“You stop and bandy words with a spirit?” asked the old fellow, with a sneer.  “Why, d——­n it, you was the first one to run.”

“Not as you knows of,” replied the young robber, shaking his head as though he was willing to test the matter.

“Do you tell me I lie, you impudent son of a Dutch woman?” asked old grizzly, lifting his stick from the fire and striking the youngster full upon his face with the hot meat, which caused him to start from the ground as though about to inflict vengeance upon the old pirate for the insult.

The elder bushranger did not seem in the least disturbed.  He shook the mutton clear of his stick as though it had been contaminated by contact with his companion’s flesh, and then drew his long, sharp knife, and began to cut off another portion from the carcass by his side.

For a few seconds the insulted youngster seemed uncertain what to do.  Then I saw his right hand seek for his knife, draw it, and with a wild cry he threw himself upon the old man.  The other bushrangers merely glanced towards the parties, but did not offer to interfere.  There was but a slight struggle, for the attack was so sudden that the grizzly fellow did not take the precaution of defending himself, trusting, probably, to his age and influence with the gang to exempt him from a personal combat.

I heard a low groan, and then the attacking party arose and returned to his former place, while the head of the old robber fell forward and touched the fire, and there it remained for a few minutes, until the stench of burning hair became so great that some one shouted out to remove the body, and not let it lay there and spoil their appetites.

One man, more humane than the rest, lifted the dead pirate up and carried him a short distance, and then laid him carefully under a tree.  The whole transaction, including the death, did not take ten minutes, and a number of the gang did not even stop from picking bones during its occurrence.

“You settled him, Billy?” cried a fellow at a distant camp fire, slightly raising his voice.

“I should think that I did,” answered the young ruffian, wiping his knife on his shirt sleeve, and then finishing his supper, with an evident attempt to appear unconcerned, although I could see that he was all of a tremble, and that he glared around the clear space as though he feared to encounter a disagreeable sight every moment.

“Let this be a lesson to all of us,” cried a deep, bass voice, which I heard for the first time.  “How often have I told you that I desired harmony in the gang, and that if a man gave the lie he was responsible for it with his life.  Why can’t you live like gentlemen, and not like a set of d——­d blackguards.  Because you are robbers and cutthroats is no reason why you should murder each other.  The world is large enough and contains enough of our enemies without looking for them in the gang.”

There was not a word of response to these remarks, but I noticed that many of the gang hung their heads as though they did not wish to meet the eyes of the speaker, who seemed to be a person in authority.