"I think it would be better to give them a trial than be robbed, especially when we possess weapons like these," cried Fred, touching his revolver, which he carried in a belt around his waist.
Smith looked at my companion for a moment in silence, as though trying to satisfy himself whether Fred was in earnest, or only talking because danger was remote.
"I've carried many men to the mines," he said at length, "and been robbed some half a dozen times; but I always found that while my passengers were firm for resistance at the beginning of the journey, yet at night a different opinion was formed, and the boldest has consented to give up a shirt or pair of boots without a murmur."
Fred laughed good naturedly, and spoke jestingly in reply.
"That was because you never freighted Americans. Englishmen may consent to have their boots pulled off, but Yankees would be apt to remonstrate."
"I hope that we shall have no occasion to test your courage," said Smith; "but if we meet Black Darnley, I shall not blame you for keeping quiet."
"And who is Black Darnley?" we asked.
"An escaped convict, who has been at large for three years; and, in spite of the two hundred pounds reward, no one has ventured to attempt his capture. He swears that he will never be taken alive, and he will keep his word. He has no fear of two or even three ordinary men, for he possesses the strength of a Hercules and the desperation of a wounded tiger. Of all the bushrangers on the island, he is the worst; and yet he always treats me well, and lets me pass without levying toll, for he and I are old acquaintances, and often have a social chat together about times gone by."
"Tell us where you first met him," we said, crowding nearer the convict to hear his story.
"Wait until we halt for a rest and feed the cattle. Half a mile from here is a small stream of water, and under the shade of some trees near at hand, we'll boil our coffee, and then I'll tell you about my first meeting with Black Darnley."