"Plenty big glass of rum, suppose you shoot 'em bony (dead)," added Abiram.

The trooper's eyes glistened, and he licked his lips as if the spirit were
already won.

Meanwhile Lizzie had told her countrymen to watch the dog, and they would
see him killed, and the blacks stood straining their eyes at the doomed
dingo, who, with pricked ears and drooping tail, stood motionless against
the sky-line, intently surveying the unusual scene beneath, and wondering
probably how soon he should get the relics of the roasted fish, whose
fragrant odour had assailed his nostrils, and drawn him into his present
position.

It was a moment of intense suspense while the trooper raised his carbine --
slowly and deliberately; no hurry, not even the quiver of a muscle, for his
mind was on the rum, and he recked little of the moral influence of a
successful shot; -- we drew a long breath of relief as the weapon flashed
forth, and the dog, making a convulsive bound forward, fell stone dead at
the foot of the rocks, where it was instantly surrounded by the awestruck
savages, who carefully examined the body, and thrust their fingers into the
bullet-hole, for the ball had passed clean through the animal, just behind
the shoulder-blade.

The trooper first loaded his empty barrel, and then twitching Abiram by the
sleeve, whispered, "You give 'em rum now. Plenty you make him strong, mine
believe." His task was accomplished, and that the reward should
immediately follow was with him a natural consequence.

Ferdinand's shot and Lizzie's eloquence had, however, rid us of all further
trouble. The blacks laid down their arms, and expressed themselves quite