"We are strong enough to overcome them," said the bushranger carelessly.
"What is the name of your captain?" asked Harry.
"Stockton. No doubt you heard of him in Melbourne."
Harry shook his head.
The outlaw seemed surprised. "I thought everybody in Australia had heard of Ben Stockton," he said. "He has a great name," he added with evident pride. "He is as strong as a lion, fears nothing, and his name is associated with some of the most daring robberies that have ever taken place in this country."
"And still he is free," said Harry suggestively.
"The authorities are afraid of him. They have offered a reward for his capture, but it doesn't trouble him. He only laughs at it."
They were far enough away from the rest of the party to carry on their conversation unheard—otherwise, neither Harry nor his informant would have ventured to speak with so much freedom. At this eulogium, however, Harry scanned, with some curiosity, the face and figure of the famous bushranger, who was sitting about three rods distant. He was a man of large frame, powerfully built, with hair and beard black as night, and keen, penetrating eyes that seemed to look through those upon whom they were fixed. He had about him an air of command and conscious authority, so that the merest stranger could not mistake his office. About his mouth there was something which indicated sternness and cruelty. He was a man to inspire fear, and Harry, after a steady examination, felt no surprise at the man's reputation.
"How long has he been captain?" asked Harry.
"Ever since I joined the band," answered the young man. "I don't know how much longer."