“Then let us move onward without delay, for the cracking of a branch might cost us our lives, and that is something none of us wish to spare, just now.”

With cautious steps the men moved towards the hut, led by Fred and Murden.  We met with no opposition, although it would not have surprised me to have heard a discharge of musketry as we advanced.

We gained the door without awakening our adversaries, and saw them stretched upon the floor, little dreaming that danger was so near.

On we stole until all our force was within the hut, and each policeman held a cocked carbine at the head of a bushranger.  Still they did not awaken, and it could only be accounted for on the supposition that they had been up all night making merry over our supposed death by fire.

“Kill the first man that offers to stir, in his defence,” the lieutenant said, after having carefully collected all the guns that could be found handy.

The whisper, slight as it was, had the effect of causing the chief, the hideous Nosey, to open his eyes and look around, as though half dreaming; it, was not until his eyes met those of Murden that he fully awoke, then he made an effort to start to his feet, but he found the cold muzzles of Fred’s and my own rifle pressed to his brain.

“We’re betrayed!” he yelled, in a voice so shrill that it awoke every bushranger as suddenly as though the blast of a trumpet had rang through the room.

There were mingled oaths and exclamations, and desperate attempts to gain their feet; and one young fellow, who, in spite of warnings and threats, persisted in getting up, was shot through the head, and his brains spattered upon his comrades, who were lying by his side.

“Kill all who resist!” yelled Murden, scenting blood like a tiger; “if they submit, spare them, but death to the refractory.”

The shooting of one appeared to have a good effect on the others, for although many a menacing glance was east upon us, and many a half-uttered oath was checked, yet there was no more struggling, or thoughts of resistance.

“I thought you dead,” muttered Nosey, after a keen glance at the face of the lieutenant.

“It is not your fault that we are not,” answered Murden, dryly.

“No, that it is not, for I meant to roast you and your force; in a few hours we intended to start on an expedition, and look for your bones.  How did you escape?” asked the unabashed robber.

“That you will never know; be assured that Providence has no such fortune in store for you, and that if enough wood and rope can be found, the manner of your death will not remain a mystery.”

“Perhaps you mean by that I shall die on the gallows?” demanded the bushranger.

Murden nodded his head in token of assent.

“I’ll bet you two to one, that a rope will never end my existence,” cried the fellow, with an impudence and coolness that almost surpassed belief.