"Hands up!" cried Thundercloud in the highest style of bushranging. "Your money or your life!"
Trooper Billy was not disposed to yield without a struggle, and at the first cry he whipped out his pistol, firing at his aggressor point blank, missing the leader but hitting his confederate, Hawkeye, who tumbled down with a loud squeal, as unlike an Indian war-whoop as it is possible to imagine. Simultaneously, Thundercloud discharged his gun at Jimmy the coachman, who, instead of putting his hands up at the challenge, began to lash the billies, and had just turned them off the log, when—pop, crash! went the two weapons.
And now the unforeseen occurred. The steer and the billies bolted! Down the ridge and along the road they dashed at breakneck speed; the steer roaring and kicking, the four strong billies baaing, and neither driver nor rider could control the brutes. Away they scurried along the rough bush-track, the cart bumping and rocking over the ruts; every jump of the trap bringing a fresh bleat from the fear-stricken goats.
After racing along for nearly a mile and finding his steed unmanageable, getting frightened too, Yellow Billy slipped over the stern, and by good luck dropped upon his feet. It was different with Jimmy, who gallantly hung on to the billies. The creek was what he most feared, and it was very close now. He had, however, got a pull on the beasts, and they were slackening a little, but, as ill-luck would have it, on going down a gully one of the wheels caught a tree root, and in a jiffy capsized the cart, sending the driver head over heels into a clump of bracken.
The incident gave fresh impetus to the runaways, who rushed on baaing; dashing at length down the steep incline of the creek, the cart righted itself as it tumbled adown the gradient. They tore over the stream and up the bank, finally leaving the track, and getting boxed up in the scrub.
After lying in a stunned condition for a few minutes, Jimmy scrambled up. But the moment he put his weight on his right foot he let out a yell, caused by the terrific pain that shot through his ankle. It was unbearable, and he tumbled down in an almost fainting condition.
Meanwhile the outlaws stood aghast at the unexpected and startling turn of events. Thundercloud was the first to recover his speech.
"Great Cæsar! who would have dreamt of a bolt? Just listen to the brutes!" as the animals tore along, baaing and roaring in a way possible only to frightened billies and calves.
"I—I—didn't know he'd loaded his pistol. I—I—I thought for sure I was a goon coon," gasped Hawkeye, who, after lying for a minute under the impression that he was mortally wounded, got up, rubbing his face and head, half terrified as his hands became wet with flowing blood, and only reassured after Joe had declared that the blood was from his nose. As a matter of fact, he had sustained a smart blow upon his prominent feature with the pistol wad; his cheeks, also, were scorched with the powder flare.
Red Murphy, who had just grasped the billies' heads when the guns were fired, was thrown down in their mad rush, and had his shins severely barked on the rocky ground.