The policeman has to dive to the ground to dodge it. Ned turns his whole body mechanically, slowly to the right, to see the advancing Steele, and laboriously lifts his revolver to fire at him. Some shots clearly hit the figure, all for no result. With his Colt revolver now run out of bullets, Ned reloads, and after tapping his helmet with his revolver, jeering at them, ''You bloody dogs, you cannot shoot me.''Īs the figure starts to shoot again, Steele, out to Dowsett's left, starts to move in, while the firing from the other police goes on. Oh, you bastards, we will put the daylight through you.''Īnd now the figure seems to be having more trouble holding its revolver steady, as it stops by a clump of three small trees and several fallen logs, about 100 yards north of the inn.
''Come out, boys, and we will lick the lot of them,'' the figure yells, beckoning to the other two outlaws. And now this extraordinary figure is lurching straight for Steele, even as - after being sure he can hear them yelling from the inn - he calls for Steve Hart and his brother Dan. Could it be? Is that the explanation? Has this figure got some kind of metallic shield on? ''You cannot hurt me.''Īs the police keep firing, Sergeant Steele regularly hears first the blast from a gun, and then, an instant later, a small clinking sound. ''Fire away, you buggers,'' the figure laughs. It was the most extraordinary sight I ever saw or read of in my life, and I felt fairly spellbound with wonder …'' Shot after shot was fired at it, but without effect, the figure generally replying by tapping the butt end of its revolver against its neck, the blows ringing out with the clearness and distinctiveness of a bell in the morning air.
There was no head visible and in the dim light with the steam rising from the ground it looked for all the world like the ghost of Hamlet's father with no head, only a very long thick neck … The figure continued gradually to advance, stopping every now and then, and moving what looked like its headless neck slowly and mechanically round. Presently we noticed a very tall figure in white stalking slowly along in the direction of the hotel. He will later recount: ''Suddenly we noticed one or two of the men, with their backs turned to the hotel, firing at something in the bush. From the railway platform, the artist for The Australasian Sketcher, Thomas Carrington, watches, mesmerised.