“Never mind, Dick,” says Maddie; “go and make yourself comfortable in that room, and I’ll have breakfast for you while you’d let a cow out of the bail. We don’t forget our friends.”

“If all our friends were as true as you, Maddie,” I said, rather down-like, “I shouldn’t be here to-day.”

“Oh! that’s it, is it?” says she; “we’re only indebted to somebody’s laying the traps on—a woman, of course—for your honour’s company. Never mind old man, I won’t hit you when you’re down. But, I say, you go and have a yarn with Billy the Boy—he’s in the kitchen. I believe the young imp knows something, but he won’t let on to Bill and I.”

While the steaks were frying—and they smelt very good, bad as I felt—I called out Master Billy and had a talk with him. I handed him a note to begin with. It was money well spent, and, you mark my words, a shilling spent in grog often buys a man twenty times the worth of it in information, let alone a pound.

Billy had grown a squarish-set, middle-sized chap; his hair wasn’t so long, and his clothes were better; his eye was as bright and bold-looking. As he stood tapping one of his boots with his whip, he looked for all the world like a bull-terrier.

“My colonial oath, Dick, you’re quite the gentleman—free with your money just the same as ever. You takes after the old governor; he always paid well if you told him the truth. I remember him giving me a hidin’ when I was a kiddy for saying something I wasn’t sure of. My word! I was that sore for a week after I couldn’t button my shirt. But ain’t it a pity about Jim?”

“Oh, that’s it: What about Jim?”

“Why, the p’leece grabbed him, of course. You fellers don’t think you’re going on for ever and ever, keepin’ the country in a state of terrorism, as the papers say. No, Dick, it’s wrong and wicked and sinful. You’ll have to knock under and give us young ‘uns a chance.”

Here the impudent young rascal looked in my face as bold as brass and burst out laughing. He certainly was the cheekiest young scoundrel I ever came across. But in his own line you couldn’t lick him.

“Jim’s took,” he said, and he looked curiously over at me. “I seen the p’leece a-takin’ him across the country to Bargo early this morning. There was poor old Jim a-lookin’ as if he was goin’ to be hanged, with a chap leading the screw he was on, and Jim’s long legs tied underneath. I was gatherin’ cattle, I was. I drew some up just for a stall, and had a good look.”