As soon as sufficient fuel was added, we turned our attention to the woman whose head Smith was holding. Her eyes were closed, and her teeth clinched like those of a person in a fit. There was not a vestige of any color in her face, while her garments appeared as though they had experienced rough usage, and were torn in a dozen different places. In spite of the strong decoction which Smith had poured down her throat, she did not revive, or appear to comprehend what was said to her; and after rubbing her hands for a while, and finding that it did no good, I devoted a few moments to an examination of the body of the man.

I now comprehended the meaning of the sticky substance which adhered to my hand, for upon his breast were two large, ragged wounds, either of which was sufficient to let out the life of a man, and from each had oozed his blood until it had congealed in large lumps, and was held, bag-like, by his thick flannel shirt.

"There has been murder committed here," I cried, holding up my hands, stained with the vital fluid of the dead man.

"There has been more than murder," replied Fred, in a low tone. "There has been violence offered to a woman."

"Impossible," I cried, with a shudder at the thought.

"Look and convince yourself, then," Fred said, seizing a burning brand and holding it so that the light was thrown upon the face and body of the insensible woman.

Upon her neck was a large, discolored spot, and a near examination revealed the impression of finger-nails, as though she had been seized with no gentle hand, and choked, until forced to yield compliance to unholy wishes and desires.

Upon both sides of a neck that retained traces of beauty, although bearing the impression of the sun's burning rays, were the dark marks to be seen; and the hand that had left its impression was none of the smallest, nor its grip the weakest, as we could readily see.

The hound had crouched close to us, and watched with wary eyes our movements. Often did he rise and lick the face of the insensible woman, and after uttering a howl of grief, retire to his resting place, to mourn in secret for his loss.

"Force more of the liquor down her throat," cried Fred, who was rubbing a hand that appeared accustomed to toil, for its palm was hard and broad.

Smith once more brought his bottle into requisition, and forcing apart the teeth, emptied a portion of its contents into her mouth. Whether the chafing began to have its effect, or the liquor was uncommonly strong, is a matter of doubt; but at any rate she strangled as though she would never recover her breath, and ended by opening a pair of very frightened blue eyes.

Part of his words were lost during the momentary struggle which occurred between them; but when her strength failed, and she sank exhausted and panting into his arms, for the first time she appeared to comprehend that we were not bushrangers, but human beings and friends.

"Compose yourself," cried Smith, as gently as though he held an infant in his arms. "See, even your dog is satisfied that we mean no harm; he led us to this place, or you would have perished before morning. Tell us what has happened, and how we can assist you."

"Where is my husband?" she asked, after a moment's silence, during which her wild eyes wandered from face to face, as though seeking to verify the truth of his words.

We returned no answer, and she repeated the question, though in a louder tone, and appeared to doubt us because we kept silent.

"My husband! where is my husband?" she shrieked; and as she turned her restless eyes towards the cart, she suddenly appeared to comprehend every thing.

"He is dead—he is dead," she cried, starting to her feet, in spite of the gentle restraint which Smith sought to impose upon her.

She saw the body of the man who had been murdered, and with a loud cry she fell upon it, laid her head upon its cold bosom, and sobbed as though her heart would break. We did not interrupt her grief, but the faithful dog lay down beside her, and added his subdued howls to her tears; and when she mourned the loudest, he would lick her hands and face, and seek to comfort her with his love.

We heaped up fuel on the fire, and waited patiently for the time when the woman would exhaust her grief, and give us some account of the proceedings by which she and hers had suffered.

While Smith and Fred remained near the fire, they examined the cart to see if it contained any thing that would be useful to the unfortunate woman in her present hour of grief. There were a few culinary utensils, besides a thin mattress and blankets—all thrown in promiscuously, as though the load had been ransacked and rifled of every thing that was valuable, and the remainder not considered worth taking away.

