grasp his fallen gun; “leave the wepin alone, young man; it ain’t in your way as it lies there.” “I’m a dead man!” groaned the ranger. “Then lie quiet, like a respectable corpse,” said the miner, “an’ don’t go a-squirmin’ toward yer gun. That’s ornary uneddicated conduct.” “Come here, Bill,” cried Braxton, “and bring the ropes those horses are picketed with. Now,” he continued, as the American, having abstracted the sentry’s gun, appeared with an armful of ropes, “you tie these fellows up, and I’ll kill any man who moves.” “A pleasant division of labor--eh, old Blatherskite?” said Chicago, playfully tapping the one-eyed villain Maloney on the head. “Come on; the ugliest first!” So saying, he began upon him and fastened him securely. One after another the rangers were tied up--all except the pounded man, who was too helpless to need securing. Then Chicago went down and brought up the horses, while Braxton remained on guard; and by mid-day the cavalcade was in full march through the forest _en route_ for Fallen Pine, the rendezvous of the search-party. The wounded man was tied on to a horse in front, the other rangers followed on foot for safety, while the trooper and Chicago brought up the rear. * * * * * There was a sad assemblage at Fallen Pine. One by one they had dropped in, tanned with the sun, torn by briers, weakened by the poisonous miasma of the marshlands, all with the same tale of privation and failure. Summerville and the inspector had fallen in with blacks above the upper ford, and had barely escaped with their lives. Troopers Foley and Anson were well, though somewhat gaunt from privation. Hartley had lost his horse from the bite of a bushmaster. Murdoch and Murphy had scoured the bush as far as Rathurst, but without success. All were dejected and weary. They only waited the arrival of two of their number to set out on their return to Trafalgar.