So far there was neither sight nor sound of the mob, nor were there any indications of their presence at any recent date. From the range base another tack was taken, which brought them upon the edge of a scrub that had wedged itself into the plain. By this time the column had covered a lot of ground.
"We'll fringe the timber for a while, and then, if we've nae luck, we'll hae to divide; half to go into the ranges, and the other to keep richt along the plain. Keep weel in, lads, we'll cut that pint," continued the leader, as the men moved on through the outer fringe of scrub; while out on the plain, which was dotted with rosewood and myall clumps, the black boys moved with lithe and stealthy movements.
"Father, I hear a whistle!"
"Hist, men! quiet all o' ye!"
"There it's again!" exclaimed Sandy after a moment's silence, as a low whistle came from the plain. "That's Jacky's whistle, dad, sure enough. I'd know it among a thousand——"
"A' richt, my boy. Jacky's got something. We'll move oot quietly and see."
Wheeling to the right, the column soon arrived at the spot indicated by Jacky's whistle. The black boy stood by the side of his horse, pointing to some fresh droppings and to numerous hoof-tracks.
"What is it, Jacky?" exclaimed Mr. M'Intyre as the men rode up.
"Blendy brumby bin here, Boss, few minutes ago."
The tracks and signs were so fresh that, as the black said, it was only the question of a few minutes since they occupied the spot.