“Suppose we were to fall in with bushrangers,” he observed. “What should we do?”
“Shoot them through the head if they offer to interfere with you,” said Hector. “You are always thinking of those fellows. The chances are they cleared out of our district long ago when they found that we were prepared for them.”
“You may do our friend Bracewell a great deal of good,” I observed, “for you at all events know more about doctoring than any of us. You can discover what is the matter with him.”
“I certainly will not decline doing what you say,” he answered, and seeing to our saddle-girths we prepared for a gallop which would bring us up to Bracewell’s station before nightfall, Hector and Guy promising to follow as fast as they could, although they would have to camp out another night. We started off. The dominie had lately improved in his horsemanship, and we made good play over the ground. I felt sure that I knew the way, as the track between the two stations was tolerably well defined. There were only two places, of no great extent, passing through which we should have to pull rein. At the first the ground was unusually rough and rocky, with thick underwood. We got over it, however, and soon afterwards had to pass through a gorge in the only range of hills we had to cross. The path was narrow, so that we could not conveniently ride side by side. I therefore, as guide, took the lead, and had unintentionally got some way ahead of the dominie, when I heard him cry out, and turning round to see what was the matter I found my right arm seized by a fellow who had sprung out from behind a rock while another grasped my horse’s rein, and the next instant I was dragged to the ground.
“Stuck up at last, young master,” cried a voice which I recognised as that of the tall bushranger Guy and I had before encountered and driven off. “Do not be a fool and show fight, or I’ll blow your brains out. Here, hand out what you’ve got about you. You may think yourself fortunate if we leave you the clothes on your back, but we don’t want them. Do as I tell you, down on your knees and stay there, while I feel your pockets.”
As may be supposed I did not carry much money in the bush, but on leaving home I had put a couple of sovereigns in my pocket. My rifle, of course, I expected to lose.
While the bushranger was performing the operation of cleaning me out, a savage bull-dog approached, and I thought was going to fly at me, but I found his eyes were directed towards some object at my back, which proved to be my faithful Carlo, who, however ready to do battle in my cause, thought it prudent, in the presence of a superior force, to yield to circumstances.
All this time I could not see what was happening to the dominie, but I concluded that he would wisely not attempt to make any resistance, and that he was being cleaned out as I was. I did not again hear his voice, and as the bushranger swore that he would shoot me through the head should I move, I thought it as well not to look round lest he should put his threat into execution. The fellow who had taken my
horse now picked up my gun and carried it off to a short distance. Two of them then produced a rope, intending, I concluded, to treat the dominie and me as they had Bracewell.