CHAPTER LXXV.
SUPPER.—RETURN OF MR. WRIGHT'S SCOUTS.
The room into which Mr. Wright conducted us was on the ground floor, and was about thirty feet deep and fifteen feet wide. Around the walls were hung skins of kangaroos, stuffed parrots, and other birds of gaudy plumage, while confined in brackets were old muskets in sufficient quantities to frighten all the natives of Australia, but their appearance, imposing as they were, would not have sufficiently impressed a bushranger of nerve into the belief that they were dangerous, even if loaded with their proper quantum of powder and lead.
We had hardly crossed the threshold of the building when a shrill voice greeted us with,—
"D——n bushrangers—d——n bushrangers—caught at last!—ha, ha!—I knew it!—I said so!—steal sheep, will you?"
We started back at such a reception, and Mr. Brown began to mutter something about "gratuitous insults," when Mr. Wright pointed to a remarkably large parrot that was roosting on the back of a chair, surveying us with quiet dignity, and evidently with considerable worldly wisdom.
Our anger vanished, and we made immediate overtures to Poll, for the purpose of establishing a firm friendship, but our advances were met with dignified coolness, while Day, who attempted to scratch the bird's head, got severely bitten for his pains.
"D——n the beast!" muttered the shepherd, rubbing his finger.
"That's right—swear! D——n it, why don't you swear? Sheep stealers! Who robs people? Ha, ha! Set the dogs on 'em!"