rtain sure,' said Peterson. 'My boy said
he left him in the paddock, an' I s'pose he can't be fur, but I tell you
you won't get him, he's that cunnin'. He's fuller o' wickedness an'
wisdom, an' good an' bad, than any boy you ever see, sergeant.'

'Ah, well, we'll move on and try the other spot; but I would like to have
the dear boy for five minutes now, while I feel in the humour to knock
some of the bad out of him.'

They started off again, and when the beat of hoofs was lost in the
distance Dick crept from his hiding-place and climbed up out of the
quarry. He now stole to a position from which he could command a view of
the hollow tree, whilst remaining under thick shelter and leaving himself
an excellent opening for retreat. His blood was full of the excitement of
this new adventure, a true adventure dealing with theft and murder. He
was afraid, terribly afraid, but it seemed to him that all his emotions
were held in abeyance: he was conscious of their existence, but they no
longer ruled him. One thing was paramount, his determination to know
everything of the crime that had been perpetrated in the main drive of
the Silver Stream. Fragments of thoughts seemed to flicker up like flames
within him and die out again instantly, and he repeated constantly under
his breath without knowing why:

'Her father! Her father! Her father!'

There was something to be done--much to be done, and one important thing,
one thing that meant life or death; but these must come after. Now he was
wild to know all that the thieves might tell.

Rogers was the first to come crawling back to the tree. He scattered the
loose rubbish in the hollow trunk, and uttered a fierce oath.

'It's gone, gone, gone!' he almost shouted as Shine joined him.

'You lie, you lie! You want to rob me!' the long searcher had flown at
his throat, and for a few seconds they struggled together, but Rogers
threw the older man off fiercely and dragged him by the throat to the
tree.

'Feel, search, look for yourself, you hound!' he cried. 'Could I eat it?'

Shine, going on his hands and knees, clawed amongst the rubbish; then,
whining and muttering, went scratching about like a dog, seeking high and
low, and Rogers followed him blaspheming with insensate fury.

'It's no good, I tell you, you snuffling, whimpering, white-livered cur!'
he said. 'Those men have got away with it, curse them!'

But Ephraim continued his search, creeping under the scrub, scratching i