Three men and a woman arrived in Sydney by the mail train from Bourke; there were not many passengers, and they attracted some attention. It was evident they came from out back, their appearance denoted it; they were clothed in a rough country style. They were Glen Leigh, Jim Benny, Bill Bigs, and the woman. They had very little luggage; it was contained in a couple of bundles, "swags," that could be strapped on the back, slung over a shoulder, or carried in the hand. Many people in Sydney have seen the once familiar figure of a tall Queensland millionaire walking along George Street with a similar outfit. In appearance Glen Leigh was not unlike him, only younger.

A porter watched them as they walked out of the station. They all seemed solicitous about the woman. The man understood the three, the female he was puzzled about.

"They can't have picked her up coming in the train. She belongs to one of them. I wonder which. The tall chap, perhaps. He's a big 'un; I fancy I've seen him before. I wonder where they're bound for?"

The porter's attention was claimed and he forgot all about them.

"There's a coffee place in Lower George Street that will do us for a time," said Glen, "till we've had a look round."

The woman stared about her wonderingly. If she had ever been in a large city it was evident she had forgotten all about it.

Since her illness, which was not yet shaken off, she had developed in body and mind, although as regards the latter it was to a great extent blank as to the past. She had some colour in her cheeks. There were signs that she would be pretty, with a good figure, and be an attractive woman.

She made no remarks as Glen and Jim walked on either side of her, Bigs following behind with the larger bundle. Several people turned to look at them as they went along.

The coffee house was large, but unpretentious, the locality being none of the best. It was at the Circular Quay end of George Street, and Chinamen's shops and dens abounded—dull dirty places, with a few empty tea chests in the windows, and bits of paper with Chinese characters scrawled, or printed on, in various colours, like cracker coverings on a table after a riotous Boxing Day dinner. In several of the shop doorways Chinamen leaned against the posts, seldom moving when a customer pushed by them into the shop, bent on playing fan tan, or smoking opium.

"The Chinkies might have been propped up there since I was here last, and that's a few years ago," laughed Bigs.

"Rotten lot," said Jim.

"Most of 'em. I've met one or two decent pigtails out West," Bill answered.

When the woman caught sight of the Chinaman it had a most peculiar effect upon her. She shrank close to Glen, pushing him on to the roadway, and almost slipping down herself. He saw by her face that she was terrified, and followed the direction of her glance. It was fixed on a fat Chinaman standing in his shop door looking across at them. He was not exactly repulsive, but he was sleek and oily. His face shone, his cheeks hung low, he had a double chin, and his eyes were like nuts fixed in slits.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," said Glen. "If he is a nasty-looking beggar I daresay he's harmless."

Jim and Bill noticed her agitation and scowled at the Chinaman, who returned the challenge with a broad grin, showing his yellow teeth.

She trembled violently. Her hand shook as it clasped Glen's arm with a tight squeeze. He hurried her on; she was quite willing. It was not until they were inside the coffee house that she recovered.

"You don't like the Chinamen?" asked Glen.

"I hate them. They frighten me," she said.

I wonder why? thought Glen, as a maid came to show her her room.

She looked back and asked, "Where is your room?"

"I don't know yet," returned Glen.

"Please don't go far away from me. Please don't."

"All right," replied Glen. "I'll see to that."

The maid smiled, but Glen's scowl quickly frightened it away.

"We'll have to fix something up," he said. "She'd better be somebody's sister. I'm too old; you take it on, Jim."

"Yes, Jim's most suitable. He's not much older—a matter of three or four years," agreed Bill.

"His sister!"

Jim didn't like the relationship. Once it was established it might be difficult to induce her to change the feeling. He must accept, however; there was no excuse for not doing so.

"Very well, that's settled. I'll tell her about it," went on Glen. "Try and explain to her, but she's as simple as a child, and won't understand the reason for it."

She was tired. The maid, who regarded her curiously, saw she was weak, and asked her if she had been ill. She said she had been very ill, for a long time, and she wanted rest.

"Lie down on the bed. Let me take your boots on. I'll draw the curtain round, and you can have a sleep. It will do you good. Have you travelled far?"

"From Bourke."

"Where's that?"

"In the West. Some hundreds of miles away."

This excited the maid's compassion. She was a good-natured kind girl, but fond of admiration, and she had seen a great deal of life since she came out as an emigrant from the old country.

"I'll be back in a minute," she said as she left the room. She went to ask if she could remain with her for a short time, and receiving a reply in the affirmative returned, after telling Glen she had persuaded her to rest.

"She's my friend's sister," and he pointed to Jim. "She's been very ill; take care of her."

"I'll look after her. I'm sorry I smiled as I did, but—"

"But what?" asked Glen.

"Oh, nothing. We see some queer folks here sometimes," she said.

"I daresay you do," replied Glen, "but we're all right. You needn't be afraid of any of us."

"I'm not," she retorted, unable to resist laughing at him.

"That girl's better than I thought," he remarked when she had gone.

"They often are, if you'll only take time to find it out," said Bill.

"Where's Jim?"

"He must have just gone out. I don't think he liked the sister business."

"Why not?" Glen asked, surprised.

"That remains to be seen," Bill answered, and the remark made Glen thoughtful.

Jim came in again and they had a council of ways and means.

Bill Bigs had a considerable sum of money. He had not half-poisoned the inhabitants of Boonara, and the keepers of the fence, and others, without making a handsome profit on his concoctions. His dealings in hay and provender of various kinds had been another source of income. Occasional loans, at heavy risks, and corresponding interest, had also brought grist to the mill.

The sale of his shanty to Garry Backham brought him in several hundred pounds, about twice the amount he valued it at, and he had not yet recovered from the surprise at his good luck, or at the fact that Garry had found the ready money in a lump sum. Altogether he had a few thousands at his back.

Glen Leigh had more money than the other two would have thought possible. He had it stowed away in a bank in Sydney, where it had remained, and been added to, ever since he had been on the fence.

Jim Benny had a few pounds which he carried with him.

"I'll look round," said Bill. "I'm the business man. I reckon I'd best stick to my own line and buy a 'house' if I can find a decent one at a fair price."

"It's about the best thing you can do," agreed Glen.

"And if I succeed, you two, and the girl, must put up with me until you find work," went on Bill.

Glen laughed.

"What sort of work?" he asked.

"That's a bit difficult, but two fellows who ride like you can ought to find some sort of occupation. Start a buckjumping show. Give 'em a taste of your quality; that's the game; I've hit on a little gold mine. We can get horses, and it won't cost a deal to run it."

"You mean have a real genuine show of buckjumping, and riding, in Sydney, and other places?" Glen queried.

"Yes, that's the idea."

"How much would it cost to start it?"

"A few hundreds. I'll find the money."

"I must have a share in it, and we'll let Jim come in. He can take it out in hard work," said Glen smiling.

"I'm willing to do anything you wish," Jim declared.

"If I manage to make the necessary arrangements," said Bill, "you'll have to go and find the horses, the very worst buckers you can get. There must be no faking about it."

"There'll be none where I am concerned," replied Glen, "I'll pick up some rough 'uns, you may depend on that, I say, Bill, I believe you've hit on the right thing."

"I'm sure I have. You're the best rider I ever saw sit a horse," said Bill.