ll the men were shot dead, wounded, or taken prisoners, and
that a strong force had better be despatched at once to recapture the
gold.

A good deal of this was true, though not all. The only man killed was
the sergeant. He was shot clean through the heart, and never stirred
again. Of the five other men, three were badly wounded and two slightly.
We attended to them as well as we could, and tied the others so that
they would not be able to give any bother for an hour or two at any
rate.

Then the trouble began about dividing the gold. We opened the sort of
locker there was in the centre of the coach and took out the square
boxes of gold. They held canvas bags, all labelled and weighed to the
grain, of about 1000 oz. each. There were fourteen boxes in all. Not a
bad haul.

Some of the others couldn't read or write, and they wouldn't trust us,
so they brought their friend with them, who was an educated man sure
enough. We were a bit stunned to see him, holding the sort of position
he did at the Turon. But there he was, and he did his work well enough.
He brought a pair of scales with him and weighed the lot, and portioned
it all out amongst us just the same as Mr. Scott, the banker, used to
do for us at the Turon when we brought in our month's washing-up. We had
5000 oz. Starlight had an extra share on account of being captain, and
the rest had somewhere about 8000 oz. or 9000 oz. among them. It wasn't
so bad.

Dad wasn't long before he had our lot safely packed and on his two
pack-horses. Warrigal and he cleared out at a trot, and went out of
sight in a jiffy. It was every man for himself now. We waited a bit to
help them with their swag; it was awful heavy. We told them that their
pack-horses would never carry it if there was anything of a close run
for it.

'Suppose you think you've got the only good horse in the country, Dick
Marston,' says Daly. 'We'll find a horse to run anything you've got,
barrin' Rainbow. I've got a little roan horse here as shall run ever a
horse ye own, for three mile, for a hundred notes, with twelve stone up.
What do you think of that, now?'

'Don't take your shirt off, Patsey,' I said. 'I know the roan's as good
as ever was foaled' (so he was; the police got him after Patsey was done
for, and kept him till he died of old age), 'but he's in no condition.
I'm talking of the pack-horses; they're not up to much, as you'll find
out.'

We didn't want to rush off at once, for fear the oth