"Ole Jago's a deep un," soliloquised Harry as they rode along. "I forgot ter arsk 'im erbout the man we saw ridin' away as we came up," he remarked a few minutes later to Joe, who was riding at his side. "If that 'ere 'orse 'e wus ridin' warn't Samson, I'm a greenhorn."
"It might have been the young fellow that got away when Ben was shot. It struck me Jago was bluffin' you, Harry."
"My word, Harry," said Tom, riding up on the other side, "you bluffed ole Jago over the gold."
"Ain't so sure o' that," replied the stockman.
"No one could have done it better," broke in Joe. "You circumnavigated the truth."
"Don't know wot yer mean, my boy: unless it's somethin' in the circus line."
"Not exactly that," replied Joe laughingly; "but it reminds me of an epitaph I heard about, that was stuck on a fellow's tombstone—
HE TRIED HARD NOT TO BE A LIAR."
"Wot I said about tacklin' that ground's true ernuff, anyways," replied the stockman, with a smile. "But erbout this gold: we'll go shares, o' course. We'll divide it up inter five equal lots when we get to Bullaroi."
"No; that's not fair, Harry," said Sandy. "We must have a fair division."