The stockman was barefooted, and his feet looked tougher than any sole leather ever brought to market.  Dirt, a hot sun, and an entire absence of water as a cleansing agent, had rendered them of an indescribable color, and us he afterwards boasted, he was “not afeerd of any varmin biting them ’ere, ’cos they was toughened.”

An old flannel shirt, and a pair of canvas trousers, completed the costume of a man who said he preferred to live on a cattle station, and receive about ten dollars per month, than to trust to luck, and work hard at the mines.

“Hullo, Bimbo,” shouted the lieutenant, as the stockman came in sight, and leaned languidly against the door, as though too lazy to support his own weight.

The fellow muttered something which we did not hear, and Murden shouted again,—­

“Did we disturb you from a refreshing nap, Bimbo, or have you grown lazier than ever?  Come, stir yourself, and start a fire; we want breakfast.  In a few minutes there will be a dozen more here, and they will eat you out of house and home, unless you are smart.  Bushrangers always have good appetites.”

It might have been fancy, but I thought I saw the indolent Bimbo suddenly start at the word “bushrangers,” and his apparently heavy-looking eyes were lighted up with an energetic look that I little expected from a man such as his outward appearance denoted.  Whether my surmises were correct or not, the man resumed his old habit in a moment, and if possible looked more fatigued than ever.

“I don’t see what you want, coming here at this hour in the morning,” Bimbo said, with a yawn.  “I was just dreaming that I could live without work, when you roused me.  What is up that takes you from Melbourne?”

The question was asked in the most indifferent tone that a person can imagine; but I thought I detected an eagerness to know the mission upon which Murden had been engaged that but ill compared with the man’s general indifference and lazy deportment.

“We have been after bushrangers, Bimbo,” answered the lieutenant, dismounting from his horse and approaching the stockman, who still retained his reclining position against the side of the door.

“And did you meet any?” asked the stockman, indifferently, stealing a look at the face of the officer as though anxious to obtain his answer before he uttered it.

“Meet any?” replied Murden, “why, of course we did.  You will not be troubled with robbers in this part of the country for some time to come, I’ll warrant you.”

I saw a black frown gather on the stockman’s brow, but it was dispelled as soon as formed, although I could not help feeling that the news troubled the man exceedingly.

“Come, stir yourself,” cried the lieutenant, when he saw that the stockman did not appear disposed to move, and as he spoke, he laid his hand lightly upon the fellow’s shoulder, and pulled him from his position in the doorway.