"I think it's the moon just rising," one of the men ventured to say.
"There's no moon to-night," was the brief rejoinder.
"Then what is the meaning of the light?" was the inquiry; but no one seemed to fathom it.
Presently a few clouds passed over the heavens, and then we smelled smoke, of which they seemed composed.
"The bushrangers can't have set fire to the stockman's hut, can they?" asked Murden.
"They could not have crossed the prairie so soon, and the distance is too great to allow of such a reflection," was my answer.
"Hark, I hear the cracking of bushes," said Fred; "some one is approaching us."
"Look to your guns, men," called out Murden; "we do not know but this may be a device of the robbers to get a glimpse of us."
The policemen cocked their carbines, and sheltered their forms from the bright light behind trees and bushes.