His leg was broken near the knee, and the bone was terribly shattered by the rifle ball.
CHAPTER XIV.
DISCOVERY OF STOLEN TREASURES IN THE STOCKMAN'S CELLAR.
Lying upon the ground were the bushrangers, bruised, bloody, and dirty, groaning with disappointment and pain, and one or two of the most violent ones cursing so loudly that the air smelt sulphurous. Across the bodies of the fallen wretches were the policemen, with huge beads of perspiration standing on their brows, and faces red with the sudden and unusual exertion which they had endured to conquer the desperate robbers.
The poor fellow whom the leader of the robbers had injured by breaking a carbine over his head, was lying on the ground, bleeding profusely from a long gash in his skull. He was assisted into the hut, and left for a few minutes, until more pressing demands had been attended to; and after the prisoners were once again ironed, and chained to the cart, some one asked what had become of Bimbo; as that individual had not been seen since the commencement of the attack.
"I'll warrant the lazy rascal has gone to sleep somewhere, and not awakened during the disturbance," Murden said, not suspecting the trick which the stockman had played him.
"And what has become of my dog?" I asked, surprised to think that he had also disappeared.
Fearful that he had got tired of my society, and left for his mistress, I whistled shrilly, and was happy to hear a response, in the shape of a deep bay, back of the hut. We hurried where we could get a view of him, and, to my surprise and delight, I saw that he was standing over the prostrate body of the miserable, treacherous Bimbo, and showing a set of ivories at every movement of the wretch, which would have delighted a gentleman versed in dentistry, or an admirer of white teeth.
The Lieutenant, Fred, and myself, proceeded to the spot, and as we approached, Bimbo attempted to rise, but the vigilant animal, with an angry growl, grasped him by the neck, and the dirty fellow was content to lie quiet, although he used his voice well, and broke forth with lamentations at the hound's rough treatment.
"Is this the kind of usage a cove meets for giving you something to eat, and looking after yer hanimals. Take the cuss off, can't ye, and not let him stand over me this way?"
"Call off the dog," whispered Murden; "I am afraid that the animal will choke him to death, and then, lazy as he is, he still would be a loss, for he gives me information at times concerning the movements of bushrangers, which I can obtain nowhere else."
"Did he ever give you tidings that led to the arrest of thieves?" I asked.
"No. I think not," replied the officer, after a moment's reflection; "but that, you know, is no fault of Bimbo's. By his advice, I have twice been near capturing parties of marauders. Something, however, has happened to prevent me—either I would get the intelligence too late, or the robbers had just changed their haunts."
"I see," replied Fred, with a grin; "the lazy, ignorant Bimbo has blinded the eyes of one of the smartest lieutenants of police in Australia, and by pretending to furnish information, has gained his confidence, simply to place him on the wrong track."
"What mean you?" asked Murden, astonished.
"I mean that this scamp"—and by this time we were beside the fellow, whose face bore every mark of the most abject terror—"has been in league with the bushrangers for years; that he just entered into a contract with Jim Gulpin, to set his gang free, and that he picked the pocket of Maurice to get the key of the robber's irons, and that our deaths were deliberately planned, and would have been carried into effect, had we not chanced to overhear the bargain."
"So help me God, lieutenant, it's a lie!" shouted Bimbo, struggling to his feet, a proceeding which the hound did not exactly like, and he looked into my face as much as to ask whether it was all right, and manifested hostility even when I called him away.
"You knows very well, lieutenant, that I've been the best spy on this route for years, and that I always tells you all that happens, and now to think that these strangers should come here, and try and take my character away, it's too bad, it is," and the dirty scamp dug his filthy fingers into his eyes, and tried to force a tear, but the effort was a failure.
"How about the stolen articles in the cellar of the hut, a portion of which you were to receive for setting the gang free?" asked Fred.
"There's none there," whined the fellow, "so help me God, there's none there, and there's no use in searching."
"Well, examine the hut at all events," replied Fred; and bidding Bimbo walk to the house, we followed close at his heels, and threatened him with the fangs of the dog when he hesitated.
By the time we had reached the station hut, the policemen were just depositing Gulpin near the door, having brought him in a blanket from the spot where he fell. The wretch was suffering great pain, and huge beads of perspiration were streaming down his forehead from its effects. The men had stripped off the leg of his trousers, and revealed bones protruding near the knee. But little blood flowed from the wound where the ball had penetrated, and I considered it, with my imperfect knowledge of surgery, as looking decidedly bad for saving the robber chief's life.
I stooped down, and sought to examine the limb, but with horrid imprecations, the bushranger ordered me off, and swore that no one but a regular physician should attend him.
As we were over a hundred miles from Melbourne, and there was not a doctor, probably, between us and that city, I gave the man up for lost, and so I told the lieutenant, who merely shrugged his shoulders, and declared that there would be one the less to hang, and that it was always bad travelling with wounded men in company.
"Let that man be kept within musket shot," said Murden, pointing to the guilty Bimbo, who was still snivelling, and endeavoring to excite our sympathies.
"And what shall we do with this poor wretch?" Fred asked, gazing with pity at the prostrate form of the robber chief, who, an hour before, was a model of health and strength.
"What can we do?" asked the officer, with a puzzled expression.
"I am no surgeon," replied Fred, "but I will, if the poor wretch is willing, attempt to amputate the limb, and it may be the means of saving his life."
"Save it for a halter, hey?" asked Gulpin, opening his eyes; and for a moment they were lighted up with a fierce fire, that showed the bitter hatred which the man entertained against his captors.
"That is not for me to judge," replied Fred; "I offer to save your life, if possible, and you must depend upon the courts of Melbourne whether it is continued."
The outlaw shook his head, and after wetting his parched lips with water exclaimed—
"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