"Never mind what Jack says!" replied Number
Three. " Don't you make an ass of yourself,
Dick! I'll have my way in this."

He motioned to My Chainman to go on; and
on he went until they reached a belt of scrub.

"Halt! Now, listen to me. It's my
opinion that you are a schemer. If I find one
shilling on you more than you have acknowledged
to" (he swore a terrific oath), " I'll blow
your brains out on the spot. Strip!"

My Chainman owned to me that for a
moment he felt a mortal terror, but he shook it
off, and proceeded to undress.

"Take off your jumper first —- not your boots.
Now your flannel shirt. Throw them over to
me."

He examined them thoroughly.

"Take off your boots. Throw them here.
Now your trousers."

He found in the pockets the two coins. And
my Chainman hoped that the search was over.
Not yet.

"Take off your socks!"

To hesitate was instant death. The ruffian
shook both the socks. Let the reader fancy
the beating of My Chainman's heart,
meanwhile! As he had thrust the note into the
sock without folding it up, and as the robber
had caught the note with the thick sock
between his finger and thumb, it was thus
prevented from dropping out. To such small
things a man may owe dear life itself.

"Now be off.'''

"What!" said My Chainman. " Would you
send a man away stark naked, and in this
weather, too?"

"You ought to be thankful for your life."

Just then, up came Dick.

"Haven't you searched him yet? What the
devil's the use of keeping him in the cold?"

"You mind your own business, Dick."

"Jim," retorted Dick, "you know I can
stand a good deal; but you're not the man
to bide a quarrel with me when I'm roused.
I won't allow you to do as you did last time.
Give this man his boots and trousers; keep
his jumper, if you want it."

Thus they split the difference, and My Chainman
was left on a bush-road without a horse,
and only half clad. He had his ten-pound note,
however.

After walking briskly for about twelve miles,
he came to a sly grog-shop, where he found two
men conversing; one, evidently the host; the
other, (he knew as well as if it had been
revealed to him,) was the fourth Bushranger.

In the endless wilds of Australia, there is not
a Bushman whose life does not often depend on
" tracking;" and so wonderful do Bushmen
become in this respect, that they can tell the
date of every mark upon the ground. I have
heard them debate as to whether a black's
track was an hour old, or two hours. Now,
My Chainman had seen the tracks of four
horses in company, and he had carefully tracked
the fourth up to this " humpy," close to which
it was standing quietly tied by the bridle.

"If I don't ride that horse away from this,
to-day," said My Chaiuman to himself, " may I
never have the blessing of St. Patrick!"

The host was a little man; the Bushranger
was a tall and muscular villain, with long black
hair falling down his shoulders —- a bad sign, as
it showed he had been long "out."

They had been talking on a subject that had
excited the Bushranger, and that subject, as
far as My Chainman could gather from the
muttered words he overheard at his entrance,
was that the police were on their way up, and
not very far off.

My Chainman gave the masonic sign; it was
answered by the host.

"Hallo," said the Bushranger, " where do
you hail from?"

"I have come down the road."

"Haven't you got a horse?"

There was no use shamming here, so My
Chainman at once replied:

"I was stuck up and robbed twelve miles
from this, by the Bushrangers."

"The devil! Are they so near? Isn't it
fortunate, Casey, that I know this in time?"

"Why?" said Casey. "You're not going
that way; you came from that direction yourself
a while ago."

The Bushranger at that moment was lighting
his pipe with a burning coal, and his back was
turned. My Chainman gave a look and made a
gesture which were perfectly understood by the
shrewd little host.

"I must be going, old man," said the
Bushranger, after his pipe had been successfully
lighted. " Let's have a glass of grog all round
first."

"All right!" said the little man. Three
glasses of rum soon stood before the party.
My Chainman put his hand forward to take
up one of the glasses, but Casey, with an
awkward apology about helping the gent first,
handed the robber that very glass, gave
another to My Chainman, and drank off the third
himself.

My Chainman understood all this, and hoped
that the stupifying potion would soon take
effect. But no. The ruffian's constitution was
as sound as the foundations of St. Paul's, and
the draught only increased his sharpness and
penetration.

"Do you think I don't see through you?" said
he, with a diabolical glance at Casey. " I'm not
so sure of you" (this was to My Chainman);
" if I was, I know what I should do."

"What have I done, sir?" said Casey.

"What have you done, you villain?
Everything. I'll have your life!"

Now, although My Chainman did not think
that the ruffian meant the threat literally, yet he
made his little preparations. The fellow was
armed to the teeth. He had two revolvers in
his belt, and a double-barrelled gun stood close
to him. A large sheath-knife hung on his hip.
Every second increased the ruffian's fury. His
curses and threats were appalling. Casey, the
other side of the fire, sat the picture of dismay.