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Updated: May 19, 2025
I was accompanied by a man of the name of Foley, a bushranger of great notoriety, who had been captured by the Adelaide police, and was sent with my party in the hope that his knowledge of the coast would be of use to me, but neither could he discover the unfortunate runaway, who, there is no doubt, subsequently perished.
My house had not been built with the view of its sustaining a siege at any time, but was constructed of rather light materials, so that the door began to groan and creak under the assaults of the bushranger, whose every movement I could see through a small opening in the shutters. "`What do you want here, friend? I asked. "`Open the door, was the only reply.
We listened, with the wind howling outside, to F 's horrid second-hand story, of how one fine day up country, eight or ten men, station hands, were "stuck up" by one solitary bushranger, armed to the teeth.
I sought to restrain him, but in vain; with a fanatical yell he plunged into the clearing, and waving his long gun over his head, he dared spirit, ghost, or bushranger to meet him on even ground. There was no response to his challenge, and considering that it was cowardly to let him remain there alone, the rest of us quickly gathered around, and requested him to lie down for a short time.
"I'm going to see if the devil's as black as he's painted." Then, setting spurs to his horse, he galloped away through the palms to the gate. A year later Hyland the bushranger was shot in a struggle with the mounted police sent to capture him. The planter's wife read of it in England, whither she had gone on a visit. "It is better so," she said to herself, calmly. "And he wished it, I am sure."
At the same moment of time that a rough but kindly hand closed the eyes of the bushranger, the woman from The Angel's Rest and Louis Bachelor saw the pale face of Roadmaster peer through the bedroom window at Barbara Golding sitting in a chair asleep; and she started and said through her half-wakefulness, looking at the window: "Where are you going, Edward?"
"Well, we have three hundred-and-fifty-foot gun-cutters, one 90-mm. apiece. The Elmoran, the Gaucho, and the Bushranger. But they're not much as transports, and we need them here pretty badly. Then, we have five fertilizer and charcoal scows, and a lot of heavy transport lorries, and two one-eighty-foot pickup boats." "How about the Piet Joubert?" von Schlichten asked.
I no longer wondered at the assurance of the bushranger when he proclaimed himself a disciple of Australian barbarians. "Will any man in his senses believe that the horses have crossed that narrow strip?" demanded one of the fellows, pointing to the bridge; "I know the horses of this country too well to believe that they like bogs so well as to venture there."
He becomes real because his character and actions are conceived in harmony with the romance and pathos of the story. Though it is obvious enough that there never could have existed a bushranger with quite so much of the bel air, or with a private code of honour so admirable, the exaggeration is far from obtrusive.
"Keep quiet for the threat of that braggart?" the shrill-voiced woman demanded; "why, if I had a bodkin I'd spit him on it." "Would you?" cried the bushranger; "then I'll give you a taste of the same sort of stuff!" We heard a struggle for a few seconds, and then the earnest tones of the most liberal ruffian in remonstrance.
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