The night wore on, and light would soon herald the approach of day. It was necessary that we should return to our camp, and look after our effects; for who could tell how long they would he safe unless guarded by a display of rifles? Besides, the cattle needed looking after, and collecting, or they would be likely to stray back towards Melbourne and get mixed with the wild animals which belonged to some of the numerous stockmen on the road. Or the bushrangers might take a fancy for a change of diet, and prefer beef to mutton; and in this case they would not be likely to ask the permission of the owner of the animals, unless he was stronger-handed than the robbers.

"We are strangers," he said, taking her sunburnt hand between his rough palms, and looking at her as tenderly as though she had been his sister; "we are strangers, but there is not a man present but will shed his blood in your defence; and while we have strength there is no fear of your suffering. Have confidence in us, and explain how this dreadful affair happened."

He waited patiently for an answer, but some few minutes passed before she could repress her sobs, which commenced anew at the sound of his voice. At length she raised her head, brushed back the heavy masses of hair which partly screened her face, and with an uncertain voice replied,—

"I thank you for your offers of assistance, and accept them; for what can I do alone in this desert without friends? My troubles are so unexpected that if I do not appear grateful, attribute it to a want of realization of the dreadful scenes through which I have passed since yesterday. My husband—"

She threw herself upon his corpse again, and for a while her grief recommenced with all its former violence. Smith soothed and comforted her, and gradually was enabled to draw all the facts connected with the murder from her unwilling lips.

"It is ten days since we arrived at Melbourne," she went on to say; "my husband thought that we had better leave our two children at the city with some friends, who were passengers in the same ship with ourselves, until he had settled upon what occupation he should pursue. He had a strong desire to try his luck at the mines, and as we had a little money left after reaching this country, he invested it in buying a cart and horse, and a few articles which were needed on the route. I was very reluctant to part with my children, but I now perceive that it was for the best; for it is probable that the little dears would have shared the fate of their father, had they travelled with us. The chief object of our visit to this country, however, was not so much a desire for wealth, as the thought of meeting a parent whom I have been separated from since I was a child."

She paused for a moment, and buried her face in her hands, as though reluctant to proceed. Smith and I exchanged glances of surprise, while the woman continued her rambling story.

"I am almost ashamed to say that my father was transported to Australia for life; but he was innocent of the charge against him, and it has since been made manifest; but government refuse to give him his liberty, and he is still a convict."

"What was the charge upon which he was convicted?" asked Smith, with breathless anxiety.

The woman hung her head and remained silent; and Smith was obliged to repeat his question before he obtained an answer. His pertinacity seemed cruel, but he had an object in view.

"He was charged with the death of my mother," she answered, her voice stifled with tears.

"And your name before you were married was—"

"Mary Ogleton."

"It is the same," muttered Smith; but instead of revealing the good news to her, he waited to hear the balance of her history since leaving Melbourne. A few soothing words, and she continued,—

"Ten months since we had letters from my father, strongly urging us to come to him, as he thought my husband would make a better living here than in England. We were the more inclined to follow his advice, as the letters contained drafts for money to help us pay our passage, which we otherwise should not have been enabled to have done."

"Tell us about your journey since leaving the city," cried Smith, "for we already know your history before that period."

She looked surprised, and continued,—

"Father wrote us that he was tending a flock of sheep on the road leading to Ballarat, and that he could not leave his station even for a day; but we were to write him if we intended coming, and he would have a friend on the lookout for us. We answered his letter, saying that we should embark on board of the first ship that sailed for Australia; but when we reached port we found none to welcome us; and it was only after diligent inquiries that we learned where he was located. Yesterday, about noon, we thought that we must be near his home; and on inquiring of a man that we met, he said that he knew him well, and would conduct us to his hut. By his advice, we left the road which we had travelled for four days, and struck across the prairie. I did not like the appearance of our guide, and expressed my fears to my husband; but he laughed at me, and placed implicit confidence in all that the stranger said."

"What sort of looking man was your guide?" asked Smith.

