"It is evident that you suspect us of being bushrangers," observed Fred, coolly.
"I certainly think that you are," returned the little man, bluntly; "and it is a matter of surprise to me that I see you in the company of a man who has, during his trading at the mines, borne a good character."
This was a hard dig at Smith, and he sought to explain, but Fred checked him.
"If we should prove to you that we are honest men, I suppose that you would be willing to make an ample apology for the manner in which you have addressed us?" Fred said.
The little man smiled sarcastically, and intimated that he should be most happy.
"Then," Fred exclaimed, drawing a paper from his pocket and handing it to the little man, "you will please to read that, and see if you are acquainted with the signatures."
The stranger called for a candle, for it was nearly dark, and by its light began perusing the document.
"What is this?" he muttered; "a bill of sale of two horses, formerly owned by the police of Melbourne, to Messrs. Frank —— and James ——, signed by Hansen, the captain of police, and Murden, lieutenant. Can it be possible? Yes, it must be; I understand it all."
The little man threw himself upon us, grasped each of our hands, and to the intense astonishment of all present, began shaking them as though he was working a pump.
"How could I be so mistaken?" he asked. "I really thought; but, pshaw, my suspicions were so absurd."