“But our swag was safe,” said Bob, “though I lay ill for months after. And now it was Harry’s turn to nurse; and I can tell you, Archie, that my dear, old dead-and-gone mother couldn’t have been kinder to me than he was. A whole party of us took the road back east, and many is the pleasant evening we spent around our camp fire.
“We got safe to Brisbane, and we got safe here; but somehow we’re a kind o’ sick of mining.”
“Ever hear more of your assailants?” asked Archie.
“What, the chaps who tried to bail us up? Yes. We did hear they’d taken to bush-ranging, and are likely to come to grief at that.”
“Well, Bob Cooper, I think you’ve told your story pretty tidily, with Harry’s assistance; and I don’t wonder now that you’ve only got one purse between you.”
“Ah!” said Bob, “it would take weeks to tell you one half of our adventures. We may tell you some more when we’re all together in the Bush doing a bit of farming.”
“All together?”
“To be sure! D’ye reckon we’ll leave you here, now we’ve found you? We’ll have one purse between three.”
“Indeed, Bob, we will not. If I go to the Bush—and now I’ve half a mind to—I’ll work like a New Hollander.”
“Bravo! You’re a chip o’ the old block. Well, we can arrange that. We’ll hire you. Will that do, my proud young son of a proud old sire?”