In the spring of 1867 I had occasion to travel from my station, Bundidgaree, near Narandera, on the Murrumbidgee River, to the historic town of Wagga Wagga, the residence of Mr. Arthur Orton, whose claim to the Tichborne title and estates was then agitating Britain and her Colonies. An elderly nurse returning to her home was to accompany me in an American buggy. The roads were good; the weather fine; the horse high in condition, exceptional as to pace and courage. Yet was the situation doubtful, even complicated. The road was risky, the head-station lonely and unprotected. A gang of bushrangers, under a leader popularly known as \'Blue-cap,\' was at the time I mention within twenty or thirty miles of Narandera. There was a strong probability that I should encounter them, or that they would visit the station during my absence. Either hap was disagreeable, not to say dangerous. I left home with mingled feelings. But circumstances were obdurate. I had to go. The outlaws, five in number, were \'back-block natives,\' all young men with the exception of a middle-aged personage known as \'The Doctor.\' He was credited with having \'done time,\' that is, served a sentence of imprisonment, which apparently had not led to reformation, as he was looked upon as the most dangerous member of the band. Not as yet committed to acts of bloodshed, they had exchanged shots with Mr. Waller of Kooba—a station below Narandera—who had surprised them while encamped upon his Run. He was a determined man and a well-known sportsman. The story was that he nearly shot \'Blue-cap,\' that gentleman having slipped behind a stock-yard post, which received the breast-high bullet. The honours of 482war remained with the squatter, however, whose party forced the robbers to retreat across the river, leaving (like the Boers) horses, saddles, and swags behind. It was not known when I started whether they had gone up or down the river. Meanwhile, the pair of police troopers who protected the district of Narandera, a region about a hundred miles square, were \'in pursuit.\'

The question of carrying arms had to be dealt with. I thought at first of a double-barrelled gun and revolver. But the idea of an effective defence against five well-mounted, well-armed men, the while embarrassed with a frightened woman and two spirited horses, did not seem feasible. I finally decided to trust to the probability of not meeting the evil-doers at all, and to go unarmed rather than to carry arms which I could not use effectively. The journey to Wagga, about fifty-five miles, was accomplished safely. Making an early start next day, about three-fourths of the return trip was over when I came opposite to Berrembed, the homestead of my neighbour Mr. Lupton. I was walking the horses over a curious formation of small mounds, provincially known as \'dead men\'s graves,\' when I became aware of three horsemen coming along the road towards me.

My first thought was, \'Here they are-bushrangers!\' my second, \'It cannot be the gang—these are too young; and I don\'t see the "Doctor."\' The foremost rider, enveloped in a poncho, decided the question by throwing it back and presenting a revolver, at the same time calling out in what he meant to be a tone of intimidation, \'Bail up. Stop and get out. If yer move to get a pistol I\'ll blow yer brains out.\' By the time he had come to the end of this unlawful demand, he had ridden close up, and held the revolver, into the barrel of which I could see, and also that it was on full cock, unpleasantly close to my head. He was a bush-bred cub, hardly of age, who had but little practice, evidently, in the highwayman line, for his hand trembled and his face was pale under the sun-bronzed skin.

Thus I felt (like Mickey Free\'s father) somewhat perturbed, as, if I tried to bolt, he might shoot me on purpose, and if I stayed where I was, he might shoot me by accident. Meanwhile, I secured the reins to the lamp iron, and got down in a leisurely manner. \'I have no arms,\' I said, as I stood by the 483off-side horse—the celebrated Steamer; \'there\'s no hurry. I can\'t well run away.\'

\'Give up yer money,\' he said gruffly.

\'I haven\'t any.\'

\'That be hanged! A man like you don\'t travel without money.\'

\'I generally have some, but I paid a bill at Martin\'s (naming an inn a few miles nearer Wagga) and it cleaned me out.\'

\'Hand out them watches, then!\'

He saw by the appearance of my waistcoat that I had more than one. I had brought back a watch belonging to a relative from Wagga, where it had been sent for repair. They were both gold watches of some value.

As he sat on his horse, I being on foot, he kept his bridle-reins and the levelled revolver in one hand, and reached down to me for the spoil. As he did so, I looked him in the eye, thinking that a strong, active man might have pulled him off his horse, grabbed the revolver, and shot one if not both of his comrades. I had no intention of trying the double event myself, but I know a man or two who would have chanced it with such a youthful depredator.

