We left Fred hastening through the forest to the help of his friends at Bevan’s Gully.

At first, after parting from his comrade, he looked back often and anxiously, in the hope that Tom might find out his mistake and return to him; but as mile after mile was placed between them, he felt that this hope was vain, and turned all his energies of mind and body to the task that lay before him. This was to outwalk Stalker’s party of bandits and give timely warning to the Bevans; for, although Flinders’s hints had been vague enough, he readily guessed that the threatened danger was the descent of the robbers on their little homestead, and it naturally occurred to his mind that this was probably the same party which had made the previous attack, especially as he had observed several Indians among them.

Young, sanguine, strong, and active, Fred, to use a not inapt phrase, devoured the ground with his legs! Sometimes he ran, at other times he walked, but more frequently he went along at an easy trot, which, although it looked slower than quick walking, was in reality much faster, besides being better suited to the rough ground he had to traverse.

Night came at last but night could not have arrested him if it had not been intensely dark. This, however, did not trouble him much, for he knew that the same cause would arrest the progress of his foes, and besides, the moon would rise in an hour. He therefore flung himself on the ground for a short rest, and fell asleep, while praying that God would not suffer him to sleep too long.

His prayer was answered, for he awoke with a start an hour afterwards, just as the first pale light of the not quite risen moon began to tinge the clear sky.

Fred felt very hungry, and could not resist the tendency to meditate on beefsteaks and savoury cutlets for some time after resuming his journey; but, after warming to the work, and especially after taking a long refreshing draught at a spring that bubbled like silver in the moonlight, these longings passed away. Hour after hour sped by, and still the sturdy youth held on at the same steady pace, for he knew well that to push beyond his natural strength in prolonged exertion would only deduct from the end of his journey whatever he might gain at the commencement.

Day broke at length. As it advanced the intense longing for food returned, and, to his great anxiety, it was accompanied by a slight feeling of faintness. He therefore glanced about for wild fruits as he went along, without diverging from his course, and was fortunate to fall in with several bushes which afforded him a slight meal of berries. In the strength of these he ran on till noon, when the faint feeling returned, and he was fain to rest for a little beside a brawling brook.

“Oh! Father, help me!” he murmured, as he stooped to drink. On rising, he continued to mutter to himself, “If only a tithe of my ordinary strength were left, or if I had one good meal and a short rest, I could be there in three hours; but—”

Whatever Fred’s fears were, he did not express them. He arose and recommenced his swinging trot with something like the pertinacity of a bloodhound on the scent. Perhaps he was thinking of his previous conversation with Tom Brixton about being guided by God in all circumstances, for the only remark that escaped him afterwards was, “It is my duty to act and leave results to Him.”

Towards the afternoon of that day Paul Bevan was busy mending a small cart in front of his hut, when he observed a man to stagger out of the wood as if he had been drunk, and approach the place where his plank-bridge usually spanned the brook. It was drawn back, however, at the time, and lay on the fortress side, for Paul had been rendered somewhat cautious by the recent assault on his premises.

“Hallo, Betty!” he cried.

“Yes, father,” replied a sweet musical voice, the owner of which issued from the doorway with her pretty arms covered with flour and her face flushed from the exertion of making bread.

“Are the guns loaded, lass?”

“Yes, father,” replied Betty, turning her eyes in the direction towards which Paul gazed. “But I see only one man,” she added.

“Ay, an’ a drunk man too, who couldn’t make much of a fight if he wanted to. But lass, the drunk man may have any number of men at his back, both drunk and sober, so it’s well to be ready. Just fetch the revolvers an’ have ’em handy while I go down to meet him.”

“Father, it seems to me I should know that figure. Why, it’s—no, surely it cannot be young Mister Westly!”

“No doubt of it, girl. Your eyes are better than mine, but I see him clearer as he comes on. Young Westly—drunk—ha! ha!—as a hatter! I’ll go help him over.”

Paul chuckled immensely—as sinners are wont to do when they catch those whom they are pleased to call “saints” tripping—but when he had pushed the plank over, and Fred, plunging across, fell at his feet in a state of insensibility, his mirth vanished and he stooped to examine him. His first act was to put his nose to the youth’s mouth and sniff.

