Upon her neck was a large, discolored spot, and a near examination revealed the impression of finger-nails, as though she had been seized with no gentle hand, and choked, until forced to yield compliance to unholy wishes and desires.

Upon both sides of a neck that retained traces of beauty, although bearing the impression of the sun’s burning rays, were the dark marks to be seen; and the hand that had left its impression was none of the smallest, nor its grip the weakest, as we could readily see.

The hound had crouched close to us, and watched with wary eyes our movements.  Often did he rise and lick the face of the insensible woman, and after uttering a howl of grief, retire to his resting place, to mourn in secret for his loss.

“Force more of the liquor down her throat,” cried Fred, who was rubbing a hand that appeared accustomed to toil, for its palm was hard and broad.

Smith once more brought his bottle into requisition, and forcing apart the teeth, emptied a portion of its contents into her mouth.  Whether the chafing began to have its effect, or the liquor was uncommonly strong, is a matter of doubt; but at any rate she strangled as though she would never recover her breath, and ended by opening a pair of very frightened blue eyes.

She raised her head from Smith’s knee, glanced hurriedly and with frightened looks first at Fred and then at myself, and before we were aware of her intentions, sprang to her feet, and with loud shrieks sought to escape.  Before she had taken half a dozen steps, however, Smith’s stout arms were thrown around her, and he was calling to her in gentle words to listen to reason, and to look upon him as a friend—­that he would protect her, and help avenge her injuries.

Part of his words were lost during the momentary struggle which occurred between them; but when her strength failed, and she sank exhausted and panting into his arms, for the first time she appeared to comprehend that we were not bushrangers, but human beings and friends.

“Compose yourself,” cried Smith, as gently as though he held an infant in his arms.  “See, even your dog is satisfied that we mean no harm; he led us to this place, or you would have perished before morning.  Tell us what has happened, and how we can assist you.”

“Where is my husband?” she asked, after a moment’s silence, during which her wild eyes wandered from face to face, as though seeking to verify the truth of his words.

We returned no answer, and she repeated the question, though in a louder tone, and appeared to doubt us because we kept silent.

“My husband! where is my husband?” she shrieked; and as she turned her restless eyes towards the cart, she suddenly appeared to comprehend every thing.

“He is dead—­he is dead,” she cried, starting to her feet, in spite of the gentle restraint which Smith sought to impose upon her.

She saw the body of the man who had been murdered, and with a loud cry she fell upon it, laid her head upon its cold bosom, and sobbed as though her heart would break.  We did not interrupt her grief, but the faithful dog lay down beside her, and added his subdued howls to her tears; and when she mourned the loudest, he would lick her hands and face, and seek to comfort her with his love.