ot, and when I regaled
myself with a glance at our six by nine glass, I was satisfied that no
living man could tell whether I was a dirty white man or a dirty negro.

Our costumes consisted of blue flannel shirts, with coarse canvas
trousers, very much soiled and very stiff; but they were made loose,
with very deep pockets, for the express purpose of carrying a brace of
pistols or huge pocket knives.

A few minutes past twelve o'clock the inspector gave his peculiar knock,
and we admitted him. He had on a suit of clothing that formerly belonged
to a miner who had passed two or three weeks under ground digging
through a stratum of clay, and of course he had not spared his garments,
for they were so besmeared that it would have puzzled a conjurer to have
defined the original color of the cloth. His wig was black, and
contrasted with his saturnine complexion, and as long as he held his
tongue he would have passed muster as a native of Italy.

"Well," inquired Mr. Brown, surveying our disguise with approval, "is
every thing ready?"

We assured him that, as far as we were concerned, we were, and impatient
to set out without delay.

"Where is Steel Spring?" Mr. Brown asked, while sipping his punch, with
a gratified expression upon his face that showed how highly he enjoyed
it.

"We are to meet him at Dan's at one o'clock."

"Then we had better be moving," the inspector said, emptying his glass,
and rising. "I heard from one of my folks to-night, and he tells me that
the gathering is unusually large at the 'Cricket,' and to prevent
mistakes, I have stationed a small force of trusty men within sound of a
call in case they are required."

We left Rover in charge of the store and the sick man, and locked up,
and then picked our way towards Gravel Pit Hill, where the "Cricket" was
located.

Mr. Brown was in high spirits, and once called down the wrath of a
guardian of the night because Mr. B. insisted upon showing us the extent
and volume of his voice.

At length we gained "Gravel Pit Hill," and had no difficulty in finding
the celebrated "Cricket,"--a house that made some pretensions to size
and boards, for it was two stories high, with a large hall, or bar-room,
on the first floor, and three or four smaller rooms leading from it. The
small rooms were for the _elite_ of the bushranging profession, and when
there was too great a cry for a notorious robber, he was accommodated
with private quarters where he could enjoy