"A dark-featured man, with long black beard, tall, and strongly framed. Upon his forehead was a large scar, that looked as though recently inflicted. I noticed him particularly, because I mistrusted him the instant he offered to act as our guide."

"It was Black Darnley," cried Smith, in reply to my interrogation; "the villain—he shall yet suffer for his treachery."

"That was the name by which his companions addressed him," cried the woman, who overheard Smith's remark.

The convict encouraged her to continue her narrative, and motioned Fred and myself to remain silent.

"He led us to the bank of this ravine, and said that we must here abandon our team, and walk a few miles to father's hut. My husband refused to follow his advice in that respect, and while Darnley was urging him to do so, our dog, which had faithfully remained with us since we left England, started in pursuit of a strange animal that bounded along the prairie faster than the hound could run. We all became interested in the chase, and when we lost sight of dog and animal, I looked up and found five rough men close beside me. I started with surprise; but before my husband could say a word, or use the gun which he carried, Darnley discharged a pistol full at his breast, and he fell dead. I remember nothing more, or, if I do, I pray to God that I may soon forget it, or else join my husband in heaven. Were I childless, I would dash my head against these rough stones, and so end my days."

As she finished her story, she bowed her head upon her husband's cold bosom, and her tears flowed fast and freely, while her frame shook as though she was laboring under an attack of ague.

"Listen to me," said Smith, at length, laying his hand upon her arm to attract her attention: "we have a long journey before us, and time is precious; but we will lose a day for the purpose of restoring you to your father. Trust me, I know him, and if you think you can walk a few miles, a few hours from now will see you in his arms."

"I am strong now," she said, rising, as though the news had given her new life.

"Then lean on me, and I will assist you up this bank. Courage—remember you live for your children and parent now."

As Smith offered his strong arm, she accepted it; but a sudden thought took possession of her mind, and she quitted his side and once more threw herself upon the body of her husband.

"I cannot leave him," she shrieked, clasping her arms around his neck, and pressing her head upon his bosom. "He has been my only friend for years; he did not despise me when he knew that my parent was a convict; he has loved me, and is the father of my children. Let me remain with him, and die upon his breast."

"This is madness," Fred cried, impatiently.

"Hush," said Smith. "Consider what the poor thing has suffered, and treat her gently as a sister."

The stout convict, whose heart had been strongly touched by her story and deep love, raised her in his arms, soothed her, spoke words of comfort to her, and promised if she would but leave the spot, that the body of her husband should soon follow her, and be buried in a Christian-like manner.

She listened like one who did not comprehend his meaning, and all the time that he was talking, her eyes were fixed upon the pale face of her husband, as though she expected each moment to hear his voice, and see him start to his feet, and open his arms for her protection.

With gentle force we urged her away from the distressing sight, and when, after long labor, we had gained the bank of the ravine, we found that the poor woman was nearly unconscious, and hardly capable of moving.

"Where now?" I asked of Smith, as we carried her along.

"To the hut of Ogleton," he cried; "and then, if I mistake not, we shall have work before us."

"What kind of work?" asked Fred, who was carrying the rifles, and the sharp axe of the convict.

"The work of revenge," cried Smith, solemnly.

"I am ready for it," exclaimed Fred, brandishing his rifle; "God only grant us all strength to perform it."

And as we staggered along the prairie with our burden, the dark clouds in the east broke away, and revealed the glowing tints of the rising sun; and a hundred bright-plumed birds darted through the air, awakening the solitude of that vast plain with their shrill calls, and each cry seemed to say, "Revenge! revenge!"

BLACK DARNLEY'S VILLANY.—THE CONVICT STOCKMAN.

A brighter sun never shone upon the barren plains and fertile valleys of Australia, than that which appeared above the horizon on the morning after the murder and deed of violence committed by Black Darnley and his gang of bushrangers. Our party had not closed their eyes in sleep during the night, yet not one of us felt the least fatigue or desire to rest, until the woman, who was under our protection, had been placed beneath the shelter of her father's roof, humble as it was, and removed from all society and scenes of civilization.

