HARRY didn’t need to be told that bushrangers in Australia correspond to bandits in Italy and highwaymen in other countries. Stories of their outrages were common enough, and among the dangers apprehended in a journey to or from the mines, that of meeting with a party of this gentry was perhaps the most dreaded.
Though Obed Stackpole betrayed no emotion, but was outwardly quiet, his heart sank within him when he saw the bushrangers strung along the road.
Meanwhile Harry had been scanning the faces of the men who confronted them, and made a surprising discovery.
“Look, Obed,” he said eagerly, “at that man on the extreme right.”
Mr. Stackpole did look.
“Dick Fletcher!” he ejaculated.
But at this point the leader of the bushrangers broke silence.
“Do you surrender?” he asked in brief, commanding accents.
“I think we shall have to, squire,” answered Obed, to whom the demand was naturally addressed.
“You must give up what money you have about you,” was the next demand.