The jealous glare
setted the point in our hero's mind. The disguised ruffian was
Murfrey. The next moment out popped a sleek, respectable looking
personage, carrying a Bible under his arm, and a walking stick in his
hand. He was dressed like a dissenting clergyman, wearing at his
throat the white bow that characterizes the Wesleyan preacher.
'The fear of God is the beginning of all righteousness. Tread ye in
His ways, my children,' he said, raising his hand above the group.
And then pronouncing a benediction, the miscreant departed.
The robber chief next appeared, and him our hero could never have
identified. Under his wide-brimmed hat tufts of curly chestnut hair
were visible; and his jaws and chin had a huge beard to match in
colour.
'Cattle dealer,' whispered The Lifter. The robber's clothing were
such as to harmonize with a man who bought and sold horses, bullocks
and flocks of sheep. In his hand he carried a heavy, knotted stick.
'We return at moonrise,' he said to the old woman as he turned away.
'Good luck, good luck to ee,' quavered the crone. 'A pocket-full o'
yallow shiners for yourself, me fine dear.
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