“Because we were fearful that you would interrupt the proceedings,” I replied.

“I certainly should have done so.  Are you aware that Wattles is a most experienced and successful duellist?  That he has been out half a dozen times, and always came off without so much as a scratch?”

“No, I was not aware that such is the case,” I answered.

“He is all that I tell you, and if I had suspected that a duel was to come off between Fred and the soldier, I should have had both of them arrested and locked up, and kept them until they were ready to swear that they would not lift their hands against each other.”

“And then Fred and myself would have been imputed as informers, and a stain would have rested on our reputations, and we should no longer have been considered fit company for gentlemen.”  “That does not necessarily follow,” answered Murden.  “No one who knows you both can call you aught but brave men.”

“But did we not dine with you after we had received the challenge?  We made no secret of our going—­hundreds saw us enter your house, and hundreds saw us depart.  Had we but lisped a word of our intended doings, it would have been said that we visited you on purpose.  Come, look at the matter in a sensible light, and you will take a different view of the affair.”

Murden shook his head as if he considered it not only a breach of the law but a breach of friendship to fight a duel without his knowledge; and he intended to reply, but the doctor poked his jolly looking face from the window of the carriage, and bade us good-by, and requested the pleasure of our company to dinner on the next day.

“And do you come too, Murden.  I’ve a few bottles of the rale Irish whiskey, and better cannot be found in the world, and if ye come I’ll brew a jug of punch that’ll make ye think ye are in paradise after drinking a few tumblers.  Good-by, boys, and, Murden, keep a sharp look out for the bushrangers.”

The driver started his horses, and for a few minutes after the carriage had left the field we could hear the mellow voice of the doctor laughing at the idea of his quizzing the police lieutenant with his story about bushrangers.

“Come and breakfast with us,” I said, turning to Murden.  “We cannot celebrate the escape of our friend Fred in a more appropriate manner.”

“Agreed,” he cried; and then turning to his men, he said, “return to the station and report that Lieutenant Wattles was severely injured this morning by the accidental discharge of his rifle while hunting kangaroos.  If I am wanted you know where to find me.”

“Pray, how came you on the road so early?” I asked Murden.

“Because I got wind that there was trouble between you and Wattles.  One of my men overheard Fred’s remark, the other night, and then he saw Merriam leaving your house, and putting all and all together—­the fact that your party were early on the road, and Wattles being seen in a carriage—­he considered it of sufficient importance to report to me, which he did an hour too late this morning, while I was dreaming of bushrangers and prize money.”