“Bring me my pistols, and oil-cloth coat and cap, and be in a hurry,” were the only commands that Mr. Wright issued, and Jackson, who knew the man’s impulses, did not delay an instant in executing the order, and with the articles named he brought coats and water-proof hats for us, while to our surprise, he placed upon the table the revolvers belonging to Mr. Brown and myself, cleaned, oiled, and loaded.

“I supposed that you would want them in good condition when you left the farm, so while you were at supper I took the liberty of attending to them,” Jackson said, in an apologetic tone, as though fearful that he had exceeded instructions.

“You are deserving of a pardon, and hang me if I don’t get you one before six months are passed,” cried my friend, enthusiastically, after a slight examination of his weapon, which showed him that it was loaded correctly and capped with great nicety.

The poor fellow started with surprise, and his face flushed with agitation.  I saw him turn away, as though ashamed to display his weakness.

“There is no such joyful news for me, sir,” he said, at length, in as firm a voice as he could command.

“Don’t you believe that story,” cried Mr. Brown, heartily.  “Plenty of men have received pardons, and they didn’t deserve them as much as you.  My word for that.”

“Bushrangers get there before us,” muttered the natives.

“Kala is right.  We must be under way, or the fellows will slip through our fingers.  One drink all round, and here’s success to our expedition.”

While I was fitting my head gear the door opened, and in walked Day, his eyes glistening as though he had drank a cup too much of Mr. Wright’s strong water.

“No, you don’t,” he said, surveying us from head to foot; “if you think that you can get off without the best ghost that the country can produce you are mistaken.  You can count me in.”  “Then hurry and get ready,” I exclaimed, “for we have not a moment to lose.”

“Ready?” asked the shepherd, “ain’t I all reedy as I am?  I don’t want your ile-skins to keep off a little wet.  I’m used to it.  Lead the way, blackies, and I’ll keep close to your heels.”

“But you have no weapons,” Mr. Wright said.

“Ain’t I got ’em?  Look here!” and to my surprise, he produced from the bosom of his flannel shirt a large pair of horse pistols, which he had borrowed from one of the farm hands.

“You’ll do; go ahead,” our host said.  And as we sallied into the entry we saw that all the laborers were drawn up in a line, as though to take formal leave of us.

“Please, sir, let me go wid you,” I heard the familiar voice of the Irishman, who greeted me on my arrival, say.

“And me,” cried a dozen voices, in the same breath.

“I don’t want you all, but Mike may go,” was the brief reply.

“Glory to God! we’ll lick thunder out of all the bloody bushrangers that iver dared to show their homely faces this side of the Loddon.  I’m off;” and Mike, who feared that the order for his going would be revoked, snatched a long spear that stood in the entry, and rushed out of the house hatless and shoeless, and full of fight.