"How is this?" I asked; "are we not to start immediately? Delays are dangerous."
"Patience, my friends," returned the officer, leading the way towards the stockman's hut. "I value your lives too much to think of asking you to undertake a jaunt of twelve or thirteen miles at noonday, when the sun is hottest."
"But we are capable of the task," replied Fred, energetically.
"I have no doubt of it, gentlemen; but if you can endure heat and privation, my men and horses cannot. Why, before we could gain the edge of yonder wood, half of the men would be sun-struck, and two-thirds of the animals would expire for the want of water. No, no, trust to me, and let us take the cool of the evening."
"But we shall reach the woods too late to make an investigation," I said.
"It is very probable," answered the officer, entering the hut, where the convict's daughter was lying on a rude bedstead, made of the skin of an ox.
"But have you no fear of an ambuscade?" exclaimed Fred, who began to entertain an opinion that the lieutenant was not well posted on the subject of bush-fighting.
"Not in the least," replied the Englishman, removing his coat and heavy sword belt, and stretching himself on a box.
"O, then you will keep skirmishers in advance of the main body, I suppose?" Fred said.
"No," answered the officer, lighting his pipe: and then, observing an expression of surprise on our faces, he continued,—