Dick nodded and made an affirmative noise between his closed lips.
'Fork Lightnin',' said Jacker, trying the name. 'Sounds well, don't it?
What sorter feller will I be? Brave, eh?'
'Frightened o' neither man nor devil, but awful cruel, 'cause you was crossed in love.'
Jacker was delighted. He was naturally a combative youth, with a fine contempt for rules that would deny him the advantages to be derived from his ability as a swift and vigorous kicker; so a bloodthirsty and rebellious character was quite to his taste.
'Not crossed in love, though,' he complained. 'That seems measley, don't it? S'pose I shot a man once, an' the p'lice won't let me have no peace.'
'Good enough!' said Dick.
'Then I'm in. When do we start?'
'To-morrer night. We want one more. Twitter will come. That'll be five. Five is a fine gang; sides, we don't want fellers what ain't got billies. Bushrangers ain't no account on foot. My men must be all mounted. So I propose we meet on the toll-bar road just when it's gettin' dark, all riding our billy-goats an' armed to the teeth; an' we'll stick up all the Cow Flat people goin' home from Yarraman.'
'My word!' cried Phil ecstatically. 'We owe it to that lot.'
'Couldn't we start now?' said Peterson, who had been sitting with wide eyes and open mouth, and was consumed with impatience.