I also promised compliance with this request, and asked if there was any other matter which he wished to confide to me.
"You know where the hut of Darnley stood in the black woods which you visited?" the robber whispered, with a painful effort.
I replied in the affirmative.
"Near the hut I buried all my ill-gotten gains, and there they remain yet; to you I bequeath them, to do as you see fit. There are thousands of pounds' worth of gold dust there, besides jewels of value. After searching the hut, walk in a south—"
The robber's voice failed him; he made painful efforts to recover his breath, and during the struggle his eyes rolled fearfully in their sockets, and his hands clutched the earth convulsively. I feared that he would die without revealing the hiding-place of his hoard, and impressed with this idea, I dashed a pot of cold water in his face, and poured more wine down his throat.
"Thanks," he gasped, "I'm—going—farewell—ten paces—in a south—"
There was a gurgle in the bushranger's throat, a convulsive movement of his limbs, and then all was quiet, and the spirit of the outlaw chief had taken flight to a better world.