"But, Joe, where'd we get the guns?"
"I'd get father's. You'd have to make believe with a nulla-nulla. We could stick a boomerang in our belts, it'd look like pistols in the dark."
"But I say, Joe, ole chap, you wouldn't really shoot Billy?" said Tom in a tone that savoured both of fear and scepticism.
"You're a precious muff, Hawkins! I was just kidding you. No, you stupid, it's all gammon. The noise the powder 'll make 'll scare the seven senses outer Billy."
"By golly! it'll be crummie enough. Put it off till to-morrow, Joe, an' I'll come."
"Can't be done, my boy. Sandy'll not be here, for one thing. Besides, I have to pull father down to Yallaroi Bend to-morrow. It's his service night there. Sorry you can't come, Tom. We'll have to do our best without you."
"Oh Moses! to think that I can't join!" groaned Tom. "Look here, Joe, I—I'll do a sneak. I'll be here somehow, you may bet your Sunday breeks," continued the eager lad, as he stepped into the little "flat-bottom" boat which had brought him over.
"Joe!" he shouted when he had rowed some distance from the shore. "I'll give a cooee if I can get, an' two cooees if the way's blocked. So don't start till you hear."
"Right-o!"
The place where these boys lived, moved, and had their being was a district famed for its fertility, on one of the northern rivers in New South Wales.