“Who’s going there to make a search?” one asked.

“Not I,” said one.

“Nor I.”

“Nor I.”

“Fools, are you afraid of your own shadows?” demanded one robber, more bold than the others.

“I don’t fear any man, if he comes at me single, but I don’t like fighting with the devil and his imps!” exclaimed the superstitious bushranger, and I judged that a majority of his comrades sided with his idea, and seemed much more disposed to return to camp than to weary themselves with a search for unknown foes.

“You know what the cap’n will say if we go back without a good report.  It’s easier for us to work now, than to scout over the whole ground again,” we heard the man who had followed the trail say.

“Yes, but why don’t he take some work and do it?” demanded another, who was disposed to grumble at the order of things.

“You had better ask him,” some one answered, dryly.

“Not I,” was the response; “I value my head too dearly.”

The others laughed, and for a few minutes held a whispered conversation, the burden of which seemed to be that there was something concealed beneath the branches of the palm trees, and that it was advisable to make an examination as soon as possible, but no one was disposed to lead the way, for reasons—­first, if an enemy, and well armed, he could easily kill two or three of his assailants before discovery, and second, the robbers were not sure but that there was truth in the story of their comrade concerning the ghost of Buckerly, and if there was, they did not care about an encounter with a spirit from the other world, who was proof against powder, steel, and lead.

While they were still discussing the question in tones so low that we could not hear all that passed, I thought how materially we could be aided by the shepherd, if he was so disposed.

I was almost fearful that Mr. Brown’s suspicions were correct, and that he left us to take care of ourselves, while he made his escape on my friend’s valuable horse, worth, at any station, about fifty pounds.

“Look,” cried my companion, nudging me with his elbow; “the devils have made up their minds to run the risk, and search for the horse in the shadow of the palm trees.”

As he spoke, I saw the gang move forward in a compact body, as though borrowing encouragement from each other, and one or two pretended to laugh, as if scorning all apprehensions, but I thought that the mirth did not come from their hearts.

When about midway between the trees and the bridge, I observed them halt suddenly, and while I was wondering for what, forth, from amid the leaves and branches of the palms, rode a figure that loomed up in the moonlight in colossal proportions.

For a moment I forgot that the shepherd was acting the part of a ghost, and I felt, a little of the old symptoms return, but they were soon banished, and then I was prepared to enjoy the rich treat of seeing how other men acted when dealing with what was supposed to be a visitant from the other world.