“Sit down, man,” cried the inspector, calmly, “and let me drink his share.  I’ll drink glass after glass with you, until daylight.”

“Not by a d——­d sight.  I want that fellow to respond to my toast:  ‘Death and confusion to all policemen!’” shouted the ruffian, bringing his glass down upon the table with so much force that it was shivered to pieces, and one of the fragments struck our prisoner on his face, and so startled him that he sprang up, in defiance of the inspector’s threat, and revealed what we had attempted to conceal, his confined hands.

The secret was out, and frowns and threats were in vain.  We felt in our pockets and satisfied ourselves that our revolvers were ready, and then waited for the astonished ruffian to give an alarm; but he seemed incapable of motion, for he sat staring at Jackson as though hardly daring to believe his eyes.

“Make for the door,” whispered the inspector, and grasping the prisoner by his right arm he arose, an example which we followed.

Then did the ruffian, who had insisted upon our drinking with him, find his tongue, for with one spring he cleared the rude bench upon which he was seated and rushed towards his comrades shouting a word, which, above all others, was most dreaded by thieves.

“Traps!” he yelled; and at the sound every thief started to his feet, and even those who were lying in the corners of the room, sleepy and overpowered with drink, sat up and rubbed their eyes, ready to fight in self-defence, or to make an escape, just according to the chances which presented themselves.

“Traps,” once more repeated the frightened ruffian, and a dozen voices demanded where they were, while three or four men opened the shutters of the windows to see if the building was attacked on the outside.  Two or three of the most timid disappeared from the room through a small door, which we afterwards learned led through a subterranean passage to a deserted mine, and from thence escape was easy by means of the shaft.

“Where are they?” roared a dozen voices all at once; and as the ruffians asked, we had the disagreeable pleasure of seeing long knives unsheathed and two or three pistols drawn; but even during the confusion we managed to approach the door through which we had entered, and which we prayed to leave without a severe wound.

“There they go—­we are betrayed—­down with them,” were the cries that we heard; but to our satisfaction a man whom we had not counted on rushed between us and the crowd, his voice, clear and ringing, being heard above the din.

“Put up your knives,” he shouted, “or you’ll bring trouble on me and my house.  Let the gentlemen go—­it’s nothin’ but a fadlin’ cove they’ve got, and not a bushman.  For the honor of the ‘Cricket’ don’t spill blood here,” pleaded Dan Brian, the proprietor.

“Move on,” whispered the inspector, “and don’t relax your hold of the prisoner.  Keep your pistols in your pockets, and don’t use them until I set an example.”