‘But if they’ve got the gold, why don’t they do somethin’?  There’s no word of it.  Rogers, if you’re foolin’ me over this—­’

‘Will you stop twiddlin’ those cursed feet of yours an’ listen to me?  They haven’t got the gold, but I think I’ve guessed who has.  That young whelp Haddon.’

‘Dickie Haddon?  How, how?  Where’s it now?’

’How in thunder should I know?  But I know the troopers didn’t get it.  They would have made some noise about it afore this.  See here, they were huntin’ that kid when they went into the quarry.  He must ‘a’ hid somewhere about when he heard them comin’; p’raps in that very tree.  Then he dragged the gold away before we got back, an’ hid it.  That’s my idea.’

‘An’ d’ye think he saw us?’

’I don’t.  He’d ‘a’ split at once.’

‘Well, well, an’ what’ll you do?’

‘Collar young Haddon, an’ frighten the truth out o’ him or break every bone in his cursed skin.’

‘But he’d know then, you fool.’

‘Will he?  I’ll take all sorts o’ care he doesn’t know me, you can take your colonial oath on that.’

‘An’ if you get the gold back, no dirty tricks.  It’s halves, you know—­fair halves!’

‘Yes, an’ haven’t you always got your share all fair an’ square?  An’ what’ ye you ever done fer it but whimper an’ cant an’ snuffle, like the cur you are?’

‘I was goin’ to give it up after this,’ whined Shine, disregarding Joe’s outburst, ‘an’ get married again, an’ live God-fearin’ an’ respectable.’

Rogers glared at him in the darkness, and laughed in an ugly way.

’Marry! ’he sneered.  ’Man, the little widow wouldn’t have you.  She’s waitin’ fer Frank Hardy; an’, as fer yer God-fearin’ life, you’re such an all-fired hippercrit, Shine, that I believe you fool yourself that you’re a holy man in spite o’ everythin,’ ’pon me soul I do!

’Ah, Joseph Rogers, the devil may triumph fer a while, but I’m naturally a child o’ grace, an’ if you’d on’y turn—­’

Rogers uttered an oath, and drawing back struck the searcher in the face with his open hand.

‘Enough o’ that!’ he cried.  ‘None o’ your sick’nin’ Sunday-school humbug fer me, Mr. Superintendent.  We’ve talked o’ that before.’

Shine arose, and moved back a few paces.

‘I’d better be goin’,’ he said. ’’Taint fer us to quarrel, Joseph.  Leave the usual sign when we’re to meet again.’

Bent over his unconscionable feet, he stole away amongst the trees, and a few minutes later Rogers moved oft slowly in another direction, towards the lights of the Drovers’ Arms.  His thoughts as he strolled were not very favourable to his fellow criminal.

‘Let me once get my hands on that gold,’ he muttered, ‘an’ I’ll bolt for ’Frisco.

CHAPTER XVII.