Poley gave a gruff laugh, and answered with an oath: “—— if I don’t try it on with three score! The cove is so jolly green, it’s my belief he’ll never miss ’em. I began with twos an’ threes, an’ now I have worked it up to a score, and I’ve al’ays got over the cove somehow. What does sich as him know about sheep an’ farmin’? —— if I don’t try four score—good yows, too; so you must stand something handsome.”
“To-morrow morning then, at the old place—Sal’s Pannikin.”
“All right! I’ll work round there about an hour after sunrise.”
Then something was said about the overseer; but what, Walter could not make out. Not waiting to hear any more, he crept back to his horse, mounted, galloped home, and told his father what he had heard. At first the captain was going to consult with the overseer; but one or two little things recently had rather shaken his confidence in the overseer, and so he sent for Long Steve instead. Long Steve knew Sal’s Pannikin well. It was a lonely hollow in an unoccupied part of the bush, and was called Sal’s because on its brink a Mrs. Sarah Mullins had once kept a most disreputable sly drinking-house. Strange goings on had taken place there. At last the landlady had been brutally murdered in her own house, and after that it was allowed to go to ruin, and had the reputation of being haunted.
“What was the other man like, Master Walter?” asked Long Steve.
Walter could only say that he talked very much as if he had a hot potato in his mouth.
“Oh, that’s little Dick Green, at the head of the lagoon,” cried Long Steve, half disappointed at not having found a worthier foeman. “It’s hard, Cap’en, if you an’ me can’t nab little Dick Green an’ the Poley.”
“Would you like to go, Walter?” said the Captain. “I think it’s only fair that you should see the fun.”
Of course Walter wanted to go. So it was arranged that Steve should have tea and chops ready, and three horses saddled, at his hut (which stood apart from the other men’s), and call his master and Walter at half-past two next morning. The Captain thought it advisable to start thus early, in case the sheep-stealers should have changed their minds after Walter left them, and agreed to meet at an earlier hour for safety’s sake.
Walter greatly enjoyed his early breakfast by the wood fire in Long Steve’s hut, and the silent ride through the bush—all three armed. But when they had put up their horses in Sal’s ruined stables, and were crouching in Sal’s roofless parlour, on the cracked hearthstone of which a frog was croaking dolefully, the adventure did not seem quite so jolly to Walter.