CHAPTER XXIII.

Arrival at the old stockman’s hut.—­Mysterious interruptions during the hunt.

As we drew near the hut which had withstood so hot an assault from the gang of Jim Gulpin, we saw that its proprietor was seated before his door, busily engaged in reading a book, in which he appeared deeply interested, for he never raised his eyes until Rover, who recognized him, thrust his cold nose on his hand and demanded a welcome.

The old man looked surprised, dropped his book, and then apparently comprehended that we must be near, for he glanced eagerly round, and when his eyes fell upon Smith, he started towards us at a brisk pace, and in a few minutes the two were shaking hands like friends who had been separated for months and years.

“But where are your companions?  Where are the two generous Americans who fought so bravely when I revenged my daughter’s injuries? demanded the old man, who did not recognize us, dressed as we were in a respectable-looking thin suit of clothes, and with our beards shaven off.

“O,” answered Smith, carelessly, “they became infatuated with the pleasures of Melbourne, and have remained behind.”

“And our pardons?” asked the stockman, after a moment’s silence, during which we could see that he was struggling for fortitude and composure.

“Here,” exclaimed Fred, “a free and unconditional pardon is granted to convict No. 2921, subject only to the approval of the Home office, for distinguishing himself in an encounter with a gang of desperate bushrangers.”

The old man knew his voice, and tears, which he had before suppressed, now flowed freely.  He grasped Fred’s hands and pressed them convulsively, and then fell upon me and nearly smothered me with his embrace.

“Read it again,” he cried, handing the pardon to Fred.  “Let me once more be assured that I am a free man.”

Fred complied with his request, and was about to inquire concerning his daughter, when she made her appearance at the door of the hut, and appeared to be slightly astonished at seeing her father conversing with strangers.

“Come here, Becky,” he cried, “I have news for you—­great news.”

Followed by the hound, who had sought her out a few moments before, she came to meet us; and being a more acute observer than her parent, she readily recognized us in spite of our change of costume.

“Here, Becky,” cried the old man, with childish eagerness, “read that document that his excellency the governor has sent me.  I am a free man, Becky—­a free man, and can travel to any part of the island, and not a soldier or police officer can harm me, or lay the weight of his hand upon me, and ask why I leave my flocks without permission.  I shall yet be rich, and instead of tending sheep I will own them, and have shepherds who will look to me for orders.  I’ll not be known as the shepherd convict, but the rich landed proprietor.  O, I will show you, Becky, if it pleases God, how I will work, and you shall be a lady, and no longer dress in cheap stuff, but wear silks, and be waited upon.  I know a thing or two which you little suspect.”