“You now know why I feared to leave the prisoners in charge of my men when a keg of rum was near at hand.  The bushrangers, knowing that hanging is certain, would try and provoke a sudden and easier death.  I do not fear the temper of the men when free from liquor.”

Smith, Fred and myself, besides two policemen, composed the party, and regardless of the heat, which poured down as though it would melt our brains, we urged our panting horses over the plain, and hardly drew rein until we reached the edge of the forest, where we halted for consultation.

It was a bold experiment to venture with a small force to the retreat of the once formidable outlaw, for there was no telling whether or no a portion of his gang were living at his haunt.  The officer looked up to us for advice, and we consulted the hound, which had accompanied us, and now stood by our sides panting and lolling out his great tongue, and wondering, I suppose, why we did not stop at the river.

“Let us dismount, and shade the animals as well as possible,” I advised, “and then trust to the sagacity of the dog to detect an ambush.  My life on his shrewdness.”

The advice was acted on, when leaving one man to take charge of the animals, we examined our guns and pistols, and made sure that they were in order; and then, with a few words of encouragement to the hound, which he appeared to understand, we moved along the path we had travelled when on our first visit.

With guns on the cock, and examining every thicket of bushes to see if it concealed an enemy, we made but slow progress.  Yet trusting more to the dog than to ourselves, we at length came in sight of the scene of our former exploits.  All was quiet and still in the vicinity.  Not a twig moved, unless displaced by a gaudy-colored parrot, too lazy, under the withering influence of the heat, to even chatter.

The hound had bounded into the enclosure, and rushed towards a pile of branches which had been placed in the clearing since we were there.  Regardless of every thing else he tore away at the wood with his teeth, and uttered fierce growls, as though he had found an enemy beneath that pile, and was determined to get at him.

We sent a man to examine the neighborhood, and then went to our four-legged friend’s assistance.  With angry growls the dog helped us to throw aside the branches, but long before reaching the last one, we suspected the contents of the pile.  A horrible stench had for some time warned us that we were in the vicinity of carrion.

The last branch was removed, and lying in all their ghastly ugliness were Black Darnley and his crew.  Darnley had greatly altered since his death; but there was no mistaking that massive mouth, filled with strong teeth, firmly set together, as though striving even with his last breath to overcome the King of Terrors.

“Are you satisfied?” we asked of Murden, turning away from the sickening sight with a shudder.