“Bind the villains with stout cords, for the present,” cried the lieutenant, returning no answer to the banter of Nosey, who fired with indignation at the epithet.

“Whom do you call villains?” he demanded.  “We were forced to become robbers by the tyrants of the hulks, and all the wrongs which were there inflicted upon us we have returned; and we should not have been human had we acted otherwise.”

“I have no time to bandy words with you, even if I had the inclination,” returned Murden; “get upon your feet, and submit to be bound like the rest; we know no distinction, and serve all the same.”

The bushranger slowly rose to his feet, and his hideous face seemed almost to burst, so livid were the scars which marked it; his eyes were injected with blood, and glared like those of a wild beast.

“Bind me as soon as you please; here are my hands; you see that I am harmless and unarmed; the lion can be taken by his mane, for his claws are clipped, and his teeth are broken.”

“You bloodthirsty monster, do not compare yourself to a lion; bah! you are like the skulking wolf that sneaks and steals upon its prey, and after appeasing its hunger, slays for the sake of showing its strength.  Give his cords an extra twist, men, for his impudence.”  Murden uttered the words with an expression of disgust that did not fail to convince the bushranger of the estimation in which he was held.

“You think, I suppose,” Nosey said, with an angry scowl, “that you will have the pleasure and triumph of carrying me to Melbourne alive; you are mistaken.”

“Look well to your prisoner!” shouted the officer, as the men prepared to slip a cord over his wrists.

He was too late in his warning, for the desperate robber suddenly thrust his hand into his bosom and drew forth a huge knife, which he waved over his head.

The policemen started back, surprised and confused at the suddenness of the action; and before they could rush and disarm the prisoner, he was outside of the door, nourishing the knife, and threatening death to all who opposed him.

“Fire on him!” yelled Murden, perfectly frantic at the thought of his escape.  “Kill him—­kill him!”

The robber rushed towards the woods, and it seemed as though he would escape in spite of the loaded guns which we carried in our hands; but one of the men, more cool than the rest of us, discharged his carbine, and the ball struck the right leg of Nosey, and crushed the bone as easily as though it was a pipe stem.

Wounded as he was, he did not immediately stop, but continued on, striving to gain the woods, as though his safety was secure if he could reach them.  But the effort was too much for human endurance.  He staggered, struggled to maintain his erect position, and then fell with a crash to the ground.  We went towards him; he did not move; we turned him over, and found that he was lying in a pool of blood, quite dead.  Either by accident or design, he had fallen upon his knife, and it was sheathed to the hilt in his heart.