"What can we do?" asked the officer, with a puzzled expression.
"I am no surgeon," replied Fred, "but I will, if the poor wretch is willing, attempt to amputate the limb, and it may be the means of saving his life."
"Save it for a halter, hey?" asked Gulpin, opening his eyes; and for a moment they were lighted up with a fierce fire, that showed the bitter hatred which the man entertained against his captors.
"That is not for me to judge," replied Fred; "I offer to save your life, if possible, and you must depend upon the courts of Melbourne whether it is continued."
The outlaw shook his head, and after wetting his parched lips with water exclaimed,—
"I would rather die as I am; no surgeon's knife shall hack my flesh while living, and I'm too far from the big town to think they will string my bones on wires after death. I shall live; and if the bushrangers in these parts get the alarm, I may defy you yet! See, I grow stronger, and my leg no longer troubles me with a racking pain."
In his desperation, the outlaw struggled to sit upright, and smiled a ghastly smile, at his supposed triumph over death.
"Foolish man," I replied, "the cessation of your pains is a sure harbinger of death. Already has mortification set in, and the best surgeon in the world cannot save you."
"Is it so?" he asked, hoarsely, after a sharp glance at my face to see if he could not read trickery, and an attempt, to deceive him.