“In Melbourne,” answered the fellow unsuspiciously.
“I think I’ve seen one like it in the States. Let me look at it a minute.”
The bushranger allowed Obed to take it in his hand.
Suddenly Mr. Stackpole put it to his mouth, and gave a sharp, loud whistle that awakened the echoes in the forest.
Like a flash Fletcher turned from his place at the head of the train and eyed the bushranger with a frown. Obed had dropped the whistle, and was walking on with an innocent look.
“What is this foolery, Hogan?” demanded Fletcher sharply. “Don’t you know better than to whistle?”
“I didn’t, lieutenant,” answered Hogan. “It was this man here.”
“The Yankee?”
“Yes.”
“How did he get the whistle?”