In the spring of 1867 I had occasion to travel from my station, Bundidgaree, near Narandera, on the Murrumbidgee River, to the historic town of Wagga Wagga, the residence of Mr. Arthur Orton, whose claim to the Tichborne title and estates was then agitating Britain and her Colonies. An elderly nurse returning to her home was to accompany me in an American buggy. The roads were good; the weather fine; the horse high in condition, exceptional as to pace and courage. Yet was the situation doubtful, even complicated. The road was risky, the head-station lonely and unprotected. A gang of bushrangers, under a leader popularly known as 'Blue-cap,' was at the time I mention within twenty or thirty miles of Narandera. There was a strong probability that I should encounter them, or that they would visit the station during my absence. Either hap was disagreeable, not to say dangerous. I left home with mingled feelings. But circumstances were obdurate. I had to go. The outlaws, five in number, were 'back-block natives,' all young men with the exception of a middle-aged personage known as 'The Doctor.' He was credited with having 'done time,' that is, served a sentence of imprisonment, which apparently had not led to reformation, as he was looked upon as the most dangerous member of the band. Not as yet committed to acts of bloodshed, they had exchanged shots with Mr. Waller of Kooba—a station below Narandera—who had surprised them while encamped upon his Run. He was a determined man and a well-known sportsman. The story was that he nearly shot 'Blue-cap,' that gentleman having slipped behind a stock-yard post, which received the breast-high bullet. The honours of war remained with the squatter, however, whose party forced the robbers to retreat across the river, leaving (like the Boers) horses, saddles, and swags behind. It was not known when I started whether they had gone up or down the river. Meanwhile, the pair of police troopers who protected the district of Narandera, a region about a hundred miles square, were 'in pursuit.'

The question of carrying arms had to be dealt with. I thought at first of a double-barrelled gun and revolver. But the idea of an effective defence against five well-mounted, well-armed men, the while embarrassed with a frightened woman and two spirited horses, did not seem feasible. I finally decided to trust to the probability of not meeting the evil-doers at all, and to go unarmed rather than to carry arms which I could not use effectively. The journey to Wagga, about fifty-five miles, was accomplished safely. Making an early start next day, about three-fourths of the return trip was over when I came opposite to Berrembed, the homestead of my neighbour Mr. Lupton. I was walking the horses over a curious formation of small mounds, provincially known as 'dead men's graves,' when I became aware of three horsemen coming along the road towards me.

My first thought was, 'Here they are-bushrangers!' my second, 'It cannot be the gang—these are too young; and I don't see the "Doctor."' The foremost rider, enveloped in a poncho, decided the question by throwing it back and presenting a revolver, at the same time calling out in what he meant to be a tone of intimidation, 'Bail up. Stop and get out. If yer move to get a pistol I'll blow yer brains out.' By the time he had come to the end of this unlawful demand, he had ridden close up, and held the revolver, into the barrel of which I could see, and also that it was on full cock, unpleasantly close to my head. He was a bush-bred cub, hardly of age, who had but little practice, evidently, in the highwayman line, for his hand trembled and his face was pale under the sun-bronzed skin.

Thus I felt (like Mickey Free's father) somewhat perturbed, as, if I tried to bolt, he might shoot me on purpose, and if I stayed where I was, he might shoot me by accident. Meanwhile, I secured the reins to the lamp iron, and got down in a leisurely manner. 'I have no arms,' I said, as I stood by the off-side horse—the celebrated Steamer; 'there's no hurry. I can't well run away.'

'Give up yer money,' he said gruffly.

'I haven't any.'

'That be hanged! A man like you don't travel without money.'

'I generally have some, but I paid a bill at Martin's (naming an inn a few miles nearer Wagga) and it cleaned me out.'

'Hand out them watches, then!'

He saw by the appearance of my waistcoat that I had more than one. I had brought back a watch belonging to a relative from Wagga, where it had been sent for repair. They were both gold watches of some value.