“The onfeeling wretches,” Nancy said, concluding her story, “they had the impudence to put their hands not only in Betsey’s pocket, but mine, too.  I boxed the puppy’s ears, and he had to bear it, although he did draw his knife and threaten to cut me to pieces.  I wish that my old man had been there when he made the attempt.  He would have broken every bone in his body, and then tore him limb from limb.”

“That would have been rather a cruel fate,” I remarked, somewhat amused at her eulogistic description of her husband’s strength.

“Well, he could do it,” was her confident answer, and I have no doubt that she thought so.

We reached the bend of the stream, where we had crossed an hour before, without accident, for the moon was shining full and bright, but when we intimated to our prisoners that it was desirable that they should wade through the water, which already began to subside, they doggedly refused, and all our urging was useless.  They feared that we intended to drown them; and even when we sent Kala to the other side of the creek to prove that the water was not deep, they still remained sulky and obstinate.

“Let me argue the point wid ’em,” Mike said, appealing to Mr. Wright, who reluctantly gave his consent.

“Step up, ye divils, the Irishman shouted, applying his sharp-pointed spear to the sides of the most obstinate robber.

“Go to the devil, you Irish bogtrotter!” was the reply.

“Did ye hear him, master, dear, call me names?  O, that the ruffians should abuse a dacent lad, who has worked night and day for the paraties that he ates, and the meat that he drinks.”

“Whiskey, more like,” grunted Bill.

“I’ll whiskey ye, ye devils; start at once, or by St. Patrick I’ll drive ye into the water like the holy man did the toads and snakes—­long life to him.”

Still the ruffians held back, and swore roundly, that they would not stir, unless carried across the stream; and at this display of obstinacy, Mike lost all mercy.

“Ye won’t go, hey?” he shouted, bringing his spear fair against the broadest portion of one of the bushranger’s bodies; “of coorse ye won’t move, hey?”

As he spoke, he pressed harder and harder, but the ruffian stood his ground remarkably well, although he must have suffered considerably.

“Is that one of the poisoned spear points?” Mr. Brown asked, carelessly.

“Of coorse it is,” replied Mike, promptly, seeing the pertinence of the question.

“You Irish thief, do you mean to say that the spear is pisened?” demanded the robber, eagerly.

“Of coorse I do; ye die in less than an hour, unless the pisen is worked out of the wound.”

The bushrangers waited to hear no more.  They sprang into the creek with wonderful rapidity, and waded across, followed by Mike, who continually threatened them with a repetition of his weapon unless they behaved themselves like dacent lads.