“To remain on the island, I suppose,” returned Mr. Brown, rather sulkily, “although I don’t see how we are ever to get back to town if we lose our animals.  I wouldn’t walk to Ballarat for half of Australia.”

“Can’t we manage to make the horses walk the bridge, and keep them on the island with us?” I asked.

“A good idea,” cried the red-haired genius, suddenly starting up, “and the only wonder is I never thought of it.  There is some danger in the attempt, but nothing compared to stealing a body in a graveyard in the heart of London.”

CHAPTER LXX.

THE GHOST AND THE BUSHRANGERS.

The shepherd, who seemed to weigh all emotions by the scale of a body snatcher, appeared to be delighted at the prospect of enjoying a little excitement, and began to examine the priming of his long gun with a degree of attention that showed how much reliance he intended placing upon it in case of emergency.

“I look upon you two coveys in the light of visitors to my possessions, and my honor is engaged to see that you come to no harm,” cried the undertaker’s apprentice, with a wave of his right hand, as dignified as though he owned the many acres indicated, instead of receiving only about fifty pounds per annum, not including his sugar and coffee.

I think that I expressed a proper degree of gratitude for the shepherd’s promised protection, but I intimated that I had lived long enough in Australia to learn how to protect myself.

“Never you mind that,” continued the red-haired man, busying himself with the bullock’s head.  “I shan’t be wanting if a little fighting is to be done.”

“Then lend us your aid in leading the horses over the bridge, and don’t let us lose time in debating the project,” I said, preparing to undertake the expedition in company with Mr. Brown.

“Don’t be in a hurry.  Wait for me, ’cos I’m the most important one here at present,” continued Day, still working over the head which had so frightened my friend and myself.

“If you think that your presence is so necessary, we will convince you to the contrary by going without you,” replied Mr. Brown, rather tartly.

“There you go,” exclaimed the fellow, with perfect composure; “when I intend to do all that I can to save you coveys from being shot and then hung, you get as mad as foaming beer, and don’t want to listen to reason.  Be guided by me, and things will come out all right.”

“I am not so sure of that,” I replied, with an incredulous air.

“Seeing is believing then.  You ain’t got some strings in your pocket, have you?” our newly-found friend continued.

“Strings? no, we have something else to think about at the present time,” cried Mr. Brown.

“I’m sorry for that, ’cos a few rods of twine or tape, such as we use to line coffins with, would be worth considerable just now.”