was ignorant that they were so near. But Obed knew it, and
he was watching his opportunity to apprise his friends of his situation.
Harry had noticed the same thing. Lest he should make a premature
revelation, Obed placed his hand to his lips, as a sign of silence.
Harry understood, and seemed indifferent, but his heart was beating fast
with excitement.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE TABLES ARE TURNED.

It was certainly an oversight in Fletcher not to have ascertained the
situation of the government encampment. He was under the impression that
it was in a direction opposite to that in which they were moving, and
this determined his course. He was therefore wholly unconscious of
danger, and tranquil in mind, though his situation was critical.

Obed was puzzled to know in what manner to get the necessary
intelligence to his comrades. Chance gave him a suggestion. The man next
him wore round his neck a whistle--designed doubtless to use in case of
emergencies. It was of rather peculiar shape.

"That's an odd whistle you've got there, my friend," he said, "where did
you get it?"

"In Melbourne," answered the fellow unsuspiciously.

"I think I've seen one like it in the States. Let me look at it a
minute."

The bushranger allowed Obed to take it in his hand.

Suddenly Mr. Stackpole put it to his mouth, and gave a sharp, loud
whistle that awakened the echoes in the forest.

Like a flash Fletcher turned from his place at the head of the train and
eyed the bushranger with a frown. Obed had dropped the whistle, and was
walking on with an innocent look.

"What is this foolery, Hogan?" demanded Fletcher sharply. "Don't you
know better than to whistle?"

"I didn't, lieutenant," answered Hogan. "It was this man here."

"The Yankee?"

"Yes."

"How did he get the whistle?"

"He asked to look at it."

"What does this mean, Stackpole?" asked Fletcher angrily.

"Don't get riled, squire," said Obed imperturbably. "I just wanted to
try it, that's all. I had a whistle once a little like it. When I was
workin' for old Deacon Plummer in New Hampshire----"

"Confound old Deacon Plummer!" retorted Fletcher impatiently. "Don't you
know I might have you shot for what you've done?"

"Shot for whistling! Well, that beats all I ever heard of. I say,
squire, your laws are stricter than any I ever came across. I didn't
think I was doin' any harm."

"I will overlook it this time, but if you take any such liberty again,
I'll h