The bushrangers were broiling their meat upon sticks, and eating it with a relish that smacked of a long fast; and while the women were seated near the fire on saddles taken from the horses, which were tied to a tree, and were browsing upon the tender branches, the men did not offer them food, until one fellow, whose appetite seemed sated, offered the younger one his stick, upon which was a huge lump of flesh nearly raw.

She declined the tempting morsel with a shudder, and the action produced an oath from the ruffian, and an insulting gesture, so vile that I could hardly keep my hand from seeking the lock of my revolver and shooting him on the spot.

“O, well, Miss Dainty, you’ll come to your appetite one of these days, see if you don’t.  Mark what I tell you;” and the other ruffians smiled at their companion’s wit.

“There’s blood on the hand that offered her food—­her husband’s blood.  How do you suppose she can touch what you feel disposed to give?” cried the elderly woman, who was called Nancy.

“Hullo, old croaker, I thought that you were asleep,” the bushranger said; but still I noticed that he glanced at his hand, and wiped it on his clothes, as though the stain was burning his flesh like a coal of fire.

CHAPTER LXXVII.

CAPTURE OF THE BUSHRANGERS.

“I’ve not been asleep, but still I’ve had a dream,” Nancy replied to the insulting taunt of the robber.

“Hullo, here’s a go.  An old woman can dream with her eyes open.  Tell us what it was all about, old Tabby.”

The woman looked sternly at her tormentor, but did not deign to reply; but the robbers were not disposed to have her rest in peace.

“Come, Tabby, tell us the dream,” cried the first speaker.

“You would know it, would you?” she asked, her dark face looking grim and sardonic in the wavering light of the fire, which was kept up by throwing on wood that had long laid exposed to the hot sun of Australia.

“To be sure I would; and, while you are about it, tell my fortune.  Whether I shall be rich and marry a princess, like them old fellers, hundreds of years ago, that we read about in some book, blast me if I know the name of it.  Come, fire away while I smoke my pipe, and try to kill a few of these d——­d mosquitoes that have got bills longer than a criminal lawyer in full practice in Old Bailey.”

The man filled his pipe with tobacco, an example that was followed by those who had finished gorging, and after he had lighted it, he turned his head in the direction of the prisoners, as though signifying that he was ready to listen.

“The only wife that you will marry will be the gibbet,” the old woman said, spitefully.

“Peace, you old hag,” cried the bushranger, angrily.  “How dare you talk to me in that sort of way?”

“I thought that you wanted to hear what I have been dreaming about?” she replied, with a sneer.