We saw no more of him until towards night, and then he was in front of the hut cleaning his long, heavy musket.
CHAPTER VIII.
AN EXPEDITION.—A FIGHT WITH BUSHRANGERS.—DEATH OF BLACK DARNLEY.
"I don't like the expedition," said Smith, pettishly, as he saw Fred and myself examining our powder-flasks and counting bullets.
"Then stay here and await our return," cried Fred, bluntly, looking up from his work.
Smith moved uneasily, muttered something in an under tone, felt the edge of his constant companion, a heavy axe, and then replied,—
"If you two harum-scarum youngsters are determined to get your throats cut, I don't see but that I shall have to be near at hand. But I tell you it is bad business, and none but crazy men would think of penetrating that dark forest in search of bushrangers."
"You wouldn't let that old man go alone, would you?" we asked.