“Constable Kearney, will you oblige me by keeping silence, and falling to the rear,” said the Sergeant, majestically, while he proceeded to enlighten Jack as to the probable whereabouts of the gang “from information received.”
“As far as I can make out, sir, and if that scoundrel of a mailman hasn’t put me on the wrong track, they were at Mr. Stangrove’s Ban Ban out-station last night, and have either gone down the river or over to his head-station to-day.”
“His head-station! His head-station!” echoed Jack, in wild tones of astonishment—“no! surely not!”
“Very likely indeed, I think,” said the Sergeant, “it’s just about their dart from Ban Ban—they may be there now.”
“What in the name of all the fiends are we wasting time here for, then?” answered he, in a voice so hoarse and strange that the Sergeant looked narrowly at him to note whether he had been drinking, all forms of eccentricity on the Warroo being referable, in his opinion, founded upon long experience, to different stages of intoxication. “Thank God, I brought my revolver with me—come on, there’s a good fellow.”
Sergeant Stewart had not, indeed, done more than slacken his pace for the time necessary to restore the wind of his horses, pretty well expended by a three-mile heat. He was a cool, plucky, good-looking fellow, and no bad sample of a crack non-commissioned officer of Australian police, a body of men inferior to none in the world for general light cavalry. He was as distinguished-looking in his way as his old namesake, Bothwell, in Old Mortality, whom he resembled in more points than one.
By the time Jack had concluded his sentence, his blood-hackney was pulling his arms off, neck and neck with the Sergeant’s wiry gray, while Mr. Kearney and the doubtful chestnut were powdering away behind, at no great distance.
“It’s lucky we met you,” said the Sergeant; “there are five of them, I hear; three of us are a pretty fair match for the scoundrels.”
“I see you have your rifles,” said Jack; “you don’t generally carry them.”
“No; but this time we thought we were out for a week. I only saw the mailman, who gave me the office, early this morning, and came here as hard as we could split. Here comes another recruit, I suppose—by George! it’s Mr. Stangrove.”