“Ten years—­four of ’em I passed at hard labor, and then I got a ticket of leave, and came out here as a shepherd.  I have been here two years last February, and should like well enough if I had plenty of ’bacco and rum.  Them ’ere things is hard to get in this part of the world, and I haven’t tasted a drop of rum for two months afore last night, when I got a sup out of your pack.”

Mr. Brown ground his teeth with suppressed emotion.

“How dared you meddle with our property?” demanded my companion.

“’Cos, how did I know it was yourn.  I found the pack covered with bushes, and I ’spose a man is entitled to what he finds in this part of the country?”

“That depends upon circumstances,” replied Mr. Brown, with a cautious glance at the place where Day had been excavating.  “For instance, if you have found a quantity of gold dust where you have been digging, it would not belong to you but to the lawful owners, or the agent of the owners, sent to recover it.”

“I don’t know about that,” cried the red-headed genius, with a cunning glance from his little eyes, “but I do know that if I find any thing here I shall hold on to it until somebody stronger than myself comes along.  I ’spose you would do so, and I shall.”

“Before we quarrel on that point,” I said, “perhaps you will inform us how you knew we were in search of hidden gold?”

“But I didn’t know till I saw you begin to dig.  I was lying under a palm tree when you crossed the Lodden yesterday, and I strongly suspected from your looks that you were bushrangers in search of a dish of mutton, in which case I should have tacked your bodies with a ball from my gun.  I followed you a few steps, and then crossed your trail, skirted Mount Tarrengower, and from the summit of a gum tree I watched your motions until dark, when I stole towards your camp for the purpose of listening to your conversation.  I heard ’enough to convince me that you were in search of hidden treasure, but before I could make out your plans you moved your camp to the Lodden, but left your pack behind, for which act of thoughtfulness I am much your debtor.”

“And to defeat our plans you turned ghost,” I said.

The red-haired genius chuckled as he answered,—­

“I thought that the easiest way to get rid of you, for I have tried the character before with some success.  Many a bushranger, anxious for a supper of fresh mutton, have I frightened into fits, and by that means my flocks are not molested near as much as my neighbors, ten or twelve miles from here.  I like to play the ghost, too, for it reminds me of the time when I was living with plenty of half and half, and lots of ’bacco at my control.  Wasn’t my groans beautiful?  People say that they is quite unearthly.”

We felt ashamed to say that we considered them in that light, and therefore dropped the subject, although we encouraged him to relate the further history of his exploits.