Why Harry was not shot off-hand, it were hard to say. The bushranger was convulsed with rage: thrice he levelled his revolver at the brave man, and as often lowered it. At last, with a voice hoarse with passion, he said, "I'll send you along the road I've driven your mate, curse you! You think you're very game, but I'll take all that out of you before I've done with you. You'll be longing for your end hours before it comes....
"Here, boy," continued he, pointing to Tom. "Take that green-hide and tie your mates as I tell you. Look sharp, or I'll lay you alongside your mate yonder."
Thus dragooned, Tom securely tied his mates' hands behind their backs. As soon as this was accomplished, the outlaw, sticking his revolver in his belt, served Tom in the same way, and in addition trussed each victim. Having set them in a row like a group, of mummies, he addressed them—
"You'll lie here for the present. I'll deal with you later. I've got a little job to do first. That fool Hennessey's coming out this way with a couple of troopers to trap me. 'Twasn't enough that he winged my mate, he's sworn to have me inside of the week. And I swear that I'll have him inside of six hours. I'm going out now to have a look round. If you coves try any of your tricks, I'll make hell for you. I shan't be far off, you may bet."
So saying, the outlaw went out into the chamber where his horse was stabled, and led him along the passage to the cave entrance.
"I say, Harry, it was Ben Bolt that we saw at ole Jago's this mornin'."
"True. I cud 'ave taken me oath a'most that the 'orse wus Samson, but I didn't git a fair view of the bloke's face. Yes, 'twor Ben that we saw. He must 'a' got 'is information erbout Hennessey from the ole man. It's wunnerful 'ow they does git the news. I 'ope 'e don't git er charnse ter draw er bead on Hennessey. He'll 'ave ter be mighty smart ter do it. But, dear! dear! on'y ter think of poor Denny lyin' over there—dead! I wish ter 'evven 'e'd 'a' shot me instead. Wot'll your father an' mother say, Sandy? Poor Norah, too! It'll be the killin' of 'er."
"Whisht, boys, spaake low: Oi'm not kilt ontoirely; only knocked spaachless. Oi'm betther nor tin dead Chinymen yit."
It was the sweetest sound that ever ravished the ears of the boys. Here was the blissful fact—Denny was not dead; was very much alive. If the lads did not immediately cry out with joy it was because their joy was too deep for utterance.
"Don't spaake or sthir awhoile till Oi see if th' coast's clear."