What I said was, \'You don\'t often get two gold watches from one man.\'

\'No. I know we don\'t. Turn out that portmanteau.\'

\'There\'s only a suit of clothes and my hair brushes. You don\'t want them.\'

At this stage of the intercourse, old Steamer, an impatient though singularly good-tempered animal, moved on, as of one proclaiming, \'This foolery has lasted long enough.\' I walked to his head and soothed him, upon which one of the subordinates said civilly, \'I\'ll hold your horse, Mr. Boldrewood.\'

I looked at him with surprise, and saw for the first time that he was Mr. Lupton\'s stock-rider, and the other \'road agent\' the son of that gentleman. The mystery was explained. They were pressed men. We were within sight of the home station. The rest of the gang were helping themselves to the proprietor\'s best horses in the stock-yard when they saw me coming along the road. So they had detailed this youth for my capture, and ordered the two others to go with him to \'make a show\' in case of the traveller resisting.

484However, the interview was nearly at an end. The first robber dismissed me with a brief \'You may go now.\' I drove off slowly, not desiring to show haste, in case the capricious devil which abides in this particular breed might prompt him to call me back. He did so indeed, but it was only to say, \'Show us yer pipe. You might have a good \'un.\' I exhibited an old briar-root, at which he waved his hand disdainfully, and going off at a gallop, made for the homestead with his attendants on either side, like the wicked Landgrave in Burger\'s ballad.

I drove in leisurely fashion until they were out of sight, when I let my horses out at their usual \'travelling\' pace of twelve miles an hour, or a trifle over, and was not long before I \'reached my cattle-gate.\'

While the \'momentous question\' was in the stage of discussion I had been anxious and troubled—so to speak, afraid. Not for my personal safety. I did not think any bushranger in the district would slay me in cold blood. We were popular in our neighbourhood, for though I was the Chairman of the Narandera Bench when the Police Magistrate of Wagga, Mr. Baylis, was absent, and as such officially a terror to evil-doers, my wife had endeared herself to our humbler neighbours by acts of charity and womanly sympathy in cases of sickness or other sore need. But what I was afraid of, tremulously indeed, was lest the outlaws should \'commandeer\' one or both of my horses. Eumeralla, a fine upstanding grey, bred at Squattlesea Mere, good in saddle and harness, and carried a lady, was most valuable, while Steamer, who died after twenty years of priceless service, was simply invaluable. I was only saved from this disastrous loss by the fact that Mr. Lupton\'s stock-yard (he was absent from home—perhaps fortunately) was full of good station hacks, and as his stud was of high reputation in the district, his loss on that occasion proved my salvation. What had happened at Berrembed was simply this. The bushrangers, with Mr. \'Blue-cap\' in command, arrived in the early afternoon unexpectedly. There were few men about the place. The overseer and Mr. Lupton were away. Mrs. Lupton, the governess and the children, with the eldest son, a boy of sixteen, and the stock-rider, were at home. The master of the house had firmly expressed his intention to defend his home, and to that end had sent to 485Melbourne for a magazine-rifle, capable (it was said) of discharging sixteen cartridges in quick-firing time. The gang, hearing of this preparation, had sworn to pay him out for it at an early visit. In his absence they behaved well, assuring the lady of the house that \'she need not be apprehensive; they only wanted horses and the new repeating-rifle,\' which last they demanded at once. She was not frightened—a native-born Australian, come of a Border family, she was not timorous, and had presence of mind enough to deny knowledge of the rifle. The leader was better informed. \'That won\'t do, Mrs. Lupton. Master Johnnie shot a bullock with it last Saturday. Better give it up. These chaps might turn rusty. They\'re quiet enough now.\' The lady yielded to force majeure. The governess was sent to bring the rifle from the shower-bath, where it had been placed, and the bushrangers rode off. One of the men, after roaming through the house, appeared with the baby in his arms, which he had taken from the nurse, alleging that \'it reminded him of his happy home.\' This was intended as a joke, and no harm came to the infant, who did not seem to object to a change of nurses. No pillage took place other than that of the rifle and a remount all round. Besides losing their horses and saddles at Kooba, and being reduced to an infantry force, having to cross the river ignominiously upon a sheep-wash temporary bridge, they had another mischance. They called at Brookong Station on Mr. Cuthbert Fetherstonhaugh. Here they treated themselves to grog, in which they vainly tried to make Mr. Fetherstonhaugh join them, and finally went off across country. Near the Urangeline Cr............