is a mystery to me how he disappeared so soon after discharging his
gun," I said.

The old man shook his head, and, laying one finger on my arm,
whispered,--"Do you believe in spirits?"

"Do you mean this kind?" I asked, drawing a flask of excellent whiskey
from my pocket and offering him a drink.

"No, I didn't mean this kind," the stockman said, slowly raising it to
his mouth, and I could hear the liquor coursing down his throat in a
stream.

"No," he repeated, removing the bottle from his mouth, and drawing a
long breath, "I didn't mean these kinds of spirits, because there's no
harm in them, and the more a man gets the better he is off. I meant the
kind of spirits which wander about the earth, and play tricks upon
living men."

"Ah, a sort of ghost, I suppose you mean," I answered.

"Precisely," replied the stockman, mechanically taking the bottle from
my hand and again applying it to his lips; "ghosts are the fellows--they
do every thing without being seen; and why should not the spirit of
Gulpin hover around this spot, and repel all attempts to get at his
money?"

"I know of but two reasons," I replied, gently taking the bottle from my
friend's hands, for fear that my share of its contents would be very
meagre; "in the first place, ghosts usually don't care about money, as
they have no use for it in the country in which they spend a large
portion of their time."

"That's true," replied the man, making a dive to get the bottle in his
possession, but I prevented this, by applying it to my own lips.

"In the next place," I continued, pausing to take breath, "fire, but not
fire-arms is furnished to refractory spirits; and if I am any judge of
worldly matters, it was a piece of lead that whizzed past my head half
an hour ago."

"Then you don't believe that the sound which we considered the report of
a gun was produced by evil spirits, who are set here to guard the
treasure of Gulpin?"

"It is more likely a bushranger was secreted in the bushes, or behind
the trees, and that when he aimed, he intended to make short work of one
of us, in hope of frightening the remainder."

"Then give me another drink, and if the scamp wants a muss he can have
one, for I'm not going to remain here, broiling under the hot sun, all
day."

The old man snatched the flask from my hand, and before I could stop
him, had nearly drained it of its contents. I discovered, for the first
time, that day, that the stockman was no long