"He's the wickedest, cruellest, of all the lot, Ally. They call him the Tenderhearted Oysterman out of fun. He's always sayin' how soft-hearted he is, but he would think as much of killin' you and me as he would of killin' a fly. After that I falls off in a doze, and presently I hears 'em talkin' agin, between-whiles, like, 'If the escort's too strong for us,' ses Jim Pizey, 'we can tackle the squatters' stations. Some of the squatters keeps heaps of money in their houses.' And then they called over the names of a lot of stations where the squatters was rich men."
"Did you hear them mention Highlay Station, Grif?" the girl asked, anxiously.
"Can't say I did, Ally."
The girl gave a sigh of relief.
"Who were there, Grif, while they were talking?"
"There was Jim Pizey, and Ned Rutt, and Black Sam, and the Tenderhearted Oysterman, and--" but here Grif stopped, suddenly.
"Who else, Grif?" laying her hand upon his arm.
"I was considering Ally," the boy replied, casting a furtive look at her white face, "if there was anybody else. I was 'arf asleep, you know."
The girl gazed at him with such distress depicted in her face that Grif turned his eyes from her, and looked uneasily upon the ground. For a few moments she seemed as if she feared to speak, and then she inquired in a voice of pain,--
"Was my husband there, Grif?"