As we supported the unhappy woman towards the habitation of the convict, and spoke words of encouragement which fell upon listless ears, we thought of a parent's love, and how strong it must exist in the heart of that old man, who had grown morose under his wrongs, yet still clung to the recollection of his child, and fancied her a girl, instead of a full-grown woman, and the mother of a family.

We had no doubt that her reception by her father would be warm; but we dreaded to know how he would deport himself upon the news of the harsh treatment which she had received being explained to him. He was represented to us by Smith as a man of quick passions—bold and fearless, or he would never have accepted the situation to which he was attached—surrounded, as he was, with dangerous neighbors—convicts, who cared no more about shedding the blood of a man than they did for the lamb which they slaughtered when hungry—wild beasts, who prowled around the fields at night, and skulked near during the day, and who, if urged by starvation, would attack the shepherds, provided they interposed between them and their prey.

This was the kind of man that was to be told that his daughter had suffered at the hands of men whom he had spoken with weekly for months, and who respected him only because they knew him to be no coward, and a convict like themselves.

Our walk across the prairie was slow and laborious. We were compelled to govern our pace with that of the woman, and as she was half-dead with grief, and insensible to our words of encouragement, we concluded to let her cry without hindrance on our part, and only hoped that our wagon might escape pillage during our long absence.

It was about nine o'clock when we reached the place where we were camped the night before. The wagon remained where we had left it; but it needed no tongue to tell that it had been visited, while we were away, and that a portion of the load was removed. Boxes of goods were overturned, and tops wrenched off, bales were cut open, and their contents scattered upon the ground; and, upon a near examination, we found that the impudent robbers had used our dishes to feast from, and that there were still smoking brands upon the fire where they had boiled their coffee, as though they knew we should be absent all night, and had plenty of time to enjoy themselves before our return.

For a few minutes, after Smith had seen the havoc which the bushrangers had made with his cargo, he seemed to need as much comforting as the unfortunate female under his charge. But he was a man, and had seen too much of the world's trials to get discouraged, so he proceeded to gather up his goods in the most philosophical manner, although an occasional oath did escape him as he missed some article of value which he knew could not be replaced except in Melbourne.

While Smith was occupied with his cargo Fred and myself proceeded to cook breakfast, a meal which we stood very much in need of, considering the labors of the night; but before we did so, our female friend was placed upon blankets and screened from the hot sun. She refused all offers of nourishment, and would not drink even a cup of strong tea which we proffered her. Coffee, we unfortunately had none, as the bushrangers had taken a fancy to the few pounds which were on the cart, and carried it with them, rejecting with seeming contempt the green leaves of China, of which there was a large box undisturbed.

Even the flesh of the kangaroo which we had hung upon the limb of a tree was saved; but our store of salt pork was gone, also the few vegetables, worth almost their weight in gold at the mines, which had been treasured until we should arrive at our destination.

Fred uttered a curse when he found that there was not a single potato left; but, after he had vented his displeasure, he applied his energies to the matter before him with all his usual determination.

Fred's clothing and my own, contained in one small canvas bag, was gone, and we stood in all that we owned. That did not distress us, however, for we were not likely to go into society where a change of dress was expected, but we did growl when we found that the scamps had carried off all our powder, excepting what our flasks contained.

"Whose work is this?" asked Fred, who was broiling a piece of kangaroo on a stick, and in a very artistic manner, for the purpose of tempting the poor woman's appetite.

Smith, to whom the question was addressed, straightened his stout form, and held up a number of flannel shirts, which he was taking to the mines on a venture. They had been cut with knives in the most wanton manner, and hardly a square inch had escaped.

"There is evidence enough of the perpetrator," replied Smith, pointing to the holes.

"Well, who is he?" cried Fred, sprinkling a little salt upon the burning flesh.

