently out the heavy box of nuggets.
The noise caused by this act, however, woke old Jumper, whose senses had latterly been very dull, and springing out he fastened his teeth in the intruder’s arm. This was met by a blow from the butt end of a pistol, which though partly stunning the dog, never caused him to relax his hold. But the tall ruffian had a far worse assailant to deal with, and this time from above his head.