A brief inspection convinced me that the remaining five tubes were in the same condition, and then I called for a halt.

“What’s the matter now?” demanded my friend, who was considerable in advance of me.

“A slight discovery that may prove of value.”

“What is it—­another bottle of liquor?”

“No, of more importance than that.  Had it been a bottle I should have hardly called you back,” I replied.

“No, I’ll be sworn that you would not.  But go on.  Tell me what you have found out now.”

“Simply that our pistols have been tampered with.  At least mine has.”

“Is it possible?” cried Mr. Brown, hastily, drawing his weapon and inspecting it.

“I see nothing,” he continued.  “The powder and ball seem to be in their places, and the caps on.”

“Take off the caps, and then see,” I remarked.

He did as I requested, and found the tubes stopped as mine

“The devil!” he muttered; “I don’t like this much.”  “Neither do I; but we must make the best of it.  The quicker we extract the plugs, the more safe I shall feel.”

The task was a long one, but we accomplished it, and then, to make all sure, we reloaded our weapons, and felt relieved when we found that we could depend upon them.

“When was this done?” Mr. Brown inquired.

“Probably yesterday afternoon, while we were looking over the farm.”

“But who could have done it?”

“There you ask me too much.  It may have been known to the farm hands that we had money on our persons.  Indeed, I think that the shepherd, while in his cups, boasted of the rich booty which we had found, and so excited the envious spirit of some reckless fellow who wishes to be rich at our expense.”

“Then we must have the satisfaction of riding along, anticipating a bullet every few minutes,” grumbled Mr. Brown.

“I suppose that is the case, unless we change our route.”

“And go thirty miles out of our way?” exclaimed my companion, sneeringly.  “No, sir.  I have no desire to cross a sandy plain where the sun heats the earth so hot that a mosquito gets its wings singed if it alights before twelve o’clock at night.”

“The plain must be a paradise if insects don’t exist there.  Let us go by that route,” I replied.

“I didn’t say that flies and mosquitoes were not there.  I said that they didn’t touch the sand, but they hover in the air, and unfortunate is the man or beast that they light upon.”

I found out that Mr. Brown was not to be changed from his purpose; so we once more rode on side by side, and while we were chatting upon the incidents that had befallen us during our excursion, we almost forgot the plugging of the pistols.

At the edge of Mr. Wright’s land, on the route to Ballarat, was a small forest of gum trees, through which ran a small stream, similar to the one that we crossed on the night that we captured the bushrangers.  The water was shallow and sluggish, with a soft, sticky bottom, and boggy sides.  This stream Mr. Wright had told us we should have to cross, and that after we were over we could soon find the numerous trails and roads leading to the mines, and probably meet with parties of miners.