The skins of the animals appeared to have been fitted to the legs and feet of our prisoner while green, and by drying them on his limbs he was then unable to remove them without an hour’s washing in water; a process which, by the looks of the fellow, he seemed to have no relish for; the dirt was glued upon his face as though it was warranted to wash, although it’s doubtful if he ever tried the experiment; and I may as well observe here that water was his abhorrence, and he never drank it unless he couldn’t get something stronger.  Upon the back of the scamp was a new blue flannel shirt, which he had stolen from the wagon, leaving his old one in exchange, and by the means of which we had traced him to his resting-place.  Around his neck was a silk handkerchief belonging to Smith, and on his head was a skin cap, with a long tail which hung over his shoulders and resembled the brush of a fox.

“Will ye call hoff the hanimal, and let me up?” cried our new acquaintance, casting rueful looks towards us.

“Where did you come from?” asked Fred.

“Vy, didn’t you see?  I dropped down from the tree.”

“Yes, we are aware of that; but how came you in this part of the country alone?”

“How does you know I’se ’lone?” asked the fellow, with such a significant leer that we involuntarily glanced over our shoulders as though expecting a gang of ferocious bushrangers to be within gunshot.

“Answer me,” cried Fred, with pretended sternness, placing the muzzle of the rifle against the fellow’s heart.  “Tell me where you came from, and what you wish in the neighborhood?”

“Vell, I vill, if ye von’t hinger my feelings with the cold iron.  Take away the gun and I’ll do the right thing.  ’Pon the ’onor of a gentleman, I will.”

We laughed at his last remark, and the fellow joined in with us good naturedly, as though he did not expect to be believed.

“Very well, sit up and tell your story,” we said; and calling off the dog, who manifested a great reluctance to obey, we permitted him to take an easier position.

“Vell, the fact of the matter is, I am strolling round ’ere just for the fun of shooting parrots.”

“You know that you are lying,” Fred said, sternly.

The fellow seemed to think a compliment had been paid him, for he grinned so hard that the dirt actually cracked on his face and peeled off in scales.  A motion towards our rifles brought him to his reason.

“Stop that,” he cried, “and I’ll tell hall.”

“Go on,” we repeated.

“Vell, then, I s’pose I’m ’ere for the same thing as vot you’re here for.”

“Well, what is that?” I asked.

“Vy, you know—­the hold boy’s tin vich he buried afore he vas taken up and dished.”

“What do you mean?” I inquired, wishing to see how much he knew.

“O, don’t ’tempt to gammon me, ’case I knows by the way that yer does—­that yer knows all ’bout the trick.  But I say, can’t I come in for shooks?”