“I would rather die as I am; no surgeon’s knife shall hack my flesh while living, and I’m too far from the big town to think they will string my bones on wires after death.  I shall live; and if the bushrangers in these parts get the alarm, I may defy you yet!  See, I grow stronger, and my leg no longer troubles me with a racking pain.”

In his desperation, the outlaw struggled to sit upright, and smiled a ghastly smile, at his supposed triumph over death.

“Foolish man,” I replied, “the cessation of your pains is a sure harbinger of death.  Already has mortification set in, and the best surgeon in the world cannot save you.”

“Is it so?” he asked, hoarsely, after a sharp glance at my face to see if he could not read trickery, and an attempt, to deceive him.

“Upon my word as a man, you are dying,” I replied.

“Well, death and me has met many times, and why should we fear each other?  Let him come; he will not find me unprepared.”

“But your peace with God?” I asked, earnestly.

“Look you, young man,” the outlaw said, “for ten years I’ve led a life of crime; I’ve committed murders, and robbed all who crossed my path, and laughed at the agony of those I have rendered penniless.  Do you think that God is willing to pardon sins on such short notice?”

“There is hope for all,” I replied.

“You may think so, but I don’t believe in that kind of mummery.  Go away from me, and let me die in peace.”

“But, consider,” I urged.

He waved his hand impatiently, as though the conversation wearied him, and he wished to terminate it without farther discussion.  I joined Murden, who was standing a short distance from the dying man, calmly smoking his pipe, and apparently indifferent to the remarks which his prisoner made.

“Has he been grumbling?” asked Murden.

“No, he appears to be rejoiced to think that he will cheat the courts of Melbourne of a victim, and declares that if a man is accused of being a bushranger, his death is scaled, whether innocent or guilty.”

“There is much truth in what he says,” replied the officer, after a moment’s thought; “the judges act upon the principle that it is better ten innocent persons should die, than one robber escape.  They do not prove a man guilty, but require him to prove that he is innocent; hence the burden of proof rests upon the defendant, and he has no means of establishing, unless possessed of unbounded wealth, the fallacy of such reasoning.”

“And the people of Australia call that law?” I asked, indignantly.

“That is law, and very good law, too,” replied Murden; “you can hardly wonder at such a state of things, when you take into consideration the lawlessness of the bands swarming over these vast plains, and attacking every party weaker than themselves.”

Murden walked towards the hut as though he declined to converse any further on the subject; but just then his eyes fell on Bimbo, who was seated under the shed, within sight of the sentry, and the idea occurred to make search on the premises for the goods which we had overheard him talk about.