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'Not that we ourselves apprehend any danger now-a-days from them possessing them,' said Stevenson to me, in explanation. 'But, as you are aware, they are always engaged amongst themselves in a murderous kind of warfare,—sneaking by night on each other, and killing by stealth,—and as I found that the possession of the guns we gave them encouraged that sort of thing, I took them away again.'

'Perhaps Bobby Peel has been robbing some hut again, and stolen a gun,' said Harris; 'it's a wonder to me they can't catch that fellow.'

'He is an ungrateful rascal,' said Stevenson, as he remounted his horse, 'to kill my cow with it, if he has. I have got into very bad odour with my neighbours for standing between such a pestilent knave and summary vengeance. The fellow dare not show his face anywhere within thirty miles round; he would be shot down like a dingo if he did. And this is the return he makes for it! I only hope, however, he is not concerned in any foul play with those missing men. I strongly suspect him. Robbing a hut now and then for a supply of flour, or killing a sheep, I could wink at, though, forsooth, he might leave my cattle alone, and only rob those who have injured him. But bloodshed is a very different matter, and so he will find.'