“How is this?” I asked; “are we not to start immediately?  Delays are dangerous.”

“Patience, my friends,” returned the officer, leading the way towards the stockman’s hut.  “I value your lives too much to think of asking you to undertake a jaunt of twelve or thirteen miles at noonday, when the sun is hottest.”

“But we are capable of the task,” replied Fred, energetically.

“I have no doubt of it, gentlemen; but if you can endure heat and privation, my men and horses cannot.  Why, before we could gain the edge of yonder wood, half of the men would be sun-struck, and two-thirds of the animals would expire for the want of water.  No, no, trust to me, and let us take the cool of the evening.”

“But we shall reach the woods too late to make an investigation,” I said.

“It is very probable,” answered the officer, entering the hut, where the convict’s daughter was lying on a rude bedstead, made of the skin of an ox.

“But have you no fear of an ambuscade?” exclaimed Fred, who began to entertain an opinion that the lieutenant was not well posted on the subject of bush-fighting.

“Not in the least,” replied the Englishman, removing his coat and heavy sword belt, and stretching himself on a box.

“O, then you will keep skirmishers in advance of the main body, I suppose?” Fred said.

“No,” answered the officer, lighting his pipe:  and then, observing an expression of surprise on our faces, he continued,—­

“Do you take me for such a greenhorn as to suppose that I would enter a wood after dark?  No, sir; I’ve studied the habits and cunning of bushrangers for many years, and seen much service during that time.  I shall start near dark, halt half a mile from the edge of the forest, and remain there until daylight.  Does that suit your ideas of our peculiar kind of warfare?”

We could offer no objections to the plan proposed; and as we were to spend the day in idleness, looked around the hut for something to make a breakfast on.  The policeman guessed our thoughts, for he called one of his men, and gave him an order.

“Get coffee and breakfast ready, Maurice,” he said, “and when ready, serve it here.”

The man bowed, saluted his superior, and retired with military precision.

“An old soldier,” said the lieutenant, carelessly; “he has served through half a dozen campaigns in India.”

“And did he never rise above the ranks?” I asked.

“Never obtained a position higher than that of corporal; but that is not extraordinary in the English army.  Promotion with us goes with birth and influence, not merit and brave deeds.  Maurice has distinguished himself in many a hotly-contested field; yet now, in his old age, he draws a trifling pension, and is glad to be enrolled in the police force of Melbourne, where better pay and quick promotion awaits him.”

“As you have been in the country for many years, suppose that you give us a short account of your experience,” cried Fred.