breeches, topped by an immaculately folded stock, and a smart tweed
cap.

"That feller plenty new," said black Billy, gazing at him with
astonishment.

Mr. Linton chuckled as he swung Norah to her saddle.

"Let's hope his horsemanship is equal to his attire!"

Norah smiled in answer. Bobs was dancing with impatience, and she
walked him round and round, keeping an eye on her cousin.

A steady brown mare had been saddled for Cecil--one of the "general
utility" horses to be found on every station. He cast a critical eye
over her as he approached, glancing from her to the horses of his uncle
and cousin. Brown Betty was a thoroughly good stamp of a stock horse,
with plenty of quality; while not, perhaps, of the class of Monarch and
Bobs, she was by no means a mount to be despised. That Cecil
disapproved of her, however, was evident. There was a distinct curl on
his lip as he gathered up the reins. However, he mounted without a
word, and they set off in pursuit of Murty O'Toole, the head stockman,
who was already halfway to the cutting-out paddock.

The Clover Paddock of Billabong was famous--a splendid stretch of
perfect green, where the cattle moved knee-deep in fragrant blossoming
clovers, with pink and white flowers starring the wide expanse. At one
end it was gently undulating plain, towards the other it came down in a
gradual slope to the river, where tall gums gave an evergreen shelter
from winter gales or summer heat. The cattle were under them as the