“Great excitement was naturally evoked by this statement.
“In a few minutes the police arrived at the Hotel, where they were met by Mr. Clarkson, J.P., who obligingly undertook all necessary arrangements. The Inspector and the dead trooper were laid side by side in the best bedroom, the landlord resenting a suggestion to place the corpses in an outhouse—‘He’d have had the best room in the house if he was alive. He always paid like a prince, and I’m not going to treat him disrespectful now he’s been killed in the discharge of his duty. Them as don’t care about sleeping there after him and poor Mick Donnelly, may go somewheres else. They’ll be buried decent from my house, anyway.’
“The Coroner impanelled a jury without unnecessary delay; and after the Sergeant and his men had necessary rest and refreshment, that official elicited evidence which enabled him to record a verdict of ‘Wilful murder against Edward James Bradfield and Richard Lawless in the cases of Inspector Francis Dayrell of the Victorian Mounted Police Force, and trooper Michael Joseph Donnelly, then and there lying dead.’ This formality concluded, preparations were made for the funeral to take place next morning in the graveyard appertaining to the township, which already held a number of occupants, large in proportion to the population.
“Word had been sent to the neighbouring stations, so that by noon—the hour appointed—nearly as large a concourse as at the annual race meeting had assembled. There being no resident clergyman, the service was read over both men by the Coroner, who, by the way in which he performed the duty, showed that he was not new to this sad ceremony. We have repeatedly urged upon the Government the necessity of providing increased police protection for this important and scantily defended district. May we trust now that local wants will be more promptly attended to.
“The last offices being paid to the dead the surviving troopers rode slowly away leading the spare horses, and bearing the arms and effects of their comrades with them.
“Kate Lawless and her brother had disappeared. Whether they had made for the farthest out settled districts of Queensland, or had found a hiding place nearer home, was not known, though rumours to either effect gained circulation.”
“And noo ye hae the haill history o’ Frank Dayrell, late Inspector o’ the Mounted Police Force o’ Victoria, no forgetting the death of Ned Lawless, who died by his hand.
“And, as the sun’s low, and we’ve, I winna say wasted the afternoon—maybe expended wad be a mair wise-like expression—I’ll just say good e’en to you, gentlemen, and gae me ways hame. The nicht’s for frost, I’m thinkin’,” and so saying, the worthy Sergeant declining further refreshment marched off along the meadow.
An early breakfast next morning, in fact, before the frost was off the ground, awaited Mr. Blount. In some inns it would have been a comfortless repast; a half-lighted fire struggling against a pile of damp wood, and producing more smoke than heat; a grumbling man cook, not too clean of aspect, who required to know “why the blank people wanted their grub cooked by candlelight,” and so on—“he’d see ’em blanked first, if there was any more of this bloomin’ rot.” Such reflections the guest has been favoured with, in the “good old days,” before the gold had settled down to a reasonable basis of supply and demand, and the labour question—as it did subsequently—had regulated itself. Waiting, too, for half an hour longer than was necessary for your hackney to eat his oats.