“That’s sayin’ the three Lawless bodies had ridden night and day—picking up fresh horses for the men, as they came along. Kate rode the roan pony mare all through, a grand little crater she was, and weel she earned her name ‘Wallaby,’ sae ca’ed after the kangaroo beastie that wad hop frae rock to rock, like ony goat o’ the cliffs.
“The Inspector reckoned that Bradfield’s gang wad show up in the gloaming o’ the appointed day. No kenning that they had been betrayed, they wad camp careless like. Dayrell’s tracker creepit oot and lay ahint a rock while they unsaiddled and turned loose their horses. Bradfield he knew—a tall powerfu’ chiel, with a big beard, a Sydney-side native, and if he wasna the best bushman in Queensland, he wasna that far aff. Of the four men with him, twa had ‘done time,’ and were worse after they cam’ oot o’ gaol, than when they gaed in. They had grog in them; they made a fire—not a black fellow’s one—and talked and laughed and swore, as they didna care wha might hear them.
“So far, a’ went weel. Dayrell’s party lay close—made no fire—prepared to deleever attack at dawn, when dootless Bradfield’s men wad be asleep or all unsuspeecious. But were they? By no manner of means. The twa Lawless brithers and Kate had won to Wandong Creek i’ the nicht—Ned and Kate had lain them doon, joost dead beat and like to dee wi’ sheer exhaustion. Dick stowed the horse away in the gulley. It’s deep, and amaist covered in wi’ trees and fern. Then being a tireless crater and in hard work and training, he thocht he would tak’ a wee bit look oot, to make a’ safe. It was weel thocht on—though not for the police party. It wasna lang ere he heard a horse whinnie. Not the nicher o’ a brumbie, either. Then cam’ the tramp o’ anither and the jingle o’ a hobble chain. Could it be the police? He would soon know. Creeping frae tree to tree, he came on the mob. Six riding horses, and two ‘packers’ all with the Crown brand on. Dayrell’s dark chestnut, he knew him again. And a light bay with two white hind fetlocks. Police horses all, well fed and groomed. Now where was the camp?
“Keeping wide and crawling from log to log, like a night-wandering crater o’ the forest, he thought he saw a glimmer o’ a fire—not a small one either. What d—d fool had lighted that, with a hot trail so close? So he walkit, ye ken, till what suld ail him to come ram-sham on six sleeping men. Police in plain clothes? Never! It was Bradfield’s gang, believing that Dayrell was no within a colony o’ them. And now to get speech. Their revolvers were under their hands, their rifles handy ye ken. If an alarm was given it might spoil the whole plan. With two other rifles, not counting Kate (and she was a fair shot at short range), they might turn the tables on Dayrell and his blasted police.
“Keen and ready witted as are the de’il’s bairns at their master’s wark, Dick Lawless wasna lang in conseedering the pairt he was to play. Crawling on hands and knees, he got as near Bradfield as was wise like without awaking him. He then gave a low whistle, such as stockriders give to tell of cattle in sight.
“‘Who the hell’s that?’ growled Bradfield, awake and alert.
“‘All right, Jim, only Dick Lawless. Cattle going to break camp. (They had been droving in old days.) Quite like old times, isn’t it?’
“‘Wish I was back again behind a thousand Windorah bullocks,’ said the bushranger.
“‘I wouldn’t mind either, Jim. But all that’s behind us now—worse luck! Where do you think Dayrell is? Give it up? D’ye see that black ridge, with three pines on it? Well, he’s there, waiting for daylight. He’s not fool to make a fire you can see miles off. You’ve nearly been had, Jim. He came up on purpose to collar you. T’other side the black ridge, he’s planted men and horses, six of ’em and a packer.’
“‘Who’s with you?’