“And Black Darnley—­when you met him, did the dog appear to recognize him as the author of the murder?” asked the inspector, who appeared deeply interested in our narrative.

I related the scene in the forest, when the bold outlaw yielded up his life to satisfy the vengeance of an enraged father; and when I had concluded, the little, dark man’s eyes gleamed as though he had taken part in the battle.

“How I should liked to have been with you!” he exclaimed; “I can imagine your feelings, as you crept through the forest, and awoke the bushrangers with the crack of your rifles.  No wonder the governor-general wished to secure your services in the police force.”

“How did you learn that?” I asked, astonished at his knowledge.

“A friend at Melbourne wrote to me to that effect, and also sent me newspapers containing your exploits.  The last brush that you had with Murden was more exciting than any other that you ever engaged in.”

“How did you know that we had been so engaged?” asked Fred.

“By rumor.  A team reached this place this evening, and the driver reports that he met Murden fifty miles from Melbourne, with eight or ten bushrangers as prisoners.  From one of the police he gained his information that two Americans were participants in the fight.  Of course I arrived at the conclusion that both of you were present.  Come, tell me all about it.”

“On condition that you relate one or two of your life adventures,” Fred said.

“Agreed.”

Fred commenced from the time when we began our search for gold, (although he wisely omitted all mention of finding any,) and recounted the surprise, and our capture—­the rescue by Murden—­the fight—­the attempt of the bushrangers to burn us by firing the woods—­an escape, and promise to Steel Spring, (at the mention of whose name Mr. Brown smiled, as though acquainted with the reputation of the treacherous wretch,) if he would guide us to the retreat of Nosey—­the fulfilment of his promise, and the death of the bushranger chief, and the capture of his gang.

“A splendid, stirring time you had of it,” said Mr. Brown, rubbing his sinewy hands as though he liked to work, and was impatient to think that he had not been there.

“But you,” Fred said, “must have seen many rough times during your long service at the mines.”

“My fights have been more with single men, or at least, not over three at a time.  You were speaking of Black Darnley, and the manner in which he met his fate.  I never encountered him but once, and then he slipped through my fingers; and whether the fellow concluded that we pressed him too hard, or thought that better opportunities for stealing existed near the forest, I can’t say; but, at any rate, I never heard of his being nearer Ballarat than twenty-five miles after we met.”

“If not too much trouble, please relate an account of it,” I said.

The little man glanced at his watch, and saw that the hour was still early, and after asking our permission to light his pipe, which we readily accorded, and joined him with pleasure in the same agreeable occupation, he began:—­