“Better place higher up, sir,” said one of the men. “There’s a little branch of the stream goes off west: I followed it the other day after a sheep. I think we could get far enough up the mountain then to cross over and strike the other stream.”
“Right,” said Mr Raydon at once; “that will be better. All ready? Ammunition?”
“Ready! ready!” rang along the little line.
Mr Raydon nodded.
“No talking, and go as silently as you can; sound travels in these high parts, and we do not know how high up the scoundrels may be camping. Now, understand once more—single file till we cross over into the other valley, then spread out as widely as the place will allow, and keep as level a line as possible. The object is to drive these men back to the mining party, and not one must break through our line now. You lead. I trust to you to get us well over into that valley.”
The man who had spoken of the branch from the stream stepped to the front, rifles were shouldered, the word was given, and with Mr Raydon next to the leader, and I behind him, carrying a spare rifle and the surgical case, the advance was begun.