"There is but one gang of bushrangers in these parts who inflict wanton injury upon the goods of carriers. That gang is Darnley's!"

"And yet you pardoned him once when he was in your power," I said.

"True; and had I been here my cargo would have escaped molestation. He little thought that he was injuring me. I will do him the justice of saying that."

"He and his gang should be swept from the face of the earth," cried Fred, who, having cooked and seasoned the meat to his satisfaction, now approached the woman, who was lying upon a blanket, apparently unconscious of what was going on around her.

He had but uttered the words when she started to her feet, grasped his arm with a vehemence utterly at variance with her previous docility, and exclaimed,—

"You are right, Kill the monster! Kill him, for he is unfit to live. Kill him, for he has wronged an unprotected woman, and committed outrages that will condemn him to eternal punishment in the next world."

She released her grasp of Fred and fell to the ground, where she sat rocking her body to and fro, uttering moans of anguish. But she no longer shed tears, and her eyes looked wild and threatening, as though her troubles had affected her reason.

"Who talks of killing?" cried a deep voice. "That is God's prerogative, not man's nor vain woman's."

We started, and turning saw that the convict stockman had approached us unawares, and was leaning on his long gun, keenly scanning the features of the unfortunate woman.

"There are some crimes which God designs man to punish," answered Smith, desisting from his occupation of gathering up his traps. "I think that the scoundrels who robbed my team deserve hanging, and I don't want to wait until they are dead to know that they are receiving punishment in the next world."

"The world to come is one of darkness to us mortals, and who can pierce its blackness. But God has promised light, and behold the angel of the Lord will reveal all things, for so sayeth the Book of all books."

"I don't know what you mean," replied Smith, who had listened attentively to the wild, rambling speech of the convict without comprehending its import; "but this I do know, that I would mash the heads of the bushrangers who robbed my cart, if they were within the reach of my axe."

"Trust in God for vengeance, for to him does it belong," exclaimed the convict, drawing a dirty looking and well-thumbed Testament from his pocket, and turning over leaf after leaf as though seeking for a particular chapter.

"We must get him to put up his book, or he'll read from now till sundown," cried Smith, with visible alarm at the idea of being compelled to listen.

"Here is an unfortunate woman that needs your assistance," said Smith, laying a hand upon the old man's arm, and calling his attention to his child.

"Does she need spiritual assistance, or only food for the body? Her looks are like those of a person who has been suffering."

"She has suffered much within twenty-four hours, and her only friend now is that dog that keeps so close to her."

"Let her be comforted," the convict cried, approaching her; "if her sorrow is ever so deep, it can be healed."

He closed his book as he spoke and approached his child, who sat with downcast eyes, and apparently unconscious of his presence.

"Father," she cried, starting to her feet, and throwing her arms around that white-headed man's neck, venerable before his time. "Father! O God, is it you?"

She laid her aching head upon his bosom, and, with her arms around his neck, shed tears as freely as she did the day that she was separated from him, as she thought, forever.

The convict staggered back, and would have fallen, had not Fred's strong arm supported him. He glanced from face to face as though trying to read the meaning of the surprise, and then he turned his looks upon his daughter.

"Mary," he cried, after pushing the hair from her forehead, "can it, indeed, be my child—has the little girl whom I left in England grown to be a woman!"

He held her close in his embrace as though he feared that something would happen to prevent his seeing her again. He kissed the tears from her cheeks, and begged her to be calm, and to tell him about her voyage, and lastly to speak about her husband and children.

Her sobs were her only response. He grew impatient at her refusal to answer his interrogations, and then suspicions of foul play entered his imagination.

"There has been some wrong done you," he cried, appealing to his daughter.

She answered with tears and moans.

"Speak, and tell me who has dared to injure you," he cried vehemently. "Was it your husband?"

His brow grew threatening and black, as he put the question.

There was no reply, but his daughter clung to his neck with a more convulsive grasp, as though she feared to lose her parent also.

