“You won’t get the horses to cross until you cover their eyes,” the ghost said.  “They have probably been mired some time or other, and know a bog as well as you.  Don’t waste precious time by fooling with the animals.”

We thought the advice was good, and we adopted it without delay, by tying our pocket handkerchiefs over the eyes of the animals, and in this condition I led my horse over the bridge, followed by Mr. Brown with the packed animal The ghost, having removed his head gear, held the gray while we were so employed.

We were obliged to proceed with great caution, for fear of a mis-step on the part of the animals, but fortunately we reached the island without an accident, but as we did so we heard a shrill croak from beneath the very palms where we had encamped.  The call was repeated in a dozen different directions, and then all was quiet, and not the rustling of a leaf could be heard to show that a large body of men were all tending to one point to investigate the cause of the alarm, and study over the mysteries of our encampment.

We secured our animals in a small valley at the further end of the island, and then returned cautiously to the bridge for the purpose of relieving the ghost of his distress, but, to our surprise, Mr. Brown’s gray horse and the supernatural gentleman were not to be seen.

“If the d——­d humbug has not run off with my horse!” muttered my friend, indignant at his loss.

“I don’t believe it,” I replied; “he has probably retired to the shade of those palm trees, seeing that no chance presented itself for getting the animal to us.”

“I hope so,” Mr. Brown said, “but fear the fellow is a horse thief, and having accomplished his object, will never return to this locality.”

I didn’t think so, but there was no use attempting to convince Mr. Brown of his error, and while we were discussing the matter, we had the supreme dissatisfaction of seeing ten well-armed men debouch from the group of palm trees, and, with heads bent to the ground, follow the tracks of our horses towards the bridge.

“We are in a pretty condition for a siege,” muttered my friend as he thought of the bushrangers attempting to starve us into a surrender, knowing very well that they would never attack us in our almost invulnerable position.

“Be quiet, and let us watch their motions,” I replied.

We were not so far from the main land but we could hear every word if spoken in an ordinary tone, for, as I said before, the night was unusually calm and quiet.

“D——­n it, don’t I know a horse’s track from a bullock’s?” we heard one of the bushrangers say, as though he was remonstrating with his companions.  “I tell you here’s the prints of three horses’ feet, and I’ll leave it to any native in Australia.  I’ve taken lessons from ’em in my lifetime, I have.”