"O, an old stockman once told me that a shepherd was roasted near these diggings by a gang of bushrangers, who wanted him to give up some money that he had. The covey was stuffy, and refused, or else he hadn't got any, I don't know which is the right story, but this I am positive of, I'd sooner give up all I was worth than be burned at the stake."
"Perhaps the reason is, you are worth nothing," suggested Sam, after a brief survey of the speaker.
"You have hit the nail of the coffin on its head this time," chuckled Day. "I don't see a sovereign from one year's end to t'other, and don't 'spect to till my time has expired, so that I can work for myself."
"You are a ticket of leave man, then?" demanded Sam, with more feeling than he had shown during the interview.
"Well, if I wasn't I shouldn't be here, working for thirty pounds a year, when there's gold to be dug for the mere paying of a license. No, no, just wait till I can call myself my own master, and then the sheep and stock may go to the devil, for all that I care."
"Can't you tell us something more about the ghost?" asked one of the men, who seemed to take an especial interest in Day's narrative.
"Well, I don't like to talk about the matter, 'cos 'tis said that the old feller visits those who are too intimate with his name. My comrade, who is at the other end of the station, told me once that he saw the Hunter when he was all in a blaze, and that when he spoke the ghost and flames disappeared. I don't believe half what he tells me though, 'cos I 'spose he tries to frighten me, but I've got as much courage as he has, any day."
There was a breathless silence for a few moments, and the robbers seemed to be digesting the story which they had listened to. We could see them whispering together, and apparently were disposed to believe what the shepherd had said.
"Here are the prints of horses feet," Sam exclaimed, pointing to the ground. "Have you seen horsemen in this vicinity lately?"