He glanced from Smith to Fred, and from the latter to myself, as though debating whether we were the guilty party.

"Tell me," he cried, lifting her head from his shoulder, and seeking to get a glimpse of her face, "who has wronged you?"

There was no response. He placed her gently upon the blankets, and then with a face that was livid with rage, grasped his musket which had fallen to the ground.

"Which of you has dared to do this?" he asked, and the ominous click of the lock of the gun proved that he was in earnest, and that all of his worst passions were aroused.

No one answered. I looked towards Smith, expecting to hear him explain every thing; but, to my surprise, he was silent; evidently too much astonished at the unexpected turn which the affair had assumed, to speak.

My look was misconstrued by the indignant convict, for before I could speak, the long gun was levelled at the breast of Smith, and in another moment all his hopes and fears would have been at an end, had not his child started up and rushed towards him.

"Not him!" she shouted, wildly. "O God, not him!"

He dropped the muzzle of his gun, but his fierce eyes still glared from Fred to me.

"Which of these two?"

He indicated us with a motion of the hand that held the gun, and looked in his child's face for confirmation.

"Neither, father—so help me Heaven, neither. Without the aid of these friends I should have perished."

He dropped the muzzle of the gun, and each of us felt thankful as he did so, for we had witnessed the accuracy of his aim the day before, and while the muzzle of the musket was pointed towards us, one of our lives was not worth insuring.

"You are tired and distressed," the convict said, addressing his daughter with a degree of tenderness that I thought wonderful after his late outbreak.

"My head," she murmured, "feels as though it would burst; while my heart is broken already."

"Rest a while, until I confer with your new-found friends, and then you shall accompany me to my home. It is a hut, but it is all I have to shelter you."

It was singular to witness how soon the recluse had once more become an active man of the world, and for a while forgotten his Bible and religious fanaticism.

"Tell me all that has happened," the convict said, motioning for us three to follow him a short distance from his daughter, so that our conversation could not be overheard by her.

Smith related the strange visit of the hound, and his leading us to the scene of the murder—our finding his child in an insensible condition—the story of her wrongs, and our surprise at finding that she was in search of him. He listened with clinched teeth, and only interrupted the narrative with groans of rage and anguish. When he knew all, we waited to see what course he would pursue.

To our surprise, he did not speak, but turned away as though about to seek his home.

"Stay one moment," cried Smith, laying his hand upon his shoulder.

"Well," cried the convict, impatiently.

"What do you propose to do?" we asked.

"Are you Americans, and ask that question?" he demanded.

"You think of seeking Black Darnley?" Smith continued.

"I do."

"Alone?"

"Alone."

"You shall not," cried Smith, with sudden energy. "You are no match for him and his gang."

"My daughter's injury must be avenged. I go alone to consummate it."

"Stay until to-morrow, and we will accompany you," Fred and myself cried with one accord.

The convict hesitated for a moment, then suddenly extended his hands, and while he wrung ours, promised a compliance. The next instant he had lifted his daughter in his arms, and was walking with the burden towards his hut.

We saw no more of him until towards night, and then he was in front of the hut cleaning his long, heavy musket.

AN EXPEDITION.—A FIGHT WITH BUSHRANGERS.—DEATH OF BLACK DARNLEY.

"I don't like the expedition," said Smith, pettishly, as he saw Fred and myself examining our powder-flasks and counting bullets.

"Then stay here and await our return," cried Fred, bluntly, looking up from his work.

Smith moved uneasily, muttered something in an under tone, felt the edge of his constant companion, a heavy axe, and then replied,—

"If you two harum-scarum youngsters are determined to get your throats cut, I don't see but that I shall have to be near at hand. But I tell you it is bad business, and none but crazy men would think of penetrating that dark forest in search of bushrangers."

"You wouldn't let that old man go alone, would you?" we asked.

