The man looked up coolly; he was on his knees.

“We are newly arrived and just going to pitch, and a digger told us we must not come within thirty yards of the captain’s tent, so we are measuring the distance.”

“Well, measure it—­and keep it.”

Robinson stayed by his tent till the man, whose face was strange to him, had measured and marked the ground.  Soon after the tent in question was pitched, and it looked so large and new that the man of property’s suspicions were lulled.

“It is all right,” said he, “tent is worth twenty pounds at the lowest farthing.”

While Black Will and his gang were scheming to get the friends’ gold, Robinson, though conscious only of his general danger, grew more and more nervous as the bag grew heavier, and strengthened his defenses every day.

This very day one was added to the cause of order in a very characteristic way.  I must first observe that Mr. McLaughlan had become George’s bailiff, that is, on discovery of the gold he had agreed to incorporate George’s flocks, to use his ground and to account to him, sharing the profits, and George running the risks.  George had, however, encumbered the property with Abner as herdsman.  That worthy had come whining to him lame of one leg from a blow on the head, which he convinced George Jacky had given him with his battle-ax.

“I’m spoiled for life and by your savage.  I have lost my place; do something for me.”

Good-hearted George did as related, and moreover promised to give Jacky a hiding if ever he caught him again.  George’s aversion to bloodshed is matter of history; it was also his creed that a good hiding did nobody any harm.

Now it was sheep-shearing time and McLaughlan was short of hands; he came into the mine to see whether out of so many thousands he could not find four or five who would shear instead of digging.

When he put the question to George, George shook his head doubtfully.  “However,” said he, “look out for some unlucky ones, that is your best chance, leastways your only one.”

So McLaughlan went cannily about listening here and there to the men who were now at their dinners, and he found Ede’s gang grumbling and growling with their mouths full; in short, enjoying at the same time a good dinner and an Englishman’s grace.

“This will do,” thought the Scot, misled like continental nations by that little trait of ours; he opened the ball.

“I’m saying—­my lads—­will ye gie ower this weary warrk a wee whilee and sheer a wheen sheep to me?”

The men looked in his face, then at one another, and the proposal struck them as singularly droll.  They burst out laughing in his face.

McLaughlan (keeping his temper thoroughly, but not without a severe struggle).  “Oh, fine I ken I’ll ha’e to pay a maist deevelich price for your highnesses—­aweel, I’se pay—­aw thing has its price; jaast name your wage for shearing five hunder sheep.”