"Bushrangers get there before us," muttered the natives.
"Kala is right. We must be under way, or the fellows will slip through our fingers. One drink all round, and here's success to our expedition."
While I was fitting my head gear the door opened, and in walked Day, his eyes glistening as though he had drank a cup too much of Mr. Wright's strong water.
"No, you don't," he said, surveying us from head to foot; "if you think that you can get off without the best ghost that the country can produce you are mistaken. You can count me in." "Then hurry and get ready," I exclaimed, "for we have not a moment to lose."
"Ready?" asked the shepherd, "ain't I all reedy as I am? I don't want your ile-skins to keep off a little wet. I'm used to it. Lead the way, blackies, and I'll keep close to your heels."
"But you have no weapons," Mr. Wright said.
"Ain't I got 'em? Look here!" and to my surprise, he produced from the bosom of his flannel shirt a large pair of horse pistols, which he had borrowed from one of the farm hands.
"You'll do; go ahead," our host said. And as we sallied into the entry we saw that all the laborers were drawn up in a line, as though to take formal leave of us.
"Please, sir, let me go wid you," I heard the familiar voice of the Irishman, who greeted me on my arrival, say.
"And me," cried a dozen voices, in the same breath.