from their leafy covert. With a shout,
which blended the scream of pain and rage
with the hoarse cry for vengeance, the blacks
ran forward, dragging the bushes after them.
In a second, the latter were piled against the
walls of the hut; and a transient silence
followed, during which the captive was left
to speculate on the object of this manœuvre.

His doubts (if he had any) were soon
resoIved. A peculiar crackling sound,
succeeded by a broad glare of light,
perceptible through the crannies of the frail
tenement, informed him, that the terrors
of fire had been brought to bear against
him. The natives had been into the
ranges in search of dry boughs; and with
these, mingled with the inflammable resinous
branches of the gum-trees, they now
proposed to burn him out of his shelter.
Bitterly he regretted not having taken
advantage of their short absence to effect his
escape. It was now too late. For a short
space he remained in a state of stupefaction,
—utterly overwhelmed by the increased
horrors of his situation. As the flames
caught the dry combustible wall, and bark
roof, he deemed himself utterly lost; and it
was only by a violent effort that he, at
length, shook off the benumbing influence of
the intense terror which had seized upon
him.

A little reflection convinced him, that in
one bold effort lay his sole chance of
preservation. Reconnoitering the premises, he
observed that the flames were confined to
the rear and roof of the hut. Through the
chink in the front wall, he perceived the
savages lying in wait near the door; but,
occupying such a position as to be out of the
reach of firearms. "They thought to smoke
me out, as they do wombats," said Jim, "and
to spear me as I crawled out of my den; but,
I determined to have another trial for it,
and if I died, to die, like a man, in the open
air."

Seizing a small bar of tough wood, he
inserted it between the blazing slabs at the
rear, and found that they readily yielded to
his efforts. The dense smoke now filled the
hut, and the burning embers from the roof
fell around him in showers. But, regardless
of all, save life itself, he stripped off his blue
serge-frock,—an article which serves the
bushman for shirt, vest, coat, and paletôt, all
in one—and carefully wrapped it round the
lock of the gun. He then, by a vigorous
effort, detached two of the slabs from their
upper fastenings, and stealthily drew them
within the hut;—the slight noise attending
this operation being disguised by the cracking
of the burning timber. Gazing through
the surrounding belt of fire and smoke he
discovered that none of his enemies were in
view; all of them—as he had anticipated—
being collected on the opposite side of the
hut. Now was the moment for escape.
One danger yet remained to be obviated.
How to still the furious barking of the dog
he knew not; yet this would at once acquaint
the savages with his escape; when instant
pursuit, and death would inevitably be the
result. It was, therefore, absolutely necessary
to secure Sandie in the hut. "I could
not bear the thoughts of doing this,"Jim
used to say, when relating the incident; "it
seemed so cruel to the poor, faithful brute."
Still, secresy and silence were indispensable;
the first great law of nature—self-preservation
—crushed the generous impulses of
sentiment; and the dog was sacrificed to
secure his master's safety. Desirous, however,
of affording the animal at least a chance
of escape, Jim tied him up with a cotton
handkerchief only—in the hope that his exertions
would enable him to free himself before the
entry of the savages.

This done, Jim took up his gun, and
stepped out through the flames. As he
emerged, one of the natives glided round the
corner; and, surprised by the intended
victim's unexpected appearance, stood for a
moment irresolute. Before he could speak
or move, Jim felled him to the earth with a
blow of his fist; and, without waiting for the
result, darted off, under cover of the dense
smoke, for the ranges.

He had surmounted the first tier, and was
crossing the valley beyond, when the outcries
of the blacks proclaimed that his flight
had been discovered. The hope of yet saving
life lent new wings to his feet; and, at any
rate, he had considerably the start of his
pursuers. Before he had proceeded very far,
something came dashing through the scrub
behind him, and he turned to confront the
expected foe. To his great delight it was
the dog.

Onward sped the two fugitives, the man
and the dog. Ten bush-miles lay between
them and safety, and the pursuers
were light of foot, and fleet of limb. Jim
had not tasted food since mid-day, he
was fatigued with toil and watching, and
  suffered much pain from numerous burns on
his arms and shoulders. But hunger, thirst,
weariness, and pain, were all temporarily
obliterated by the necessity of extreme
exertion, and, as mile after mile was passed
without any evidence of pursuit, hope—
which never deserts the brave—grew stronger
in the fugitive's heart.

Although no indication of the natives were
apparent, Jim was too well acquainted with
their nature and habits to relax his speed.
Wily as serpents, and as noiseless too, they
might be close at hand, yet invisible.
Onward, therefore he flew; life was in front;
death near behind. How far, or during what
time, he continued his flight, Jim could
never tell. He believed that he was
approaching the head station, yet nowhere could
he discern the traces of any human habitations.
At length, fatigued and breathless, he
was compelled to pause. Had the savages