“Now, then, let us return,” Mr. Brown said; “you have shed blood enough for one day, I hope.”

The words had hardly passed his lips, when, upon the top of the mountain that we had descended two hours before, I saw the forms of five or six men stealing along the trail, as though desirous of gaining the cover of a number of trees, for the purpose of watching our movements.

I pointed them out to the inspector, and he stopped and examined them through a pocket spy-glass which he usually carried when he left town.

“Well, are they friends or foes?” asked Fred.

The inspector made no reply until the men were lost to view beneath the branches of the trees.

“Are you sure,” he asked, “that you left your powder and lead at Ballarat?”

“Quite sure—­why do you ask?”

“Because, unfortunately, there are six as great rascals as ever went unhung on the hill, and they mean mischief, I’ll swear.”

The inspector put up his glass, and examined his nearly-emptied revolver with a rueful look.

“If the blasted snakes had not wasted our powder there would be some show for us,” he continued, “because, luckily, the scamps are armed with pistols only.”

“But we have three shots,” cried Fred, his blood beginning to dance through his veins at the prospect of a struggle; “I will guarantee that every discharge brings down a bird, and as for the remainder, why, we will meet them single-handed.”

“I like to hear you talk in that strain, but the odds are against us.  We have a long hill to ascend, and should have to leave our horses behind, and that I can’t think of.  The bushrangers, I suppose, desire the animals for the purpose of escaping to some other portion of the country, and even at the risk of running from a fight, we must disappoint them.  No, no; it would be madness attacking six men with empty revolvers, when they have the choice of ground.”

The inspector returned his revolver to his belt, and once more examined the spot where the robbers had gone into ambush.

“Yes, they are watching our every motion, and I can see one fellow standing near the trunk of the first tree on our right examining his pistols attentively.  Now he looks towards us, and points with his hand in the direction of the ravine.  It is our only chance.”  He closed the glass abruptly and put spurs to his horse, calling upon us to follow him without a moment’s delay.  We suspected Mr. Brown’s intentions, but did not consider the danger so imminent as he imagined.  We therefore galloped along at a moderate pace, and allowed the inspector to take the lead.

“Faster, faster,” he shouted, looking over his shoulder to see if we kept up with him.

“What is your hurry?” cried Fred, with a provoking degree of coolness.

“Because there is need of it,” Mr. Brown answered, reining his animal in for the purpose of allowing us to get alongside of him.  “Those bushrangers have noted the road we have taken, and will seek to cut off our retreat.  Our only safety now lies in getting through the ravine before they can gain a position to fire at us.  Ah, I thought so.  Look there.”