I can't make it out at all.
'Well, boys,' says dad, 'you've been lucky so far; suppose you had a pretty good spree in Melbourne?
You seen the game was up by the papers, didn't you?
But why didn't you stay where you were ?' 'Why, of course, that brought us away,' says Jim; 'we didn't want to be fetched back in irons, and thought there was more show for it in the bush here.' 'But even if they'd grabbed Starlight,' says the old man, 'you'd no call to be afeard.

Not much chance of his peaching, if it had been a hanging matter.' 'You don't mean to say there ain't warrants against us and the rest of the lot ?' I said.
'There's never a warrant out agin any one but Starlight,' said the old man.

'I've had the papers read to me regular, and I rode over to Bargo and saw the reward of 200 Pounds (a chap alongside of me read it) as is offered for a man generally known as Starlight, supposed to have left the country; but not a word about you two and me, or the boy, or them other coves.' 'So we might as well have stayed where we were, Jim.' Jim gave a kind of groan.

'Still, when you look at it, isn't it queer,' I went on, 'that they should only spot Starlight and leave us out?
It looks as if they was keepin' dark for fear of frightening us out of the country, but watching all the same.' 'It's this way I worked it,' says father, rubbing his tobacco in his hands the old way, and bringing out his pipe: 'they couldn't be off marking down Starlight along of his carryin' on so.

Of course he drawed notice to himself all roads.