“We can explain this to those having authority to ask,” cried Fred, carelessly throwing his rifle across his arm; yet it was done in such a manner that the officer reined his horse back several paces, and shouted,—­

“Ready with your carbines, men!—­we have fallen upon a gang of bushrangers.”

I heard the ominous click of the locks of the guns, and cleared the blood from my eyes to get a view of our assailants.

“We are no bushrangers,” shouted Smith, starting forward and fronting the officer.  “You should know my face, lieutenant,” he continued, to the man in command.

“Ah, Smith, is it you?” the lieutenant said, in a sort of patronizing way, and riding forward.  “Put up your guns, men; we are not among bushrangers, I think.”  And in obedience to his command, the men slung the carbines at their backs, and rode forward.

“What is the matter with that fellow?” the officer of police asked, pointing to me.

“He was just injured by a knife, sir, in the hands of this woman, who has lost her reason,” answered Smith, in the most obsequious manner.

“Lost her reason, hey,” said the lieutenant, carelessly.  “Then she has no business here; or rather I should say that no persons of sense would be here if they could help it.”

The mounted troop laughed, as in duty bound, and even Smith suffered his features to relax in token of appreciation of the officer’s facetiousness.

“Where are you two fellows from?” inquired the lieutenant, turning towards Fred and myself abruptly.

By this time I had bound up my head with a handkerchief, and wiped some of the blood from my face.  The wound had nearly ceased bleeding, thanks to some lint which I always carried about me.

“Are you talking to me?” asked Fred, in a careless tone.

“To whom else?—­speak!” cried the officer, impatiently.

“Perhaps you would not know where the place is located, even if I told you its name,” replied Fred, with provoking indifference.

“I am the best judge of that,” answered the lieutenant, turning red in the face.

“O, you are?” Fred laughed.

Smith, who had acted in a nervous manner ever since the conversation commenced, approached and whispered in Fred’s ear,—­

“Speak civilly to him, or he may take you to Melbourne.”

This, instead of having the desired effect on Fred, only rendered him the more impudent; for he didn’t relish being called “fellow,” even if he had on a flannel shirt.

“Will you tell me where you belong?” demanded the officer, angrily.

“O, certainly.”

“Well, where?”

“Have you ever heard of such a place as Boston?” Fred asked.

“Yes—­it is in England.”

“Not the Boston that I mean,” Fred exclaimed, drawing up his form to its full height.  “I mean Boston near Bunker Hill.”

A sudden change came over the lieutenant’s face.  The dark frown passed away, and a smile crossed his sunburnt countenance.