"May the God of Israel give us strength to kill them," shouted the convict, bursting through the thick bushes with his long gun in hand, and his white hair streaming over his shoulders.
"No mercy to the scoundrels," cried Smith, waving his heavy axe over his head, and advancing at a run in pursuit.
That cry came near being his last; for one of the bushrangers, seeing that he had no gun, suddenly turned in his flight, and raising his musket, presented it full at the broad breast of Smith. The latter did not falter or dodge, but rushed towards the robber with uplifted axe, uttering, as he advanced, a wild cry that startled me, it was so loud and shrill, and sounded like the last yell of a dying man in agony.
I feared to see the villain discharge his musket, for I knew that Smith was so near that he could not well be missed. I would have shot the fellow myself, but my rifle was empty; still thinking to save him, I ran hastily towards the parties; but before I had advanced ten steps I saw the bushranger's musket flash in the pan, but no report followed. His gun had missed fire.
Throwing down the weapon with an oath, the ruffian drew a long knife; but before he had an opportunity to use it the heavy axe descended upon his unprotected head, and crashing through skull and brains, it clove him to the chine.
With no groan or word he fell; and when I reached the side of Smith there was not another bushranger left to battle with. We were masters of the field, and not one of us had received a wound.
"Let us praise God for this victory," cried the aged convict, removing his apology for a hat, and casting his eyes heavenward.
"Humph," grunted Smith; "we'd better make preparations for quitting these woods, instead of praying, according to my fancy."
"To Him alone belongs the praise for this day's work—for this mighty triumph," cried the old man, whose religious feelings were all awakened by the carnage.
"I don't dispute that the Lord lent his aid, but to my mind, if it hadn't been for these two Americans, he'd deserted us in the hour of need. Two good rifle shots are a great help towards obtaining a victory," exclaimed Smith, wiping his axe of the crimson gore which still adhered to it, and glancing around the clearing, as though he expected there might be more bushrangers starting up to offer battle at any moment.
"The Almighty is powerful, and can crush at his pleasure."
"We all know that," cried Smith, impatiently, "but to my mind it's better to examine yonder hut, and then make our way back to the team as fast as possible, for there's no knowing how soon we may have a new gang to contend with."
His advice appeared so reasonable that we instantly prepared to follow it; but first we stopped by the side of Black Darnley, and examined to see whether he was dead. The rifle ball had made sure work, having passed through his left side in the direction of his heart, and made its exit below the ribs opposite. On the dark face of the dead man was a look of defiance, as though even in his death-struggle he had tried to gain his feet, and to face his enemies with his latest breath.
I removed the pistols which he wore in his belt, and as no one presented a better claim for them than Fred and myself, I divided with him; and during our long sojourn in Australia, he kept one, and I the other. He still clings to his, while I have deposited mine in the office of the American Union, as a sort of memento of times long past.
A visit to the hut was next paid, and there, heaped up in a corner, we not only found the goods which were stolen from Smith's cart, but numerous other articles; and while we were sorting them, I kicked aside some dirt, and saw a flat stone. Curiosity prompted me to move it, and underneath was a hoard of gold dust, gold coins, silver dollars, and English shillings and half crowns, the whole amounting to about two thousand pounds.
Without stopping to divide it, we gathered it up with the most convenient articles for carrying away, and then setting fire to the hut, left it blazing, knowing full well that those of the gang who escaped would return before long with reënforcements, and that our lives were not worth much if we were taken by surprise.
We gained the open prairie, and without stopping to rest, continued our march, until we reached the hut of the convict stockman. The daughter of the latter came out to us, and as she laid her hand upon her father's arm, she whispered—
"Is he dead?"
He nodded his head, and then I saw a gleam of satisfaction cross her face, as she thought of her injuries, and the prompt manner in which they had been avenged.
CHAPTER IX.
THE STOCKMAN'S DAUGHTER.—MOUNTED POLICE OF MELBOURNE.
The day after our return from the excursion in pursuit of bushrangers, the cattle were yoked together, and had been attached to the cart for an hour, before the convict issued from his hut.
Twice had Smith cracked his long whip, each time crushing large green flies that had alighted on the flank of the nearest ox, and yet the lash so lightly fell that not a hair of the animal was ruffled, or a particle of pain inflicted. I never understood the science of using a whip until I learned it upon the plains of Australia, and saw stockmen, with one wave of their weapon, cut chips of hide and quivering flesh from the panting sides of frightened or contrary cattle.
As the convict advanced to meet us, Smith rose from his seat with an expression of gratitude at the prospect of soon being enabled to move.
"Well," said Smith, speaking first, "you see we are ready to start, yet we could not go without bidding you good-by."
"I have much to thank you for," he said, his eyes cast to the ground as though fearful of looking up and exposing the weakness which oozed from them, and wet his long gray beard. "My child thanks you all for the promptness with which you have revenged her wrongs; and to these two Americans she says, that her prayers shall ever ascend for your safe return to your country, and that happiness may await you when you have rejoined the friends of your childhood."
"Can we bid her farewell, at parting?" asked Fred.
"If you wish it, yes," answered the convict: "but I have prayed with her all night, and have besought the Lord to strengthen her heart under this load of affliction. She is calm now, and when you speak do not allude to her bereavement, or recall yesterday's bloody tragedy."
As he ceased speaking, he returned to the hut, and emerged leading the widow. Her looks were much changed since we had seen her the day before. Weeping and fasting, and sleepless nights, and above all, the thoughts of her husband's sudden death, had so preyed upon her spirits that she seemed like another person.
"Here are the two Americans, child, who wish to bid you farewell," her father said, when he saw that she was disposed to pay no attention to us.
Twice did he speak before she comprehended him; and after she had placed her hands to her head, as though to recall a recollection of our features, a faint look of recognition came over her face, and her leaden eyes were lighted up with some such expression as we had seen the day before, when she asked if Black Darnley was dead.
"You are sure that he is dead?" she asked in a low whisper, seizing Fred by the arm, and gazing into his blank-looking face.
"Whom do you mean?" Fred inquired, evading her question.
"You know; Black Darnley—the wretch who killed my husband, and injured me. You look like him; but your face is not so black, and your hair is lighter. But you may have changed it for the purpose of deceiving and wronging me again. Ah, the more I look at you the firmer am I convinced that you are