ffian to give an alarm; but he seemed
incapable of motion, for he sat staring at Jackson as though hardly
daring to believe his eyes.

"Make for the door," whispered the inspector, and grasping the prisoner
by his right arm he arose, an example which we followed.

Then did the ruffian, who had insisted upon our drinking with him, find
his tongue, for with one spring he cleared the rude bench upon which he
was seated and rushed towards his comrades shouting a word, which, above
all others, was most dreaded by thieves.

"Traps!" he yelled; and at the sound every thief started to his feet,
and even those who were lying in the corners of the room, sleepy and
overpowered with drink, sat up and rubbed their eyes, ready to fight in
self-defence, or to make an escape, just according to the chances which
presented themselves.

"Traps," once more repeated the frightened ruffian, and a dozen voices
demanded where they were, while three or four men opened the shutters
of the windows to see if the building was attacked on the outside. Two
or three of the most timid disappeared from the room through a small
door, which we afterwards learned led through a subterranean passage to
a deserted mine, and from thence escape was easy by means of the shaft.

"Where are they?" roared a dozen voices all at once; and as the ruffians
asked, we had the disagreeable pleasure of seeing long knives unsheathed
and two or three pistols drawn; but even during the confusion we managed
to approach the door through which we had entered, and which we prayed
to leave without a severe wound.

"There they go--we are betrayed--down with them," were the cries that we
heard; but to our satisfaction a man whom we had not counted on rushed
between us and the crowd, his voice, clear and ringing, being heard
above the din.

"Put up your knives," he shouted, "or you'll bring trouble on me and my
house. Let the gentlemen go--it's nothin' but a fadlin' cove they've
got, and not a bushman. For the honor of the 'Cricket' don't spill blood
here," pleaded Dan Brian, the proprietor.

"Move on," whispered the inspector, "and don't relax your hold of the
prisoner. Keep your pistols in your pockets, and don't use them until I
set an example."

"It is selling us, Dan Brian, you are," cried half a dozen voices, and
there were shouts and oaths of rage at the thought.

"'Pon my honor, I'm not," reiterated Dan; "I never sold a pal in my
life, and, by the blessing of God,