“The Death of Magan.”
The thought that flashed through his mind at this period of the fight was, “I did not put enough powder into the pistols, but Old Joe’s got a fearful dose in her.”
Magan at this moment turned his head on one side to look for his gun. Mat threw up his Manton to riddle his antagonist’s neck, and was in the act of pulling the trigger, when a voice from the bushes almost under his feet yelled out in Waigonda,—
“Hit in lower legs for your life.”
For an instant Magan darted a glance to the spot from whence the voice proceeded.
Mat never moved his head, such was our hero’s nerve, but depressing his aim, poured the contents of both barrels into his adversary’s legs, when the bushranger fell to the ground with a hideous yell, his remaining pistol flying into the air with a spasmodic jerk.
Mat walked cautiously towards the man to see that he was not shamming, but as he approached him he was received with such a volley of curses from his late antagonist, who he saw was terribly wounded, the lower portions of both legs being completely smashed, that he came straight up to him and stooped over to see if he could render any assistance by staunching the flow of blood, which was pouring in a torrent over the sand.
“Ah! you gipsy,” groaned Magan, as soon as he saw him close. “Who are you, his ghost? I shot you dead near the station, I’ll swear it! Ghost or not, I’d have killed you if I could have got my gun in time; but that nigger standing there—they’ve always been my curse,—he told you something! Yes, I’d have killed you and left you to rot as you will me now, if it hadn’t been for him!—curse you both. I never pulled straight with the pistols ’cos I believed ’twere a ghost! I—” but here Magan fell back in a swoon.
This is how it was that Dromoora appeared on the scene.
Some days before the night of the visit of the bushrangers, when out with his gun, he had come upon a deserted camp higher up this creek which had evidently quite lately been occupied by white men; so thinking that Magan would make for this spot, as he had found some cooking utensils hidden away there, Dromoora, directly Mat and his party arrived at Bulinda, and thus left him free to act, took a short cut to this old camp,—it will be remembered that Mat had noticed the steps of a native,—but finding that no one had been there since, he made a cast down the creek, taking a line parallel to it, and then ‘cut in’ to the track of pursuer and pursued; following this up he was in time to watch Mat’s proceedings from a spot close to that on which the latter had disrobed himself, from which coign of vantage he speedily realized his friend’s scheme, but did not discover himself until the opportune moment, as he did not wish to interfere with his plans in any way.