He told them how he and Dave had been driven by parental tyranny from home. Of the adventures they had had pirating, and of others that they had not had, such as an encounter with a bunyip, and a midnight fight with wild blackfellows. How he was bitten with a snake, and Dave sucked the wound, and tied string round it and saved him, and when, after a preliminary flourish he came to the story of the murder, the men held their breaths and the women became more or less hysterical.
The dramatic instinct was strong in the pirate chief. He neglected none of the local colouring. Dave substantiated everything, and threw in suggestions of his own.
Wharfdale mentally collected every word—cleaned him out, as a prospector might clean out a placer of diamonds—and when they had heard everything they went away to find somebody to astonish with the story.
Dan Creyton had gone up to the post-office to tell Nora, and send wires up and down the river, and by and-bye buggies and sulkies began to trot into town loaded with people who wanted to see and hear for themselves.
Tom had retold his yarn—with improvements, as they occurred—so many times that he was quite hoarse, and Dan took him and Dave away to his own place.
And when he presented his young guests to Nora, that young lady so far forgot conventionalities as to throw her arms round the pirates and hug them, in spite of their blushes and protests.
It was an hour of triumph, but its climax came when Dan asked Tom Pagdin if he would accept the Winchester as a gift!
The pirate chief was so overwhelmed with joy that he had to go out of the room, and turn catherine wheels in the yard.
Dave said, jealously, that Tom ought to have better manners, but when George promised him a single-barrelled shot gun as a memento, he went out and turned catherine wheels also.
Nora would not be satisfied until she heard Tom tell her it all himself. The pirate was over-stuffed and weary, but he complied.