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Updated: June 15, 2025
By the time Smith had joined us with his cart and prisoners, Bimbo had started a fire, and produced a hind quarter of a young bullock, killed the day before, and which had been rubbed over with fine salt to protect it from the millions of insects which infest the air of Australia.
"Oh, for the love of the Holy Madonna!" said the woman, in a wailing voice; "will you look at my poor bimbo? I know I can't pay you for it, but I took it into the Nunziata last night, and it's turned a worse colour than before; it's the convulsions.
Smith handed the short-handled instrument of torture to the officer, who waved it over his head with a scientific flourish, like one accustomed to its use, and in another instant Bimbo would have had something to cry for, but the cunning rogue ducked his head just in time to escape punishment.
"Let that man be kept within musket shot," said Murden, pointing to the guilty Bimbo, who was still snivelling, and endeavoring to excite our sympathies. "And what shall we do with this poor wretch?" Fred asked, gazing with pity at the prostrate form of the robber chief, who, an hour before, was a model of health and strength. "What can we do?" asked the officer, with a puzzled expression.
"Thou wilt take him this when thou returnest, that he may know I hold him dear." "Marina!" he pleaded, growing eloquent, with a last desperate effort, "thou wast ever an angel to the Zuanino thou canst not leave thine own bimbo!" She did not answer immediately, but she clasped and unclasped her hands passionately. "He is safe," she said at last, very low and struggling for control.
"I don't see what you want, coming here at this hour in the morning," Bimbo said, with a yawn. "I was just dreaming that I could live without work, when you roused me. What is up that takes you from Melbourne?"
"Well, examine the hut at all events," replied Fred; and bidding Bimbo walk to the house, we followed close at his heels, and threatened him with the fangs of the dog when he hesitated. By the time we had reached the station hut, the policemen were just depositing Gulpin near the door, having brought him in a blanket from the spot where he fell.
Smith's broad, red face was actually radiant with happiness, as he fell back to his place; and as he had no other way of testifying his happiness, he began cracking his long heavy whip, which started the cattle into a trot, and shook up the bushrangers and the parrot so roughly, that the latter yelled out, "Hullo! what's the row? Where's Bimbo?
"You didn't start to tell me about Mr. O'Halloran." "No. He wasn' your sort at all; and besides, he's dead. But about Black Sultan Miss Montagu used to rest 'im, 'alf-way in his turn, while the clown they called Bimbo but his real name was Ernest Stanley as't a riddle about a policeman and a red 'errin' in a newspaper.
"Go and pick the pocket of the man that has got the key of our irons, and then we can kill every devil connected with the troop." "Hush," replied Bimbo, after a hurried glance at my face. "Them two blasted Yankees are sleeping close here, and I think both of 'em has spotted me. I'd like to cut their throats bloody well." "I have no doubt of it," I thought, "but I'll save you the trouble."
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