“Not half,” replied Fred.  “Do you see that long line of fire, which, urged by a strong wind, is rushing towards us like a furious wave of the ocean?”

“Well, a man can’t very well keep his eyes off of it when he knows that it is to crisp him up like a baked pig,” Murden answered, with a rueful look.

“We have hardly begun to experience the heat from that line of flames yet, and our only chance of escape is by entering the excavation which your men are making.”  “I see, I see!” cried Murden, a new light breaking in upon him.  “It is our only chance, sure enough.”

The officer spoke to the policemen, who, with coats off, were working like heroes, and they redoubled their exertions.

“The next question is, what shall we do with these wounded men?” Fred inquired.  “We can hardly hope to save them all.”

“There is but one of my force wounded, and if it is possible to save him, I will; but as for these cutthroats, I see no chance for them.”

We looked into Murden’s face to see if there was any show of pity for the bushrangers, but there was none.  He had already calculated in his mind that the robbers deserved death, and the sooner they died, the better for the county.

“Let us speak to your wounded policeman, and see if he can bear removal,” Fred said.

We passed over to the side of the clearing, where he was lying at the root of a tree which had as yet escaped the flames.

“Well, Sam, do you still feel like having another battle with bushrangers?” asked the officer.

There was no response.  I stooped down and carefully removed the corner of a blanket from his face, and the open, staring eyes met my view.  In the midst of the bustle and confusion, the spirit of Sam had taken its flight without uttering a groan, or one repining word.  We gazed upon his face again, and left the corpse where we found it, to be licked by the greedy flames which were now roaring around on every side.

“We must burrow like rabbits,” cried Murden, “or we shall be burned to death.  It seems already as though I could hardly breathe.  A breath of fresh air would now be worth all the gold of Australia.”

“Don’t talk of feeling suffocated yet,” Fred replied, stripping off all of his surplus clothing—­an example which the rest of us were glad to follow; and to prevent it from being burned, we rolled it into one pile, and covered it deep with dirt.

“When the fire reaches the edge of the clearing, and the wind blows the flames within a few inches of our heads, and the earth blisters the skin at a touch, then I shall not blame you for asking for fresh air,” Fred continued.

“I certainly am obliged to you,” Murden said, with a rueful look; “but if you will explain how we are to keep those same flames from melting our brains while we are huddled in that hole, like sheep in a pen, I shall feel gratified.”

“Then I will explain immediately, for I see that only a few minutes will be allotted us by that moving circle of fire to make our preparations.  Let the place which your men have excavated be covered over, with the exception of a hole to crawl into, with the pieces of half-burned timber which you see lying around.”