"No; but then—"

He stopped a moment, as though to collect his thoughts, and pettishly exclaimed,—

"D—— it, you are going in search of the worst gang on the island. Black Darnley is equal to all three of us in a personal encounter."

"But suppose we kept him at bay, and tried the effect of rifle shot?" I asked, holding up a short, heavy, instrument, carrying about twenty-five to a pound.

"The rifle looks like a true one, and I know that you boys can shoot, but suppose that you didn't get the chance?"

"Then we must trust to luck," answered Fred, coolly.

"I'm no great hand at bush-fighting," replied Smith; "but we have joined our fortunes for a trip to the mines, and I'm not the man to desert you at the time of need."

"Then you'll go?" we asked.

"Yes; if I get killed it matters not much."

In half an hour we were ready; each man carried a small knapsack, containing a few cakes of bread and the remains of the kangaroo, while Smith provided himself with a small bottle, the contents of which he kept a profound secret.

Not knowing whether we should ever be fortunate enough to return and claim the few articles of property that belonged to us, Fred and myself paused for a moment to bid them farewell.

Standing in the doorway of the stockman's hut, we saw the form of his injured daughter watching us on our tramp. She remained motionless' until we turned to continue our march, and then she waved a blood-red handkerchief as though bidding us remember her injuries and avenge them.

I have mentioned these circumstances to show that the undertaking upon which we had embarked was one of no ordinary kind; that there was much peril and little honor to be gained in an encounter with half a dozen desperate men, who knew that their lives depended upon the stout resistance which they should offer, and of course would fight to the death.

If we did look sharply to the loading of our rifles, and felt the long bowie knives that we carried at our waist to find whether the blades worked easily in their sheaths, it was because we expected to use them, and knew that our only hope to return alive was by a prompt employment of the deadly weapons when an encounter took place.

It was near nine o'clock when we halted upon the outskirts of the dark forest. Hardly a ray of the hot sun penetrated the woods; all was gloomy and silent. Occasionally a parrot upon the borders of the forest uttered a shrill scream, and then spreading its gaudy wings sought shelter upon the bough of a tall tree, from whence it could watch our movements without danger.

The hound, which we had taken with us, ran with his nose close to the ground, sometimes moving within a few feet of the trees, and then starting off, scouring the prairie in his search, but always returning, until he suddenly stopped before what seemed a dense thicket. During all the time that he had been upon the scent not a cry had escaped him; indeed, he seemed to realize that silence was our only safety, and acted accordingly.

"The dog has found the trail of the bushrangers," the convict said, suddenly halting, and waiting for the rest of us to join him.

"The dog is keen on the scent, and acts as though trained to track runaways," cried Smith, resting his heavy axe upon the ground, and rubbing his shoulder where the skin was nearly worn off by friction.

The animal bounded towards us, wagged his tail, looked into our faces with his knowing eyes, and then trotted slowly back to the thicket before which he had halted in the first place.

"Don't let us stand here all day under this broiling sun," cried Fred, impatiently. "If we are to search for bushrangers, let's begin and get through with the job as soon as possible."

"There is no haste," cried the aged convict, in a tone of reproach. "Our success depends upon the degree of caution that we employ. Our object is to surprise the party we are in pursuit of, and not let them surprise us."

"O, I understand," replied Fred, indifferently; "something of the Indian style of warfare, hey? Well, we are somewhat used to that, and can follow a trail as well as any amateur hunters in the country."

The convict made no reply, but examined the priming of his gun, tightened the sash which he wore around his waist, and then, briefly surveying the little party, as though calculating on the relative strength of each man, he moved forward.

We gained the thicket, where the dog was awaiting us. No entrance through the dense undergrowth met our view; and had we not known that the dog came from a breed of hounds that never deceive, we should have deemed it impossible for human beings to have entered the forest in that direction.

For some time we examined the premises to find an opening; but none appearing, Smith swung his axe over his head and let its sharp edge strike the bushes, intending to cut a passage. As if by magic the boughs gave way, and we discovered an opening which bore the appearance of having been frequently used.

