Kala said.

"Go on."

"We see many tracks, and we followed them."

"In which direction?" demanded Mr. Wright, eagerly.

"Come this way," the native said.

"Did you see the people?" asked our host.

"How many?"

"Six," Kala answered, holding up one of his fingers.

"Bushrangers?" our host continued.

At this question the two natives seemed puzzled, and they looked at each
other as though wondering what answer they should return.

"Two of them were not men," at length the native said.

"Boys?" suggested Mr. Wright.

The faintest shadow of a smile stole over their faces as Kala replied,--

"No boys. Wear things like shirt round legs, and funny hats on heads."

"Why, darn it, the rascals mean women," cried our host, with some energy
and considerable relief.

"Yes," was the prompt reply of Kala.

"They won't hurt you, man, unless they happen to fall in love with your
black skin and marry you. Then I'd not be responsible for your head."

"Men have long guns, and little guns in belts," continued Kala.

"Pooh!" said Mr. Wright, turning to us and refilling our glasses, "the
poor fellows have got frightened at their shadows. They have seen a
small party of miners on their way to Ballarat, and it's probable that
they have missed the direct road and got on one of the numerous trails
which sometimes puzzle the best stockmen. They will find their way out
after a fashion, although this is rather a hard night for exposing
females. You can go," he said, addressing the two natives, but the men
still lingered as though not satisfied with their visit.

"Miners no kill children," Kala exclaimed, briefly.

"How? Who has killed children?" demanded Mr. Wright, setting his glass
upon the table, its contents untouched.

Mr. Brown pricked up his ears and listened, for he had a slight
knowledge, of the aboriginal language, and understood a portion of the
conversation.

"Men take child and throw against a tree. No cry more," Kala said.

"The brutes!" muttered Mr. Wright, struck with consternation at the
atrocity of the deed.

"Four men, two women," continued Kala, holding up his fingers for us to
count. "All come this way, and seem in a hurry. Women cry, and men
swear; men make them ride on horses to go fast."

"This is news indeed," Mr. Wright said, turning to us, "and I hardly
know what to make of it. Can you solve the riddle?" addressing Mr.
Brown.

"It is plain," my friend rejoined. "A party of miners have bee