They ransacked the house, and took possession of any little plate and jewellery and other portable property they could find. When the robbers had packed up what they called the “swag,” and put it on one of their horses, they pulled Ki Li out of bed, and made him light a fire, and cook some chops, and boil some tea. (In the Australian bush the hot water isn’t poured on the tea, but the leaves are boiled in the pot.) Then they marched Mrs. Lawson, and Miss Smith, and Sydney, and his sisters, and Mr. and Mrs. Jones, and Ki Li, into the keeping-room, and sat down to breakfast, with pistols in their belts, and pistols laid, like knives and forks, on the table. The bushrangers tried to be funny, and pressed Mrs. Lawson and the other ladies to make themselves at home and take a good meal. One of the robbers was going to kiss Miss Smith, but Sydney, pinioned as he was, ran at him, and butted him like a ram. He was going to strike Sydney, but Gertrude ran between them, calling out, “Oh, you great coward!” and Warrigal felt ashamed, and told the man to sit down.
“We call him Politeful Bill,” Warrigal remarked in apology; “but he ain’t much used to ladies’ serciety.”
When breakfast was over, Warrigal asked Sydney where the mare was.
“Find her yourself,” said Sydney.
“Well, there won’t be much trouble about that,” answered Warrigal. “She’s in the stable, I know, and you’ve locked her in, for I tried the door. I suppose you’re too game to give up the key, my young fighting-cock? You’re game and no mistake, Master Cornstalk, and I’m a native, too.”
“More shame for you,” said Sydney.
“That be blowed,” went on Warrigal; “and since you’re so sarcy, Master Sydney, you shall come and see me take your mare. You might as well ha’ sent her instead of sending for the traps, and then I shouldn’t ha’ got the bay horse too”—and he pointed to Guardsman hung up on the verandah.
There was no time to ask what had become of Harry. Warrigal hurried Sydney by the collar to the stable, whilst the other men mounted their horses, and unhooked Guardsman to be ready for their captain. Warrigal blew off the padlock with his pistol, but Venus was fractious, and wouldn’t let him put on her halter. Whilst he was dodging about in the stable with her, Sydney heard hoofs in the distance. Nearer and nearer came the tan-ta-ta-tan-ta-ta-tan-ta-ta. Four bluecoats galloped up to the slip-panels—three troopers and a sergeant; the sergeant with Harry on his saddlebow. In a second Harry was down, and in three seconds the slip-panels were down too. Up the rocky rise came the troopers as if they were riding a steeple-chase. The waiting bushrangers saw the morning sun gleaming on their carbines as the police dashed between the aloes and the prickly pears, and, letting Guardsman go, were off like a shot. Sydney banged to the stable-door, and, setting his back against it, shouted for help. His mother and Gertrude, and even John Jones, as the police were close at hand, rushed to his aid; and up galloped the troopers. Instead of bagging Venus, Warrigal was bagged himself. He fired a bullet or two through the door, and talked very big about not being taken alive; but he thought better of it, and in an hour’s time he was jogging off to Jerry’s Town with handcuffs on and his legs tied under his horse’s belly.
“WARRIGAL WAS BAGGED HIMSELF.”