"How fares it with you?" asked Fred, making an examination of the injured limb.
"Bad enough," replied Mr. Brown, with a sigh. "I don't think that any bones are broken, but the flesh is awfully bruised."
"That is true enough," answered Fred, tearing his handkerchief into strips, and binding up the bleeding limb with as much coolness as a professional surgeon; "the flesh is mangled, but it will heal in less time than a broken limb, and I must congratulate you on your lucky escape."
"Lucky escape?" repeated the inspector, bitterly; "you talk as though we were not surrounded by six bloodthirsty scamps, who will greatly rejoice to make a prisoner of me. Why did you not escape when my horse fell? You could have done so."
"We grant that; yet we Americans have peculiar notions regarding some things, and we are apt to call a man a coward who deserts a friend in distress. We sink or swim in the same boat, to-day."
The inspector faintly squeezed our hands, and a gratified expression beamed upon his face, yet his pain was too great to allow him to reply; and Fred and myself began to consult how we could bring into play the early lessons which we had learned while mining in California, and surrounded by tribes of hostile Indians.
We were no longer bound to regard the advice of the inspector, even if he had been disposed to offer it, which he was not, and after a slight deliberation we came to a conclusion, and resolved to act upon it. For this purpose we removed Mr. Brown to a place of greater security, and after informing him that we should not be far off, and that he was to remain silent until our return, we crept along under the bank for some distance, stopping every few minutes for the purpose of listening, yet making no noise by our movements.
The ravine, as I said before, led between two high hills, and each bank was perpendicular, and covered, at the edges, with small gum trees. There was only one place on the left bank, where the bushrangers were stationed, that could be descended, and unless the ruffians made an attempt to reach us by that single place, they would be compelled to go a mile or two to descend the hill, and then enter the ravine at the outlet. By attempting to surprise us by entering the ravine the way that we did, the distance would be greater and more difficult. We therefore reasoned that the bushrangers, after waiting an hour or more, and finding that we made no stir, would attempt to secure the two horses that were quietly grazing nearly opposite the place where the bank was most shelving, and that they would seek for the quickest way of accomplishing their object. We therefore resolved to station ourselves near the animals, and see what would happen.
By good fortune we found a large ridge of earth, formed like a shelf, about four feet wide, which the water had gullied out when rushing through the ravine, during the winter months—and under this we stationed ourselves, and waited patiently, well aware that we were secure from observation from our enemies, unless some of them happened to be on the opposite bank, which we did not expect.
Half an hour passed, and there were no signs of the enemy. Our horses had approached us once or twice, but as we paid no attention to them, they had wandered off, and were standing in the shade of the west bank for the purpose of getting rid of some of the insects which were hovering in the air, and biting with a sharpness that proved they had been without food for many days.