quietly walked on with what he got. The next instant the crowd started off, bawling out “Peeler! Peeler!” and two policemen were seen riding up to the inn in charge of a man mounted on a fine young horse. The policemen were dressed in plain clothes, and, as I understood they had just captured a bushranger, a gang of which were in the neighbourhood, I was anxious to see a real live one, and pushed my way amongst the crowd, when half-a-dozen voices called out “That’s Mr.———.” I did not catch the name. I thought by the twinkle of the man’s eye that he was all right, but at this moment one of the policemen said to the other, “Take that fellow in charge. D——— the eyes of anyone that interferes with me in the discharge of my duty,” and with that be brandished his revolver, which he threatened to discharge at the first man that dared to rescue his prisoner.
At this moment a smart little gentleman came up, who I understood was the newly-appointed coroner, to give a hint to the policeman, and who seemed to be riding on the top of his commission, but was met at once by a “Stand off, sir. If you speak another word I’ll walk you off in double quick time.” The coroner walked off, muttering something to himself, which was construed into contempt of court, and the policeman nearly had him by the collar when he darted upstairs to his own room, sheltering himself behind his double-barrelled gun, and the pursuit of the constable was only hindered by the landlady, who stood on the stairs, preventing any further proceedings. By this time the peace (?) officer, who, by the way, was a new chum, discovered that his prisoner was an old and well-known squatter in the neighbourhood, whose black pipe and dirty cabbage-tree hat in some measure deceived the constables. At the same time he, not knowing the men in plain clothes, mistook them for bushrangers, and, not caring to come into contact with them, put spurs to his horse, which made the men think he was fair game, so, however, without any more to do, they pursued and “bagged” him. “By dad,” said an Irishman, “as ye’ve got off so aisy, ye cannot do better than shout for us.” “No,” said he; “no, I’ll toss the constable.” It fell to the squatter’s lot to pay for drinks for the company, and this, at the rate of 1s. 6d. a drink, was no joke. He was prevented from doing so by a digger, who was returning to Melbourne after making a pile, which he had made up his mind to “knock down,” and return to the old spot to make another. He had taken the precaution to send his gold by private escort to town. He had luckily some for present purposes, for, turning the lining of an old wideawake, he handed a £10-note to the landlord, saying, “Come, old fellow, let’s have a drink all round.” This was called a “colonial shout.”
