The general topic of conversation during the journey was about some three desperate bushrangers,* who appeared to keep all the innkeepers in dread of a visit.

Satisfied that they were the much dreaded bushrangers, of whose vicinity we had been apprised, the sergeant hastily left the window at which he and I had been seated, and, stealing with soft and cautious steps through the house, visited each of his posts to see that the men were on the alert.

And in the bush I lighted on A fierce bushranger with his gun, Who borrowed my garments, every one, For himself in the bush of Australia.