"Comrades," he said, "the captain is dead. We can do nothing without a leader. We should appoint one at once."
Here Fletcher pushed forward.
"I am the oldest in service among you," he said. "I was the trusted friend of Captain Stockton. I submit that I have the best claim to be your leader."
But among bushrangers, as in other communities, the man who is the most anxious to secure office is very apt to be left in the lurch. Now, it happened that Fletcher was by no means a favorite in the band. He was sly and sneaking in his methods, currying favor with the captain, even at the expense of manliness and self-respect, and there were serious doubts as to his courage. If he had been wiser, he would not have made a boast of his standing with the late leader, for the men were heartily tired of his tyranny, and resolved to elect someone in his place who bore no similarity to him.
Rupert Ring smiled slightly as he heard Fletcher's modest claim.
"Comrades," he said, "you have heard Fletcher's appeal. It is true that he is the oldest in service among you. It is for you to consider whether that entitles him to the post of leader. Those of you who are in favor of Dick Fletcher as your leader will signify it by raising your right hands."
Fletcher's eye wandered anxiously around the circle. To his chagrin not a single hand was raised save his own. There was a cheer of derision which brought an angry flush to his cheek.
Then a clear voice was heard. It was that of the young man, Wyman, whose conversation with the two boys has already been recorded.
"I nominate Rupert Ring for our leader," he said.
There was a chorus of approval, which emboldened Wyman to add: "As he can't very well put the question on his own nomination, I will do so. Those of you who want Ring for your captain, please hold up your right hands." All hands were raised except that of Fletcher.