"Our visitor seems in a happy mood," said Bob, turning to look.
Mackay grunted, Jack laughed outright, for distinctly through the still air came the staccato refrain—
"A—bright—wee—muskittie—sat—on—a—tree."
The horseman was coming forward at an easy trot, jerking out the plaintive strains of Mackay's pet ditty to the novel time of his steed's clattering hoof-beats. As yet he was too far distant to be plainly distinguishable, but the song was enough for Mackay.
"It's that confounded Shadow wha's murderin' that bonnie verse," said he; "but how in the name o' goodness can he be back already? An' he's got a horse, too. A good hundred and fifty miles in three days. Well, well——"
At this stage, Nuggety Dick, Emu Bill, Dead Broke Dan, and Never Never Dave made their hasty appearance, all in a state of extreme excitement.
"I do believe it's the Shadow!" cried Nuggety.
"It's the Shad, right enough," grinned Jack; "don't you hear him?"
Louder swelled the melancholy chorus—