“I suppose that you imagine we are bushrangers,” I said; “in that you are mistaken.  We have just escaped from a gang.”

“Thin ye had better ’scape back agin, as fast as yer two legs will carry ye,” cried the Irishman.

“It’s the first time that I ever knew a native of the Emerald Isle to refuse a stranger a crust of bread or a drop of water,” I continued, resolved to try what virtue there was in flattery.

“Will yer save yer blarney?” demanded the fellow, again levelling his gun in my direction, a proceeding that I did not thank him for, although I did not manifest alarm.

“Go to the devil!” I cried, thoroughly out of patience, “and send your master to me.”

“O, holy St. Patrick! only hear him!  He calls me master the devil, and thinks I won’t resent the insult.  Look out for yer eye, for by the piper that played before Moses, I’ll bore yer through and through!”

I believe the fellow would have kept his word, and I was just about to show them my horse’s heels, when I heard a man speak in a tone of authority,—­

“Up with your guns, and don’t make fools of yourselves by shooting an unarmed man.”

In obedience to the order the guns were lowered, and a number of the men fell back from the window, and allowed me to get a glimpse of the person whom I supposed to be Mr. Wright.  He was a tall, well-built man, with broad shoulders, and a face entirely English, covered with sandy whiskers.

“Who are you?” he asked, with the bluffness and arrogance of a native of Great Britain.

“A man,” I replied.

“I have your word for that, but I require better evidence.”

“What better evidence do you require?” I demanded.

He did not notice the remark, but continued,—­

“I see many people every week, and although they have the form of men, they are villains.”

“The more reason why you should treat honest people with courtesy when chance brings them this way,” I replied.

“Hear the feller’s blarney,” muttered the Irishman.

“Silence,” said Mr. Wright, and the command was obeyed.

“We have to be extremely cautious whom we admit within these walls,” Mr. Wright continued, “for a gang of bushrangers has been prowling around the farm for a week or more, and are endeavoring to destroy my flocks.  How shall I know that you don’t belong to the gang?”

He waved his hand in a significant manner, and I could not have been more surprised had an earthquake shaken me from my horse.

“My deeds have always been squared in accordance with the great principles of the fraternity,” I replied, and it was pleasing to see what a change took place in the demeanor of the farmer.

“Down with your guns,” he shouted, “and unbolt and unbar the door.  See to the gentleman’s horse, and let us have for supper the best that the station affords.”

The heads disappeared from the windows as if by magic, and in a few seconds’ time the heavy outer door was thrown open, and forth issued Mr. Wright at the head of his employees.  I signalized to Mr. Brown and Day to advance, and then dismounted and met the strong grip of the farmer’s hand with one equally as hearty.