footfalls of a horse; sometimes it would die away
and come again, but each time more clearly than
before. And yet I could not feel certain that
I was not deceiving myself. Eventually I heard
a muffled sound, distinct aud defined enough to
proclaim the approach of a horse, or horses.

Mr. Christmas heard it also, for I dimly saw
him move.

My hands foil along the cool barrels, and
toyed with the hammers and triggers anxiously
enough, and I put the gun to my shoulder
against the sky, but failed to see the "view."
Just as I had taken the weapon down again,
Mr. Christmas said, in a clear low whisper,
"Be sure you aim low, and don't be in a
hurry."

As the sounds of the horses' hoofs, and of
voices mingled, I detected the double click from
the opposite gun. I followed the example, and,
with both guns cocked, we waited the enemy's
nearer approach. Gradually, I recognised the
outlines of the men against the sky, cloudy as
it was; they were approaching in single file,
and as they became blacker and better defined,
I heard a stifled laugh and an oath. In a short
time they were within twenty yards of where
we stood, and they pulled up to consult.
Although they spoke in whispers, I heard much
that passed, for my sense of hearing had become
extremely acute, as that of all shepherds does.
It was impossible to distinguish by the tones
who the speakers were, but I heard one of them
inquire:

"Are you sure the hands ain't above?"

"Sartain—when Leary spun his yarn abont
the fire, the cove sent 'em all away to it."

"Hallelujah fust. If we fire the box, it'll
bring 'em back."

"And no grabbing the molls," whispered one
of them, authoritatively, and whom I fancied
was Red Jim, " till I make the cursed old
psalmsinger a back log for the bonfire. Then we'll
make love if you choose."

"Come on!" said an impatient voice; " don't
hold a prayer meeting over it."

They then tied their horses to a fence that
ran at right angles to the post against which I
stood, and approached the entrance still in
single file. I determined to adhere strictly to
the orders I had received, and waited for the
opposite fire. I knew that my companion would
allow the men to advance a little, so that he
might not endanger me; and it was with a
throbbing heart that I saw the black form of the
first bushranger pass between us.

I heard him stumble with an oath over a
cart-rut. Then a line of flame cut its abrupt
short track on the darkness, and the sound
had not passed to echoes before a shrill cry
followed it, as the villain staggered on a few
paces and fell, ploughing up the dust. The
light of the discharge had just died out, when I
heard another snap, as a sportsman shoots when
firing right and left. I knew that the master's
gun was now useless.

"Come on, Nix! It's the cove himself.
I saw him by the light of the shot; his sting's
gone now." And one of the men rushed to where
my master stood, followed by his comrade.

I had one of them covered, but, if I fired
(I heard the noise of struggling) I might kill
my master. Thus I stood with the gun at aim,
undecided and half mad. The voice of one of the
men saying "Damn you, knife him!" resolved
me, and I fired amongst them. I saw some one
sink down, but I could not tell who it was, and,
as he appeared to let go his hold, and rush to
the horses, I took a second hurried aim and
fired; then I bounded across the entrance, just
in time to see the wounded wretch bending over
Mr. Christmas and trying to strangle him. In
a moment the gun was poised and smashed to
fragments on his skull. But we had exposed
our strength, and the remaining bushranger, who
believed he had stabbed my companion, seized
one of the guns left standing at the fence, and
fired. The ball was unpleasantly close, and I
had scarce time to know that I was uninjured,
when Red Jim himself was upon me with the
weapon clubbed. I made a rapid spring at him
before the blow could fall, and, grappled with
him. We rolled on the ground together. With
all the force of my strength I resisted his efforts
to grasp me by the throat, but at last his hideous
face sunk close to mine, and his teeth met
beneath my chin. I experienced a suffocating
giddy feeling, and then I heard hurried voices
and running feet just as I felt my grip relax
powerless. But the frightful gripe relaxed too,
and Red Jim rose to his feet, and jumped on my
chest with all his force.

When I came to consciousness, I found
myself in the cheerful parlour, and the ladies' hands
were tenderly washing away the traces of the
fight. Mr. Christmas had fainted from loss of
blood, but was not dangerously wounded.

Red Jim escaped, but his two companions,
neither of whom was killed, were given into
the safe keeping of the authorities, and
afterwards hanged. Three years after the affray,
Mr. Christmas made me his overseer, and finally
his manager. A long time has passed since
then, but yet a closer relationship exists
between us. I am writing the tale of my early
experiences at the same table whereon I saw
the Bible on that memorable night. There is a
lady who sits opposite to me. She was the
reader of Ivanhoe, the daughter of Mr. Christmas,
and she is my wife.

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS.
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copperfield," &c.

Now publishing, PART XIV., price 1s., of

OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.

With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.