A brief examination convinced us of the fact. The branches of young trees and the tops of the bushes were so interlaced that no one would have suspected that an entrance into the forest was possible in that quarter. It proved to us that we were near the encampment of bushrangers, but whether the party we were in pursuit of, was more than we could tell.

We motioned to the hound to lead the way, and the noble animal, after a brief examination of the ground, trotted slowly forward.

Our steps were taken with caution, for we wished to come upon the outlaws unexpectedly.

For ten minutes we continued our silent march, the dog leading the way with unwavering instinct, avoiding the thickets and dense growth of trees,—hardly noticing the small wild animals of the hare species that ran before his very nose,—until he suddenly stopped and looked into our faces, as much as to say, "Now, pray be cautious."

"Hist!" cried the convict, who led the way, holding up his finger. "I smell smoke."

"And I can see it," replied Fred, pointing to an opening in the trees nearly a quarter of a mile distant.

We all strained our eyes in the direction that Fred indicated, and I no longer doubted that we were in the vicinity of an encampment, although neither Smith nor the convict was ready to testify that they saw signs of fire.

"I call my eyes as clear and keen as most any one's," Smith said; "but if you can see smoke it's more than I can do."

"My eyes are not so good as they were twenty years back, and I trust more to the scent than the sight. Now I can smell smoke, but see none," the aged convict said, inhaling his breath as though trying to distinguish from what direction it came.

"You Englishmen have never lived in one of our American forests, or you would be better acquainted with the appearance of smoke when it came from a fire that has long been neglected and is about dying out. I will wager a pound of good rifle powder that in yonder clearing we shall find a camp of bushrangers, and that the smoke which we see comes from the fire they made when they returned from their nocturnal excursion last night."

"I would advise a seperation of forces—let Jack and myself approach the encampment in one direction, while you and Smith can steal towards it from another. There are many reasons why we should act in this manner, and you do not need my advice to be convinced of its force."

"May the God of battles aid us," muttered the convict, sotto voce, as though fearful we should catch his words and fears. "I see," he continued, "the force of your reasoning. When you are ready for the attack, discharge your rifles, and mind and not waste a single shot."

The convict stalked on as he ceased speaking, following the lead of the dog. We were about to start in a different direction, but still verging towards the smoke, when we were detained by a few words from Smith.

"Remember, boys," he hurriedly whispered, "that if any thing occurs, you are to take charge of my property and remit the sale of it to my mother. She is somewhere, in London, I believe. Take care of yourselves, and remember that it was not I that proposed this confounded excursion."

He squeezed our hands as he spoke, and the next minute we lost sight of his burly form as he followed in the wake of the convict.

Still keeping the smoke in view, Fred and myself struck off in another direction. We carefully picked our way through the forest, hardly making noise enough to alarm the numerous birds that were perched upon the trees, in the deep shade, to avoid the heat of the sun. Not a dry stick was trodden upon to send forth its crackling sound—not a bough was brushed past rudely for fear its waving top should give an alarm. Silently we stole along, and were, as we thought, near the camp. We crept upon our hands and knees until we came in sight of an open space, and then upon the first glance we knew that we were close to a gang of bushrangers.

In the middle of the clearing was a low hut, covered with the hides of bullocks, which were nailed on shingle fashion, for the purpose of excluding rain. The logs did not fit very snugly together on the sides of the cabin, and grass was crowded into the chinks, although in some places it had been pushed out as for the purpose of enabling those within to take a survey of the different approaches to the hut. A fire was smoking before the door, looking as though it had been kindled many hours before and allowed to die out for want of fuel.

The only other sign of life was a grass hammock, which swung from the branch of a tree, not more than four feet from the ground, and which appeared to contain some person who was sleeping. For ten minutes after we reached our allotted station we waited for Smith and the convict to gain a position and give the signal for an attack.