The other members of the party became very anxious, fearing the man would take advantage of my brother’s unsuspicious, trusting nature to obtain information that would be useful to him when forming his plans for the attack which was hourly expected, in fact looked upon as imminent. Nor were their fears allayed when, after a little, he would leave the beaten track and walk into the bush, remaining away for hours, and returning at the most unexpected times and places; showing a thorough knowledge of the bush and all its intricacies and short-cuts, quite inconsistent with the story he had told on joining.
One thing struck my brother as strange, but without exciting any suspicion on his part. When walking together, he would suddenly stand, become quite excited, and say: ‘Oh, it was here such an outrage occurred.’ ‘It was on the spot on which we are standing that the escort was shot down and a large consignment of gold carried off. They did fight like demons.’ He seemed to take the greatest pleasure in giving minute details of the different outrages as they had occurred, and always spoke as if he had been an eye-witness. But so thorough was my brother’s belief in his new friend, that even this did not shake his faith.
When within a few days of the journey’s end, the stranger suddenly and quite unexpectedly declared his intention of parting company. He offered no explanation as to his reason for doing so, though all through he had seemed anxious to impress it on them that he intended to go the entire way to the diggings with them. No questions were asked.
After a general and hearty leave-taking, which, however, did not inspire much confidence, as they were still within range of a possible attack, he asked my brother to take a last walk with him, and led the way into the bush farther than he had ever brought him before, and a long distance from the beaten track. The first words the stranger said were: ‘Mate, don’t you carry a revolver?’
The answer was: ‘Yes, and a first-class one. Not such as is got out here. I brought it from home.’
‘Show it to me,’ said the stranger; ‘I love a real good weapon;’ and without the slightest hesitation, my brother handed him the revolver, which he examined carefully, and saw that the chambers were loaded. He remarked that it was the ‘prettiest weapon’ he had handled for a long time.
He walked a few steps in advance, and turning round suddenly, he presented the revolver at my brother’s head, calling out in a commanding tone, ‘Stand!’ his countenance so changed as scarcely to be recognised.
At last my brother felt that he stood face to face with the terrible bushranger, but did not lose his presence of mind.
For a moment there was a profound silence, first broken by the stranger saying: ‘Is there anything on earth to prevent my blowing out your brains with your own weapon, placed in my hands of your own free-will? The wild bush round us, I know its every twist and turn. The man is not living who could track my footsteps through its depths, where I alone am lord and master. Speak, man! What is there to prevent me?’
With a throbbing heart and a quickened pulse my brother answered: ‘Nothing but your sense of honour.’