“Better put a couple more plates down.  I’ve brought a couple of visitors with me. Gilbert and Dunn by name I believe you know Gilbert?”

“Yes, he worked for me once!” replied Warn.

After tea the bushrangers chatted with the family, telling Warn they would sleep on the verandahs - back and front - that night and would look his saddle horses over in the morning.  

They would leave theirs, which would need a week’s spell as they had ridden nearly a hundred miles that day, having stuck up a gold escort and had a running fight with police. In the morning they took Warn with them to the stables and their eyes lit up with a gleam of satisfaction as they saw his beautiful satin coated racehorses feeding at the bins.  

“I’m taking this one said Gilbert, I broke him in and I know he’s a great galloper.”  

“Leave him Gilbert and take another; that’s young Waverley and he’s wound right up, trained to the minute for a big purse in Goulburn to run next week.”  

“I’m taking him, but I won’t knock him about and I will bring him back in three days’ time.”  

Warn knew it was no use arguing.  He cursed them under his breath as they rode off.  

Next day the bushrangers were riding across the Gundary Plains not far from Faithfull’s home, espying a covered wagon coming towards them, they galloped towards it.  

The occupants of the wagon were two of the Faithfull sons who had been out wild turkey shooting, trying out the new rifles.

Something evidently told them that they were bushrangers.  They lashed the horses and set them off at a gallop.  The bushrangers opened fire, endeavouring to shoot the horses, when they thought they would have the boys at their mercy.  

But they had found a pair of Tartars.  They were greeted with the report of two rifles, the bullets whistling over their heads.  The bushrangers wheeled their horses and galloped back to find shelter behind the posts of a fence through which Faithfull’s had to pass.  

Gilbert, who was the most reckless of the three, whirled Young Waverley and, taking aim, fired, but the horse threw up his head at the critical moment and stopped a bullet in its brains, crashing to the ground.  Gilbert cleared the stirrups from his feet and took refuge behind a post.  Five bullets the Faithfull’s put into that post but failed to hit Gilbert.