n
took, an' now they're after you.'

Fer what?'

'Rob'ry under arms, the feller said, an' shooting with intent' r
somethin'.

Dick whistled incredulously. Here was fame, here was glory. His favourite
authors were justified, and yet there was the dark side; thought of his
mother came with a sharp twinge.

'Who went an' split--Ted?'

'None o' the Company,' said Parrot. 'The troopers came to arrest Gable's
mates, thinkin' they was men, an' Toll-bar Sam told who you was. He saw
you all last night.'

'Did they take Ted, an' Jacker, an' Phil right away?'

'Um. Off to Yarraman. You don't know what a row's on. It's awful. Them
fellers what captured Gable told a yarn about a gang o' bushrangers'n a
terrible fight, an' swore Gable was the blood thirstiest of 'em all. The
Yarraman Mercury printed a special paper this mornin', with all about the
outbreak of a new gang o' bushrangers in great big type, an' every one's
near mad about it, 'sept those what's laughin'.'

The boys gazed at each other for a few moments in silence. It took some
time to grasp the astounding facts. They were real bushrangers, their
escapades had been printed in the papers, they were actually being
pursued by bona fide troopers on flesh-and-blood horses--what more could
ambitious youth demand?

Dick's unconquerable romanticism upheld him; he had achieved distinction,
and the prospect of deluding and outwitting the police after the manner
of his most brilliant heroes filled him with delight; but Billy Peterson
was awed and out of spirits.

'It's all right, Billy,' said Dick, 'they'll never find us here. We can
defy 'em all fer weeks.'

'Yes,' said Billy bitterly, 'but I'm hungry!'

'You didn't bring no crib, Parrot.' Dick had made it a rule that the
necessities of a shareholder temporarily in difficulties and hiding in
the mine were to be attended to by the free members of the Company or
others who, like Parrot Cann, were admitted to the Company's councils.

'Wasn't game,' answered Parrot; 'they'd 'a' watched me. Had to sneak away
as it was.'

Dick puckered his face wisely. It was a very dirty face just now; his red
hair, long neglected, hung in wisps over his forehead and about his ears,
giving him an elfish look in the candlelight.

'Never mind,' he said, 'bring us some to-night, first chance you get; but
be cunnin'. We'll shake some fruit soon ez it's dark, to keep us goin'.'

'What's the good o' fruit?' groaned Peterson. Fruit ain't gr