"I was foolish to allow the fellow to provoke me, and am glad that I did not touch him with the lash; although if he had not been as quick as lightning, I'd have taken a good piece of his hide."
"But what are we to do with the parrot? Remember we are losing time," I said.
"Yes, what's to be done with me—where's Bimbo?" shrieked the bird.
"Put the cage into the cart—he will excite curiosity when we reach Melbourne, and perhaps bring a round sum."
The order was obeyed, and with shrill screams of delight the bird and his cage were stowed among the prisoners, and long after dark we could hear the talkative parrot ask the bushrangers how they felt, and when they were going to die? Questions of great significance to them at the time. After a while he dozed off to sleep, but during the night awoke about once every half hour, and with a shout of,—
"Where's Bimbo—darn Bimbo—lazy Bimbo!" and then would drop off to sleep again.
At about nine o'clock we reached "Boomerang stream," the same place where we had witnessed the natives of Australia gorge themselves with kangaroo meat until stuffed to repletion. The place was alive with oxen and stockmen, and carts filled with stores on their way to the mines. Many of the drivers had just arrived, having been on the road from Melbourne all night, and were turning their cattle loose, intending to pass the day by the side of the stream, for the purpose of recruiting, and avoiding the heat of the noonday sun.
We forded the river, the waters of which were not more than twelve inches deep, and with many flourishes of his immense whip, Smith drew up his cattle directly under the shade of a friendly tree growing near the bank.
Before the cattle were turned loose, we were surrounded by anxious inquirers desirous of asking a dozen questions regarding the safety of the country, and what the men whom we had ironed had been guilty of.