“No smell o’ drink there,” he muttered. Then he untied Fred’s neckcloth and loosened his belt. Then, as nothing resulted from these acts, he set himself to lift the fallen man in his arms. Being a sturdy fellow he succeeded, though with considerable difficulty, and staggered with his burden towards the hut, where he was met by his anxious daughter.

“Why, lass, he’s no more drunk than you are!” cried Paul, as he laid Fred on his own bed. “Fetch me the brandy—flask—no? Well, get him a cup of coffee, if ye prefer it.”

“It will be better for him, father; besides, it is fortunately ready and hot.”

While the active girl ran to the outer room or “hall” of the hut for the desired beverage, Paul slily forced a teaspoonful of diluted brandy into Fred’s mouth. It had, at all events, the effect of restoring him to consciousness, for he opened his eyes and glanced from side to side with a bewildered air. Then he sat up suddenly, and said—

“Paul, the villains are on your track again. I’ve hastened ahead to tell you. I’d have been here sooner—but—but I’m—starving.”

“Eat, then—eat before you speak, Mr Westly,” said Betty, placing food before him.

“But the matter is urgent!” cried Fred.

“Hold on, Mr Fred,” said Paul; “did you an’ the enemy—whoever he may be, though I’ve a pretty fair guess—start to come here together?”

“Within the same hour, I should think.”

“An’ did you camp for the night?”

“No. At least I rested but one hour.”

“Then swallow some grub an’ make your mind easy. They won’t be here for some hours yet, for you’ve come on at a rate that no party of men could beat, I see that clear enough—unless they was mounted.”

“But a few of the chief men were mounted, Paul.”

“Pooh! that’s nothing. Chief men won’t come on without the or’nary men. It needs or’nary men, you know, to make chief ’uns. Ha! ha! Come, now, if you can’t hold your tongue, try to speak and eat at the same time.”

Thus encouraged, Fred set to work on some bread and cheese and coffee with all the gusto of a starving man, and, at broken intervals, blurted out all he knew and thought about the movements of the robber band, as well as his own journey and his parting with Brixton.

“’Tis a pity, an’ strange, too, that he was so obstinate,” observed Paul.

“But he thought he was right” said Betty; and then she blushed with vexation at having been led by impulse even to appear to justify her lover. But Paul took no notice.

“It matters not,” said he, “for it happens that you have found us almost on the wing, Westly. I knew full well that this fellow Buxley—”

“They call him Stalker, if you mean the robber chief” interrupted Fred.

“Pooh! Did you ever hear of a robber chief without half a dozen aliases?” rejoined Paul. “This Buxley, havin’ found out my quarters, will never rest till he kills me; so as I’ve no fancy to leave my little Betty in an unprotected state yet a while, we have packed up our goods and chattels—they ain’t much to speak of—and intend to leave the old place this very night. Your friend Stalker won’t attack till night—I know the villain well—but your news inclines me to set off a little sooner than I intended. So, what you have got to do is to lie down an’ rest while Betty and I get the horse an’ cart ready. We’ve got a spare horse, which you’re welcome to. We sent little Tolly Trevor off to Briant’s Gulch to buy a pony for my little lass. He should have been back by this time if he succeeded in gettin’ it.”

“But where do you mean to go to?” asked Fred.

“To Simpson’s Gully.”

“Why, that’s where Tom and I were bound for when we fell in with Stalker and his band! We shall probably meet Tom returning. But the road is horrible—indeed there is no road at all, and I don’t think a cart could—”

“Oh! I know that” interrupted Paul, “and have no intention of smashing up my cart in the woods. We shall go round by the plains, lad. It is somewhat longer, no doubt, but once away, we shall be able to laugh at men on foot if they are so foolish as to follow us. Come now, Betty, stir your stumps and finish your packing. I’ll go get the—”

A peculiar yell rent the air outside at that moment, cutting short the sentence, and almost petrifying the speaker, who sprang up and began frantically to bar the door and windows of the hut, at the same time growling, “They’ve come sooner than I expected. Who’d have thought it! ............