“Do you think so?” asked the bushranger, with a sneer.

Murden made no reply.

“If I am placed in solitary confinement,” the robber said, “I shall have the more time to think upon the many poor devils who have begged their lives of me, and yet never got their prayers granted.  I shall think of the meet revenge I have had for my injuries during a long term of imprisonment at the hulks.  I shall think of the many pounds of gold dust which I have robbed from passing trains; and better than all, I shall laugh to know that the police force of Melbourne cannot find it to enrich themselves.”

“Devil!” yelled one of the men, more fiery than the rest, “do you mock us?”

He raised his carbine, and with no gentle hand let the breech fall upon the fellow’s head.  The blow loosened the skin, and let loose a torrent of blood.

“Yes, this is a fair sample of the manner in which the police of Melbourne treat prisoners.  Is there any wonder that they fight desperately to prevent being taken?”

He dipped his finger into his blood, and held it aloft for his comrades to see.  Had those men been free, our number would have been lessened in a very few minutes; for such expressions of rage passed over their faces, that it seemed as though the devil had entered their bodies.

“You did wrong to strike him, Manuel,” Murden said, and that was all the reproof the man received.

“When I’m arraigned before my judges, I shall tell them of the blow,” muttered the bushranger, wiping the blood from his brow.

“Do so, if you think it will help your case any,” answered Murden, indifferently.  “When you get before the judges you speak of, let me advise you to keep a civil tongue, however, or the worse for you.”

“I shall speak my mind,” replied the bushranger, who appeared determined to have the last word.

Orders were now given to get ready for our passage through the woods; but before we started we threw the bodies of the dead robbers into the hut, and then set it on fire.  Long before the flames ceased, we were safe out of the woods, and mounted on our horses, heading towards the old convict’s hut.

Our travel was slow, as the bushrangers were compelled to walk with their hands tied behind their backs, and it was only by threatening to ride them down, that we could get them to move at any kind of decent pace.

Smith, whose whole ideas were concentrated on his lost cattle, left us to see if he could find one yoke which were unaccounted for.  When we entered the woods in search of the gold buried by Jim Gulpin, we had left two yoke hitched to the cart and a tree, and after our severe ordeal of fire, we had found two oxen burned to death, while two more were missing.

Thinking that, they might have wandered to the corral where the remainder of the cattle were confined, Smith galloped across the prairie and was soon out of sight.  He did not rejoin us until we reached the hut, where we found that he had regained his oxen, and was paying considerably more attention to the old stockman’s daughter than to his own affairs.