run. That's the way to clear
out prisoners. Women have no business with the gang. There's always a
quarrel about 'em."

"And 'spose there is? ain't it a compliment to the dear creatures? I'd
rather fight for 'em, I tell you, than not see their faces after they
get good natured, and the cap'n generally brings 'em round in a precious
short time."

"Eh, don't he?" grunted the third man, speaking for the first time.

"I tell ye my plan is best, and it's time ye knowed it. We carry half a
dozen into camp to eat up the grub, and make the men lazy. There's no
getting work out of the coveys while they is alive, and you know it."

"For pity's sake kill us, and end our misery," I heard one of the
females say, appealing to the fellow who seemed in favor of killing
prisoners, to save the trouble of taking care of them.

"If I had my way, I'd do it d----d quick," he grumbled.

"We are tired, and can hardly sit on the horses. For the sake of your
mothers, who were women, leave us here in the wilderness to perish, or
to find shelter, as it shall please Heaven."

"Cease that whine of yours, or I'll throw you into the creek,"
threatened the ruffian of the party.

"Do so, if you dare!" exclaimed another voice, which I imagined belonged
to a female of more advanced age than the first speaker; "you are ugly
enough for any thing," she continued, growing excited as she proceeded,
and raising her voice until it approached a scream, "but I don't believe
that you have the true courage of a man. A man!" she repeated, "you are
nothing but a tailor. Where's your goose?"

I could hear the bushrangers indulge in a chuckling laugh, as though the
language used to their companion was relished.

"Stop your mouth, you dirty ----, or I'll stuff a goose down your
throat!" shouted the ruffian, furious with rage.

"You?" she asked, contemptuously; "why, if my old man was within sound
of my voice, you would run like a sheep from a dog. You are the biggest
coward connected with the gang, and they only keep you 'cos you can mend
their clothes. A tailor! Bah, you are only the ninth part of a man, and
a botch at that."

"By G----d, woman, you shall feel the length of my knife if you don't
close your mouth," shouted the ruffian, that the woman was goring to
madness.

"O Nancy, do be quiet," cried her companion.

"Keep quiet for the threat of that braggart?" the shrill-voiced woman
demanded; "why, if I had a bodkin I'd spit him on it." "Would you?