“He was here just now, father.”
Mat had retired, not wishing to disturb the meeting between father and daughter, but he now came forward, when Bell took his hand in both of his, saying as he did so,—
“Mat, you have saved my daughter’s life, like a brave and noble fellow that you are. Accept the gratitude of an old man, who owes her life and honour to you. I cannot say all that I think, and wish to, now, my nerves have been too much shaken, but I will when we get home; I should never have got here if it had not been for ‘Terebare,’ who ran pretty well the whole way in front of my horse. I insisted on the others staying behind, so as not to come away and leave the station undefended. Now let us have some rest and refreshment.”
Whilst Annie went off with Terebare to cook some provisions, which the squire had brought, Mat took the latter aside and told him a few of the particulars connected with the rescue of Annie, adding,—
“Miss Bell knows scarcely anything of what I’m telling you, and she certainly does not know that the bushranger is lying dead about fifty yards up this gully; she must not go near the spot; but come and see, and then you’ll judge.”
So the two men proceeded to the place, and found the man lying dead sure enough.
Before they thought of burying him, which they knew must be done in that climate without much loss of time, they proceeded to take off and examine his armour, which both viewed with astonishment.
“How could the man bear the weight in this climate and move about?” queried Bell.
“I don’t think he did move about much,” replied his companion; “I expect he always rode. What I could not understand at the time was the slow way in which he got up when I surprised him; why, looking at the weight of this lot, he must have carried nearly a couple of hundred pounds.”
“Not far off it,” said the squire, who, with the help of Mat, had now got off the thigh pieces, breastplate, back piece, and a sort of helmet with a cover for the neck, from the body, all this iron being concealed by ordinary clothing.