Mat’s other hand stole to his pistol, but Magan had only reached forward to get a bottle, and whilst applying it to his lips, our forester took the opportunity to slip back behind a slight ridge in the sand, Magan’s gun in his hand. This he securely hid as soon as he could do so with safety.
Continuing his retreat by the way he had come, he passed the two sleepers, helped himself to a small “damper” which was lying ready baked near a tiny fire and which he had previously noticed, but had left until his retreat, and recrossing the creek again regained his clothes.
Putting these quickly on and eating a mouthful of the bread, he came again into the creek, walked up, hidden by the bushes, to within thirty yards of Magan, stepped out into the open, and cried, “Throw up your arms, my mates are behind me,” at the same time covering the man with his pistol.
The bushranger looked up and felt for his gun, but not finding it, he got up leisurely on his feet, instead of springing up as Mat had expected.
But once erect he snatched a pistol from his breast and shot at Mat.
Our hero, watching his eye, had seen his intention, and springing to one side, the bullet flew harmlessly by him.
Mat returned the fire instantaneously and hit Magan full in the chest, but to his astonishment the latter instead of falling was merely spun partly round, and steadying himself once more discharged another pistol at Mat.
The ball again flew wide, and Mat returned the fire with the same result as before, and Magan drew yet a third pistol.
Our hero had dodged the two first shots by springing to one side or the other, but at this third attempt at shooting him he tried another ruse by springing high into the air; he did not, however, come off scathless, for he was aware of a smarting blow like a red-hot iron, passing round his thigh.
