The hunter laughed. This well-remembered sound almost entirely removed McAuliffe's fear. Slowly and cautiously he dragged his head from the matting, then gazed fearfully upward. 'That was Billy's laugh,' he muttered. 'I don't reckon any ghost could raise such a racket.'
'Yes, Alf; you're scared of me, eh?'
'No, I'll be darned.' He clambered ungracefully to a sitting posture. 'I never was afraid of old Billy not when he was alive; so it sha'n't be said I'm scared of his ghost.'
'Well, shake, then,' said the hunter.
McAuliffe was still distrustful. 'Let's see you put down a dram first,' he said. 'If you can still drink whisky, you're Billy. If you can't, you're his ghost.'
'I was just waiting to be asked,' said the hunter, filling himself a glass. 'Here's to you, Alf.'
The latter was up in a second, grabbing at his hand. 'Sit light there, Billy,' he cried, forcing him into a chair. 'Tell us the yarn from start to finish. Darn it, I'm glad it wasn't the whisky. This is the second time you've scared me, Billy. I tell you, boys, straight, I thought I'd got 'em a terror. As there's no danger of the jumps, I reckon we'd better drink Billy's health, eh?'
A fresh bottle of spirit was cracked, and the glasses charged. 'I'm real glad to drink to you again, Billy,' continued the Factor, sniffing appreciatively the ascending aroma. 'Though, I tell you, you've shortened our lives by suddenly returning to yours. You haven't dealt square, Billy. Why didn't you turn up before? See here, now; there's got to be no more larking off to the grave, and rising again to drive your pards to total abstinence. Yes, Billy, if you'd been a ghost to-night, I should have turned temperance orator. I tell you straight I should.'
'But the yarn, Billy,' cried Dave. 'Didn't the nitchies try to fix you?'
'No,' replied the hunter. 'Somebody did their best to shoot me, but it wasn't a nitchi.'