Nic hurried up to him.
“Did you go and tell Leather?” he whispered.
“No go tell Leather fellow. Leather say mine come nigh get mumkull.”
“But I told you to go!”
“Leather mumkull Bungarolo. Mine not want mumkull.”
Nic uttered a low groan.
“Brooky look at mine. Come along, see where mine go. Doctor tell mine fetch sheep fellow. Mine go fetch sheep fellow.”
“It’s of no use—I must go,” said Nic to himself; and then, casting aside all hesitation, he started off at once straight for the fern gully, crossed the bridge, and then made a sharp turn off to the right along another path and down by the little river, where, upon reaching the clump of rough growth which bordered the pool where he had fished that day, he suddenly crouched down in among the tree ferns and listened.
There was cause for his suspicion.
He had not been hiding five minutes before he heard a rustling sound, and directly after he caught sight of the barrel of a gun, which was followed by the man who bore it.