hear."

"Right-o!"

The place where these boys lived, moved, and had their being was a district famed for its fertility, on one of the northern rivers in New South Wales.

The river itself had many of the elements of nobility and beauty as, taking its rise in the snowy heights of the New England ranges, it clove its way eastward, finally debouching into the blue waters of the Pacific. The river-flats formed magnificent stretches of arable lands; too rich, indeed, for such cereals as wheat and oats, for their rank growth rendered them liable to the fatal rust.

Here, however, was the home of the maize, the pumpkin, the sweet potato, the orange, the lemon, the plantain. Here too, the natural sequence, in a way, of the prolific corn and the multitudinous pumpkin, were reared and flourished the unromantic pig.

Fed on pumpkins, with skim milk for beverage, topped off with corn, the Australian grunter—whether as delicious, crisp bacon, or posing as aristocratic ham—produces flesh with a flavour fit to set before a king.

Away from the river-flats the land becomes undulating and ridgy, and well grassed for cattle runs. In the scrub belts, running back from the river and its affluents into the hilly country, are to be found valuable timbers, hard and soft; especially that forest noble, the red cedar.

Cattle runs of large extent exist in the back-blocks, formed in the early days by that class of men to whom Australia owes so much; the men who to-day are vilified by those not worthy to black their boots: the hardy, adventurous, courageous, indomitable pioneer, who more often than not laid down his life and his fortune in the interest of Colonial expansion and occupation.

At intervals along the river-banks are small settlements, dignified by the name of townships. Tareela, the principal village, skirted both sides of the river, and was connected by a ferry. Here were located the Government offices for the district, together with the stores, hotels, school, etc.

Joe Blain, the minister's son, was the leader of the village lads. He had two pals, who were inseparable from him: Sandy M'Intyre, the squatter's son, whose father owned Bullaroi, a cattle station situated a few miles from the town, and Tom Hawkins, a farmer's son, the youngest of the trio. These boys gave tone and direction to the fun and frolic of the settlement. Of them it is sufficient to say at present that they were not pedestal lads.

At this time a noted bushranger and his mate were raiding the settlements. All police pursuit was futile, owing to the resourcefulness of the 'rangers. They had a keen knowledge of the open country and the mountain ranges. Furthermore, they were generally mounted on blood horses, usually "borrowed" from the surrounding station studs.

These men had many sympathisers among the lawlessly inclined, and, strange to say, among law-abiding settlers. The "bush-telegraph" was an institution in those days. Certain friends of the 'rangers kept them posted up in the movements of the police, sometimes by word of mouth, at others by writings on paper or bark, which were deposited in rock crevices or in tree hollows, known only to the initiated. Sometimes a young lad, or even a girl, would ride scores of miles across country to give them warning.

The police were not wanting in bush lore or courage, and in the end invariably ran their quarry to earth. But an outlaw often had a long career in crime, owing to the aid given, ere he was trapped. Thanks to closer settlement, the advance of education, and the general use of the electric telegraph, bushranging has become a matter of history. The species is now to be found only in the stage melodrama, the itinerating waxwork show, or embalmed in literature.

CHAPTER II

"THE BUSHRANGERS

"Poins: Tut! our horses they shall not see. I'll tie them in the wood; our visors we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce to immask our noted outward garments.

"Prince: But I doubt they will be too hard for us."

SHAKESPEARE, Henry IV.

After leaving Tom Hawkins, or, to put it more correctly, after Tom had paddled away in his punt, Joe Blain proceeded to look up Jimmy Flynn, the blacksmith's apprentice, and Yellow Billy, a half-caste youth, whose father followed the occupation of a timber-getter in the ranges. Yellow Billy was generally employed as yard boy at the Travellers' Best Inn, and a rough time he often had, especially when the timber-getters were dissolving their hard-earned gold in alcohol.

One of Billy's duties was to milk the cows and tend the calves. Among the latter was a yearling steer, which he broke in and rode on the quiet. Many an hour's frolic the boys had in the moonlight in riding the steer. This animal had a good slice of the rogue in its composition, with a propensity for buck-jumping. When in a certain mood it would be as stubborn as a donkey and as savage as a mule.

After standing, say for some minutes, never budging, in spite of thwackings and tail-twistings, it would suddenly take to buck-jumping. Oh, my, couldn't it buck! Woe betide the unlucky rider when it was in this mood. Torn from his hold—a rope round its brisket—one moment behold him sprawling over its back, the next whirling through space, finally deposited with more force than elegance on the turf. All this, however, was great fun for the boys, who encouraged the brute in its bucking moods, each mounting in turns, to lie prone sooner or later on mother earth, amid the uproarious laughter of his fellows.

Billy was the exception. He was a born rider. Unable to shift him from its back, the brute became quite docile in his hands, and kept its tricks for the others.

Jimmy and Billy were ready and willing to fill their parts in the bill. The former, at "knock off," went out to the town common to round his goats, and Billy promised to be ready, "steered," so to speak, by the time appointed.

The road fixed upon was the track that led out from the township to a large sawmill, distant about six miles. It was a solitary road, passing through a scrub-belt, crossing several minor creeks, threading its way over a rocky ridge, winding through a rather wild defile, and ending at the mill; the sort of place, indeed, to present numerous opportunities for the criminal enterprise on hand. A spot where one could get "nice and creepy," as Joe said to Yellow Billy, much to that young man's disquiet.

The plan of campaign was simple enough. Joe, Tom, and Sandy were to set out as soon as possible after sundown and choose their spot for attack; while Jimmy was to drive the Royal Billy-goat Mailcart, with Trooper Yellow Billy a little in advance, as per custom.

The embryo bushrangers, unfortunately, had only one horse between them; the one Sandy rode to school. Mr. Blain's horse, on which the boys counted, was being used by the minister to take him to a moonlight service some distance