Our steps were taken with caution, for we wished to come upon the outlaws unexpectedly.

For ten minutes we continued our silent march, the dog leading the way with unwavering instinct, avoiding the thickets and dense growth of trees,—­hardly noticing the small wild animals of the hare species that ran before his very nose,—­until he suddenly stopped and looked into our faces, as much as to say, “Now, pray be cautious.”

“Hist!” cried the convict, who led the way, holding up his finger.  “I smell smoke.”

“And I can see it,” replied Fred, pointing to an opening in the trees nearly a quarter of a mile distant.

We all strained our eyes in the direction that Fred indicated, and I no longer doubted that we were in the vicinity of an encampment, although neither Smith nor the convict was ready to testify that they saw signs of fire.

“I call my eyes as clear and keen as most any one’s,” Smith said; “but if you can see smoke it’s more than I can do.”

“My eyes are not so good as they were twenty years back, and I trust more to the scent than the sight.  Now I can smell smoke, but see none,” the aged convict said, inhaling his breath as though trying to distinguish from what direction it came.

“You Englishmen have never lived in one of our American forests, or you would be better acquainted with the appearance of smoke when it came from a fire that has long been neglected and is about dying out.  I will wager a pound of good rifle powder that in yonder clearing we shall find a camp of bushrangers, and that the smoke which we see comes from the fire they made when they returned from their nocturnal excursion last night.”

“You may be right,” the convict said, in a musing tone.  “If we are,” he continued, “in close proximity to those we seek, what do you advise?”

“I would advise a seperation of forces—­let Jack and myself approach the encampment in one direction, while you and Smith can steal towards it from another.  There are many reasons why we should act in this manner, and you do not need my advice to be convinced of its force.”

“May the God of battles aid us,” muttered the convict, sotto voce, as though fearful we should catch his words and fears.  “I see,” he continued, “the force of your reasoning.  When you are ready for the attack, discharge your rifles, and mind and not waste a single shot.”

The convict stalked on as he ceased speaking, following the lead of the dog.  We were about to start in a different direction, but still verging towards the smoke, when we were detained by a few words from Smith.

“Remember, boys,” he hurriedly whispered, “that if any thing occurs, you are to take charge of my property and remit the sale of it to my mother.  She is somewhere, in London, I believe.  Take care of yourselves, and remember that it was not I that proposed this confounded excursion.”

He squeezed our hands as he spoke, and the next minute we lost sight of his burly form as he followed in the wake of the convict.