having "most sharp and rasping voices."

"If that's singing," said Obed. "I shan't be afraid to try it myself."

"Don't you sing, Mr. Stackpole?" asked Jack, smiling.

"I thought I could once, when I was in my teens. I attended a singing
school, and went in the attic one Sunday mornin' to practise. Soon my
father was at the foot of the stairs, and asked me what I meant by
sawin' boards up in the attic Sunday mornin'."

Of course the boys laughed, but in spite of Obed's disclaimer thought
they would prefer listening to him to the cockatoos.

They got ready to move at seven, the boys having made sure of a bath
first. They were not destined to proceed far, however. About ten
o'clock, as they were skirting the woods, six men on horseback rode out
from the leafy covert. They seemed inclined to dispute the passage of
the party.

"What can they want?" ejaculated Harry, with a startled look.

"I expect they are bushrangers," said Obed.

CHAPTER X.

FLETCHER TURNS UP AGAIN.

Harry didn't need to be told that bushrangers in Australia correspond to
bandits in Italy and highwaymen in other countries. The escaped convicts
and desperate characters who are naturally attracted to a new country,
readily adopted the wild and lawless life of the bushrangers. Stories of
their outrages were common enough, and among the dangers apprehended in
a journey to or from the mines, that of meeting with a party of this
gentry was perhaps the most dreaded.

Though Obed Stackpole betrayed no emotion, but was outwardly quiet, his
heart sank within him when he saw the bushrangers strung along the
road.

"I guess our trip to the mines must be given up," said he in a low voice
to Harry.

Meanwhile Harry had been scanning the faces of the men who confronted
them, and made a surprising discovery.

"Look, Obed," he said eagerly, "at that man on the extreme right."

Mr. Stackpole did look.

"Dick Fletcher, as I'm a living sinner!" he ejaculated.

But at this point the leader of the bushrangers broke silence.

"Do you surrender?" he asked in brief, commanding accents.

"I think we shall have to, squire," answered Obed, to whom the demand
was naturally addressed. "But I would like to ask a question or two if
you don't mind."

"Go on."

"Are we prisoners of war? I didn't know for my part that there was any
war in this country."

"I have no time for foolish discussion," was the stern reply. "You must
give up what money you have ab