"Of course I would," returned Mr. Brown. "Who knows but you may find a buried treasure there if you keep on digging?"
"Is that what you coveys was arter?" demanded the red head, with a degree of interest which he had not shown before. "I 'spected it when I seed you yesterday crossing the Lodden, and I determined to watch."
"What are you doing in this part of the country?" asked Mr. Brown, rather sternly, "as a recollection of the loss of his bottle of liquor the night before began to dawn upon his mind.
"You have no right to question me any more than I have you," was the sulky response.
"Who are you then?" the other asked, somewhat impatiently.
"That's for you to find out the best way you can. If confidence is wanted, why, tell me who you are," and the red-haired genius seated himself on the edge of the excavation, as though awaiting an answer, although he still kept in sight his long and dangerous looking knife.
"I know who you are," my friend said, at a venture; "you are a shepherd on the Hawkswood estate. We are officers of the law from Ballarat."
"It's a lie," was the brief rejoinder. "I don't believe any thing of the kind."
"You d——d vagabond," cried Mr. Brown, snatching the long gun from my hand and presenting it to the fellow's heart, "I have a strong desire to blow your liver out."