SAGACITY OF A DOG.—A NIGHT'S ADVENTURES.
"Gentlemen," asked Lieutenant Murden, as the policeman brought the horses to the door, "I hope you know how to ride."
"We have done a little in that line," answered Fred.
"Then I shall allow three of my men to remain behind, to lend the stockman and his daughter such assistance as they may want, while Smith and yourselves will take their animals. Now, then, mount."
We slung our rifles over our shoulders by the means of leather straps, and in a few minutes were cantering across the prairie at an easy gait, and in the direction of the bushrangers' late retreat.
It was near nine o'clock when we reached the edge of the forest, and drew up near the spot where we had entered the day before by the secret path.
The stillness of the woods was oppressive; for not a tree waved its bough, nor did a breath of air sigh over the plain. The night owl alone sent forth its discordant shriek, as though troubled with ominous forebodings regarding its future fate, and was protesting against them.
"This silence is more dreadful than the howling of wolves," cried Fred, at length, as he sat in his saddle, and regarded the dark forest before him.
"Those trees, if they could speak, would tell of tales of blood and cruelty, equal to that which I related yesterday," said Murden, after a short pause.
"And do you think that there are other gangs of bushrangers concealed in those dark recesses?" I asked.