.

Gable put up a defensive elbow and backed away, knuckling his eye
piteously the while.

'Are you goin'?' cried Dick, and kicked Gable just as he would have
kicked any inconvenient and mutinous youngster in the same case.

'You look out whatcher doin',' muttered the old man, skipping about to
avoid the second kick. I'll get someone what'll show you,' he added
darkly.

Dick ran at him with a big stick, but Gable only retreated a few yards.
He threw stones, knocking up the dust about the old man's feet, and Gable
hopped and skipped with the agility of a kid; but after each attack he
returned humbly to the heels of the party like a too faithful dog.

'Better let him come, I s'pose,' said Dick at last. 'Come on, nuisance!

Gamble jigged up, radiant, and grinning all over his face.

Red Hand selected a suitable clump of saplings about half a mile from the
toll-bar, and the gang secreted themselves and made preparation for the
first attack. They carried their 'cartridges' loose in small bags hung
from their belts, in which were thrust three or four of the
bone-barrelled pistols. Black masks were donned, Fork Lightning was
stationed on a stump near by to give warning of the approach of a victim,
and the others took up suitable positions, while Dick fitted Gable with a
mask so that his appearance might not discredit the gang.

'There,' said Dick. 'you're a bushranger now, re member.'

'Crickey!' cried the old man, delighted.

'An'; you'll be hanged if you're caught.'

'Oh, crickey!' Gable was more delighted still, and danced up and down,
clapping his hands.

Suddenly there was a warning whistle from Fork Lightning, and that black
scoundrel crept stealthily in amongst his mates.

'Someone's comin',' he said.

'To horse!' cried Red Hand. 'When I give the word, gallop into the road
an' cut off their retreat. Don't fire till I give orders, an', mind,
spare the women an' children.'

Sounds of horses' hoofs were heard approaching. The gang, masked, and
mounted on bridled and saddled goats, anxiously awaited the word of
command.

'Back, men, back for your lives!' cried Dick. 'It's the p'lice, fifteen
thousan' strong, an' they're hot on our track; but Red Hand's gang will
never be taken alive.'

The bushrangers cowered back into the shadow as a party of three young
men riding tired horses ambled slowly by, singing dolorously and
brandishing bottles. Red Hand was discreet if valiant. However, another
warning came