We hinted to the inspector our opinion, and he frankly acknowledged that such was the case, but he offered a plea in extenuation.

Mr. Brown had become so interested in his subject that his bodily pains were forgotten.  We should have been willing to have listened to him for hours, for his remarks showed a good knowledge of the country, and what it required to make it great and prosperous; but we were close to Ballarat, and issuing from the town we saw a squad of mounted police, who quickened their pace when they saw us.

“I will wager an ounce of gold that my men have become alarmed at my prolonged absence, and are just starting in search of me,” said the inspector.

The surmise was correct, for Mr. Brown had left word that he should be back by noon, and it was now past three o’clock.

The guard of police looked surprised when they saw their chief, who certainly appeared somewhat the worse for his trip; but their discipline was too good to permit them to ask questions, although I could see that they were anxious to.

“I have met with a slight accident, men,” Mr. Brown said, after exchanging a word with the sergeant of the corps, “and to these two gentlemen am I indebted for my life.  Look at them well, and remember that they are my friends for life, and if you can ever benefit them in any way, you are to do it.  They are Americans, and strangers in Ballarat, and must be protected in their business if every other firm is ruined.

“Jackson,” the inspector said, “get a team, and take six men with you, and proceed immediately to ‘Snake Paradise.’  In the ravine you will find two wounded and two dead bushrangers.  Bury the latter, and bring the former to the prison, where their injuries can be attended to.  Lose no time, but start immediately.”

The corporal addressed as Jackson stopped only long enough to detail six men, when he starred towards the town at a brisk gallop, which raised a cloud of dust that resembled a fog bank.

“Two of you take these fellows to prison and double iron them, and tell old Warner that he had better look after them sharp, for they are bushrangers of some notoriety.”

“And tell your keeper that I have escaped from more secure jails than the one in Ballarat, and that Bill Swinton still possesses the pluck of a man.”

“That will do,” returned the inspector, dryly, after the bushranger had finished.  “Take him away, and to pay him for that speech, tell Warner to put a ring around his waist, in addition to the double irons.”

“I still hope for the time when I can meet you alone, and when no interfering Yankees will save you from my vengeance.  Bill Swinton is worth a dozen dead men, and woe—­”

The remainder of the man’s remarks was lost, for the police hurried him off with his companion, who appeared to be completely broken in spirit.

“Now, Sam, give this gentleman (pointing to Fred, who had walked nearly all the distance from the ravine) your horse, for I am mounted on his.”