We quietly retreated behind trees and bushes, so that the lightning should not reveal our presence to the enemy, but we were no sooner secreted than we were rewarded by getting a view of the four bushrangers, who were holding horses, on which were mounted the two females, whose capture had so excited our sympathy.

“D——­n it, Bill,” I heard one of the fellows exclaim, for the creek was not more than four yards across, “didn’t I tell you that we couldn’t ford here to-night with the hosses?  If we had come the other way twould been all right.”

“Yes, and run our heads flat agin that d——­d Wright, who is always on the lookout, with his tribe of cussed Irishmen, ready to fight or drink bad whiskey,” grumbled the man whom they had called Bill.

“Do ye hear him reflecting on me country?” whispered Mike, grasping his long spear, as though he would like to encounter the libellers of his countrymen without a moment’s delay.

“Be quiet,” ordered Mr. Wright, “and let us hear what the villains talk about.”

“If it hadn’t been for these ’ere wimin, we might have been out of this fix,” cried the first speaker, still grumbling.

“Well, what could we do with ’em, ’cept bring ’em along?” asked Bill.

“Do with em?” cried the ruffian, with a bitter oath, “why, draw our knives across their throats, and let ’em run.  That’s the way to clear out prisoners.  Women have no business with the gang.  There’s always a quarrel about ’em.”

“And ’spose there is? ain’t it a compliment to the dear creatures?  I’d rather fight for ’em, I tell you, than not see their faces after they get good natured, and the cap’n generally brings ’em round in a precious short time.”

“Eh, don’t he?” grunted the third man, speaking for the first time.

“I tell ye my plan is best, and it’s time ye knowed it.  We carry half a dozen into camp to eat up the grub, and make the men lazy.  There’s no getting work out of the coveys while they is alive, and you know it.”

“For pity’s sake kill us, and end our misery,” I heard one of the females say, appealing to the fellow who seemed in favor of killing prisoners, to save the trouble of taking care of them.

“If I had my way, I’d do it d——­d quick,” he grumbled.

“We are tired, and can hardly sit on the horses.  For the sake of your mothers, who were women, leave us here in the wilderness to perish, or to find shelter, as it shall please Heaven.”

“Cease that whine of yours, or I’ll throw you into the creek,” threatened the ruffian of the party.

“Do so, if you dare!” exclaimed another voice, which I imagined belonged to a female of more advanced age than the first speaker; “you are ugly enough for any thing,” she continued, growing excited as she proceeded, and raising her voice until it approached a scream, “but I don’t believe that you have the true courage of a man.  A man!” she repeated, “you are nothing but a tailor.  Where’s your goose?”