I promised to obey his wishes, and a look of gratitude stole over his dark face.

“My name,” he whispered, “is engraved upon the jewel:  do not give it to the world, but know me as Jim Gulpin, the robber.  I do not wish to disgrace my father’s name, even if I have been unjustly accused by him.”

I also promised compliance with this request, and asked if there was any other matter which he wished to confide to me.

“You know where the hut of Darnley stood in the black woods which you visited?” the robber whispered, with a painful effort.

I replied in the affirmative.

“Near the hut I buried all my ill-gotten gains, and there they remain yet; to you I bequeath them, to do as you see fit.  There are thousands of pounds’ worth of gold dust there, besides jewels of value.  After searching the hut, walk in a south—­”

The robber’s voice failed him; he made painful efforts to recover his breath, and during the struggle his eyes rolled fearfully in their sockets, and his hands clutched the earth convulsively.  I feared that he would die without revealing the hiding-place of his hoard, and impressed with this idea, I dashed a pot of cold water in his face, and poured more wine down his throat.

“Thanks,” he gasped, “I’m—­going—­farewell—­ten paces—­in a south—­”

There was a gurgle in the bushranger’s throat, a convulsive movement of his limbs, and then all was quiet, and the spirit of the outlaw chief had taken flight to a better world.

CHAPTER XVI.

A forced march towards Melbourne.

I removed the cross from the neck of the dead robber, placed it around my own, and reported his death to Murden.

“Dead, is he?” repeated the officer, carelessly; “did he make any confession?”

“He spoke about an unjust sentence,” I replied, “that is all of any importance, excepting a history which he confided to me; it would be uninteresting to you, however.”

“Ah, I dare say,” answered Murden, languidly; “but to tell you the truth, the man always passed for a person of good birth, even at the hulks; and there was some romance connected with his sentence, but what it was, I have forgotten.  Old Pete, however, the same whom Gulpin murdered when he made his escape, used to receive money from some source or other, for keeping them posted concerning his health and habits, but the old fellow was a sly dog, and never divulged secrets.”

“If a portion of his story is correct, why not the whole?” I asked myself, as I thought of the hidden treasure, buried somewhere in the vicinity of the last resting place of Darnley.

The more I pondered over the subject, the more firmly I became convinced that Gulpin meant honestly by me, when he said that thousands of dollars’ worth of gold dust, taken from people returning from the mines, was deposited in the earth for safe keeping, and perhaps with a hope that some day it might be removed, when its owner was ready to flee the country.