Hardly had the echo of the rifle died away, before another yell, more searching and protracted than the first, again started our party, for it seemed to proceed from a tree not more than a rod distant; even the hound appeared disconcerted at the noise, and seemed undecided whether to attack or wait for more decided manifestations.

“God be with us,” cried the stockman, suddenly grasping his long-barrelled gun; “let us make the best of our way from the forest, or by morning we shall not be alive.”

“Of what are you afraid?” demanded Fred.  “A wolf cannot harm you, and at the worst, a wildcat or two are no match for us well-armed men.”

“There are no wolves on the island, and wildcats are unknown,” replied the stockman, calmly.

“Then name the animals which produced those screams,” cried Fred.

“I wish that they were animals,” rejoined the stockman, “for then there would be hope for us miserable sinners.  The screams which we have heard are produced by men bent upon destruction.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that we have been duped by Steel Spring to reveal the burial place of the treasure, and that now, in answer to his signal, a band of murderers are already enclosing us in their meshes, and in a few minutes, unless we act with promptness and prudence, we shall be in their power.”

“We will sell our lives dearly, at all events,” muttered Fred, “and sooner than their blood-stained hands shall grasp this gold, we will lose it forever.”

Again we heard a chuckling laugh amid the bushes, and angry at the imposition of the long-legged scamp, I raised my rifle, and guided by the noise, let drive its contents.  A yell of agony, such as is often uttered by a wounded man, met our ears, and I rejoiced to think that I had punished his treachery.

“God be merciful to him a sinner,” exclaimed the pious old stockman.

“You have punished him for his tricks,” said Fred; but almost before he had finished the sentence, a scream of sardonic laughter, in a different direction, proved that he was uninjured.

Again did we hear shrill, prolonged yells from several parts of the forest, and from their distinctness we knew that the bands of bushrangers, or whoever were the utterers, were gradually closing in upon us, and to stay where we were for half an hour was certain destruction.

The light was not sufficient to see each other’s faces, but I had but little doubt, from the manner in which my friends grasped their weapons and examined their contents, that they were determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible.

“I am an old man,” sighed the stockman, “and of little use on earth, and were I but certain that my child would be cared for, feel that I should be content to die.”

“Die?” repeated Fred, cheerfully; “your sight is still good, and your hand does not tremble.  A bushranger at forty rods is as good as slain when you draw a bead on him, and yet you talk of yielding up your life because we have been caught in a trap by a crafty spy.”