We laughed incredulously, but Smith maintained his gravity and persisted in his statement.

“It is an easy matter to settle,” said Fred.  “Just prove to us the truth of your statement, and we shall be as knowing as yourself.”

The convict bent over the body and inserted his hand in a small opening in the belly of the animal that resembled the mouth of a pouch, but which had escaped our attention.  He drew forth, as the result of his investigation, a little, struggling kangaroo, that tried to induce Smith to relinquish his grasp by snapping at his hand with its toothless mouth.

While we were admiring the softness of its skin, the second one was dragged to light; but it uttered shrill cries of terror, and endeavored to effect its escape from the rough hands that held it.

“It is as bad as murder, killing the poor brute,” cried Fred, indignantly, he having recovered from the mortification of missing the animal.

“And there are no judges upon earth to sentence its murderer,” cried a solemn voice.

We looked and found that the stockman had left the shadow of his hut, and was occupied the same way as ourselves, gazing at the carcass of the kangaroo.

“Man is merciless, and God punishes us all in his own good time,” the stockman continued, as he listened to the grief of the motherless animals.

“Then why did you take her life?” demanded Fred.

“A man that is wronged seeks to shift his burden so that the load which weighs him down may grow lighter.”

The old man, without another expression of sorrow, turned away and walked towards his hut again; while Smith, who was used to such scenes, and therefore had hardened his heart, deliberately commenced skinning the dead brute, and allowed the young ones to escape wherever they chose to run.

That night we supped upon the meat of the kangaroo; and while feasting there was little thought of the sorrow which we experienced at its death.

CHAPTER VI.

Adventure with A dog.—­The murder in the ravine.—­Story of an outraged woman.

The flickering light of a fire, around which was seated three men with sunburnt faces and long beard, hardly illuminated the bank of the river sufficiently to distinguish objects ten yards distant.  The men were Smith the convict, Fred, and myself.  Each of our mouths were graced with dingy pipes, and while we puffed away diligently, our eyes were fixed upon the cheerful blaze, silently watching the ever-changing embers, and meditating upon the events of the day.  The wind had gone to sleep with the sun, and the heated air had given place to a coolness that felt doubly refreshing after the scorching which we had undergone on the prairie that forenoon.