he rear
of us.

"That says, stop where you are, plain enough," remarked Day, checking
his horse; an example which we were not slow in following.

"But if we remain here we shall get no supper," I remarked.

"That is the truest word that you ever uttered," cried Mr. Brown, with a
grin, at our predicament.

"Will you go forward, Day, and let Mr. Wright know that we are friends?"
I asked; but the shepherd shook his head, and declined, and manifested a
willingness to retreat from the neighborhood of the house, although I
will do him the justice of stating that he showed no signs of fear.

"Look at the cowards at the windows of the house," cried Mr. Brown; and
sure enough, the inmates of the building had thrown open the iron
shutters, and were gazing at us with some curiosity, although I noticed
that each man held a musket in his hand for fear of surprise.

"I wouldn't refuse to speak with all the bushrangers in Australia, if I
had a fortress like that to retreat into," muttered Mr. Brown, with a
smile of contempt.

"Let us cross the Lodden, and find the Hawkswood station," suggested
Day, "I'll warrant that we shall get something to eat, and perhaps a
drink of rum there. I've had a taste of the hospitality of that place
more than once."

I was almost resolved to follow the advice, but a look at the heavens
convinced me that we should have rain before many hours, owing,
probably, to the fire which was raging at a distance, as fiercely as
ever, and night was nearly upon us. Besides, I began to feel really
exhausted for the want of food and rest, and I was fearful that if Day
should miss the trail we might wander about until daylight, and still be
some distance from the place we were in search of.

With these opinions I combated both Mr. Brown and Day, and made an
impression, for the former exclaimed pettishly, that if I was desirous
of remaining, I might devise some way of giving Mr. Wright and his
numerous proteges intelligence of our honesty. The task was a difficult
one, but I scorned to be at a loss for expedients.

In the bosom of my shirt I had a handkerchief, made of India silk, and
of a yellow color, but at a short distance it appeared white, and I
thought it would answer for a flag of truce. Therefore, before my
companions were aware of my intention, I flourished the handkerchief
over my head, and galloped at a moderate pace towards the house,
expecting every moment that I should get a shot for my reckless