“Well, I don’t like to talk about the matter, ’cos ’tis said that the old feller visits those who are too intimate with his name.  My comrade, who is at the other end of the station, told me once that he saw the Hunter when he was all in a blaze, and that when he spoke the ghost and flames disappeared.  I don’t believe half what he tells me though, ’cos I ’spose he tries to frighten me, but I’ve got as much courage as he has, any day.”

There was a breathless silence for a few moments, and the robbers seemed to be digesting the story which they had listened to.  We could see them whispering together, and apparently were disposed to believe what the shepherd had said.

“Here are the prints of horses feet,” Sam exclaimed, pointing to the ground.  “Have you seen horsemen in this vicinity lately?”

“Heaven forbid,” cried Day.  “The only horse that visits these parts is rode by the Hunter.”

“Then we will give him fire to light him on his way,” exclaimed Sam, with a forced laugh, and calling his men he turned and walked towards his late encampment, and was soon lost to view.

His gang followed close at his heels, and we were not sorry to see them depart, although we could not help wondering what was meant by the threat of finding fire for the supposed ghost.  We found out, however, full soon, and owed the scamp a bitter grudge for his work.

The shepherd pretended to walk rapidly in the direction of the stock-house, but concealed himself amid the trees, and waited until he thought the last robber had retired from sight, when he again joined us, and received our hearty congratulations for his good conduct.

“Now, then, let us have another search for the treasure,” cried Mr. Brown, springing into the hole which Day had excavated, after he had frightened us from the island.

“And you can’t be too quick about the work, neither,” muttered the shepherd.

I asked for a meaning to his expression, but he declined answering, and seizing the pick began to tear up the sods with lusty strokes, but before a dozen blows wore struck, I heard the point of his pick strike something that gave forth a metallic sound.

“Hold on, Day,” I cried, “the prize is within our grasp at last.”

I carefully removed the dirt with my hands, and had the satisfaction of bringing to light a canvas bag that was so decayed that it barely supported the heavy weight which it contained.

Mr. Brown and the shepherd were almost frantic with delight, and would have cheered lustily, had not fear of bringing the bushrangers upon us again restrained them.

“Down with it, so that I can say I have seen some money in my lifetime!” cried Day.  “Empty it out, and let me feel of it; let me but touch the precious yellow boys with my fingers, and wonder how many splendid funerals it would pay for.”