and been successful. He owned miles upon miles of land, thousands of cattle, and his sheep ran into hundreds of thousands. Horses he had in abundance; how many he had no idea. He claimed all within reach of his land round Mintaro district, but never missed a dozen when they were taken. It pleased him to say they were his, so he did not grumble when Boonara men, and fencers, claimed a few. Bellshaw was difficult to understand, but one thing was certain: once he got his hold on a thing, he seldom let go.
He was a bachelor, but had a house in Sydney which cost him a considerable sum to keep up; he found it handy when he came to town. He owned racehorses, and his trainer was Ivor Hadwin, who had stables on the hill at Randwick. Hadwin was completely under Bellshaw's thumb, and was heavily in his debt. It was owing to pecuniary difficulties that he became connected with him. This was often the case with Craig Bellshaw. For once in a way the A.J.C. Meeting proved successful to the stable, and Bellshaw's horses had won four races, one on each day; all were heavily backed, and the bulk of the money had either been laid by Nick Gerard, or he had worked the commission. This was the subject of their conversation, and as they talked in the flare of the gaslights and the shops, many people turned to look at them, for both were well-known figures in the sporting world.
"Yes, Nick, I've had a pretty good meeting," said Craig.
Nick Gerard smiled.
"I should say you had. There are several thousands to your credit," he rejoined.
"What do you think of the dark bay – the fellow that won to-day?"
"Barellan? Oh, he's all right. A pretty fair horse I should say."
"Yes, he is, a good deal better than you think."
"Is he? I've seen him at work on the track. He won to-day, but I don't think he's the best you've got."
"No? Which is?"
"Flash."
Bellshaw smiled in his peculiar way as he said, "Perhaps he's a better track horse, but I'm sure Barellan is the better horse in a race, especially over a distance."
"He may be. When are you going back West?"
"Not yet. I'm sick of it. We've had such a long dry spell, but now we've had rain, a real soaker. We wanted it badly enough."
"It must be terrible when you have no rain for months."
"It is. You're lucky to be here always."
"Why don't you give it up now you've made your pile?"
"Throw it up? I can't afford it. You don't know what's hanging to Mintaro."
"A good deal, no doubt, but you're a single man, with no one dependent on you. It seems to me you're wasting your time. You've worked hard enough," argued Nick.
"So I have, but I couldn't live in Sydney always, any more than I could at Mintaro."
They talked for some little time. Eventually Gerard bade him good night and went over to Tattersalls. The squatter walked along Pitt Street, then hailing a cab drove to Surrey Hills. He called at a house, remained some time, then drove to Circular Quay, catching the last boat to Manley. It was beautiful on the harbour; a cool breeze was blowing from the heads. The moon shone, and as he leaned over the side he saw his face reflected in the water. This was peculiar. He did not remember having seen such a thing before. As he looked he clutched the rail with both hands, turned pale, and gasped. Reflected beside his face was another face, that of a young woman – he had not noticed a lady standing a short distance away from him who was also looking over the side of the boat.
He staggered away and went to the fore part of the steamer, where there was more breeze, and sat down. The perspiration broke out all over him. He felt faint for the first time in his life.
"I saw it. I'm sure of it, and it was like her face. I'm a fool to be frightened at a shadow on the water," and he laughed harshly, a mirthless sound.
CHAPTER VIII
WAYS AND MEANS
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
