Craig Bellshaw was in an ill humour. He had received a letter from Lin Soo which upset him. The Chinaman said he had changed his mind. He could not supply him with what he required, it was too risky; already he had been in trouble with the police, and he dare not undertake it. These were not the exact words, for the letter was illiterate, but Lin Soo made it plain enough to Bellshaw.
"He hasn't returned the money I advanced him, but he'll have to if he doesn't fulfil his part of the bargain. There's no risk, at least not much, and he's done it before. I can't live here without some sort of comfort."
His quarrel with Garry Backham made him vindictive. He was rather afraid of Garry after what he had said. The man knew too much about certain things at Mintaro,doings, which, if they came to light, would get him into serious trouble. He would have to give Garry the money he had lent him, but intended keeping him in suspense for a time.
Glen Leigh arrived at Mintaro in the evening. When Bellshaw saw who his visitor was he wondered what brought him there. It was bold conduct on Leigh's part to come and face him after deserting his post.
"Are you surprised to see me?" asked Glen as he dismounted, and Bellshaw came out.
"Yes, you're a cool hand."
"Why?"
"I suppose you know I can have you arrested for deserting?"
Glen laughed.
"Who is to arrest me?"
"I have the power."
"And who's to look after me if you arrest me?"
"I can easily manage that."
"But you won't."
"Why not?"
"Because it would only cause you trouble and worry."
"What have you come for?"
"To buy horses," replied Glen.
Bellshaw laughed as he said, "Turned horse-dealer, have you?"
"I'm on the look out for a dozen of the worst buckjumpers I can find," said Glen.
"What for?"
Glen explained. Bellshaw became interested. There seemed to be money in the idea.
"You'll find plenty here, but you'll have to sort them out yourself. I can't afford men to help you."
"I'm prepared for that. Garry Backham will find the men."
"Backham's behaved badly towards me; he's not to be trusted. I shouldn't advise you to have much to do with him."
"He'll not get round me. I've had a long talk with him. He tells me you put him into Bigs's place; it was good of you to help him."
"And he's repaid me by the basest ingratitude, but it's generally the way if you help a man."
"It's not my way," said Glen.
"You'll stop the night?" asked Bellshaw.
"Yes, if you'll put me up."
"There's heaps of room. You're welcome to some of it," answered Bellshaw ungraciously.
After dinner they talked about the horses, and Bellshaw agreed to let him have a dozen for a hundred pounds, which was quite as much, or more, than they were worth, but Glen had no desire to haggle over the affair.
He slept in a room near Bellshaw's. In the wooden homestead sounds carried far.
About the middle of the night Glen was roused by hearing someone walking on the verandah, pacing to and fro. The footsteps sounded stealthy and peculiar. He could not make it out; his curiosity was aroused. He got off the bed quietly, he was only partially undressed, and went to the door, which opened on to the verandah. It was not locked. He turned the handle, opened it cautiously, and looked out. There was a faint light, and at the end of the verandah he saw Craig Bellshaw coming towards him; he was, like himself,only partially dressed. He did not wish Bellshaw to think he was spying on him so he almost closed the door and listened.
The pad of his bare feet on the boards sounded strange in the stillness.
Bellshaw stopped when nearly opposite Glen's room. He was talking in a weird voice; it sounded unnatural. As Glen listened he came to the conclusion that Bellshaw was walking in his sleep; to make sure he opened the door wide. He could easily make an excuse that he heard someone prowling about and wanted to see who it was—if Bellshaw were not asleep.
The squatter faced him, his eyes wide open, but vacant. He stared fixedly at Glen but did not see him.
"He's fast asleep," thought Glen, and crept closer to him, not being able to restrain his curiosity.
"Don't struggle, you fool, or make that horrid row. I'll put you in that hole if you do. Bite, will you, you vixen? I've had enough of you; you've tired me out with yourgrumbling ways. Brought you here by force! It's a lie. You came of your own free will. You knew why you came to Mintaro."
Bellshaw clutched the air with his hands as though trying to strangle something. Glen watched every movement closely. He felt he was on the eve of a discovery. Bellshaw went down on his knees and pressed the boards with both hands.
"Keep still, will you! Keep still," he muttered, "or I'll crush the life out of you. She's quiet now. I'll leave her here. She'll die. There's no place for her to go to. She'll wander about until she drops, and then give up. That's the best way. No one can say I killed her. I'll leave you here. It will give you some sort of a chance if it is a poor one."
Bellshaw got up and began talking again. This time Glen knew he was speaking to his buggy horses.
Suddenly Bellshaw caught Glen by the arm. For a moment the shock staggered him. The awakening was dangerous; heseemed about to faint. With an effort he pulled himself together and glared at Glen Leigh.
"What the devil are you doing prowling about on the verandah at this time of night?" asked Bellshaw.
"I might ask the same question. I heard your footsteps. Naturally I wanted to see who it was. You were walking in your sleep. I thought it best not to wake you. I've heard it's dangerous," replied Glen.
Craig Bellshaw shivered. He was thinking of what he might have said or done, in Leigh's presence.
"I'm troubled with sleep-walking," he said, "and have been for some time. It's beastly. No doubt I do and say queer things for which I am not responsible."
Glen made no answer. He had heard sufficient to put him on what he thought was the right track, and he could have strangled Bellshaw without compunction. His hands itched to get at him, but he must bide his time, and make his punishment more severe. Aquick death was too good for this man, if what he, Glen, surmised was correct.
"I advise you to go and rest," he remarked at last, "or you'll be fit for nothing later on."
"I'm always upset after this," said Bellshaw. "It unnerves me. If you want to get away early don't mind me. You can have as many buckjumpers as you care to take. Pick 'em where you like. I'll lend them to you. When you've finished with them you can return them, or sell them, and we'll divide the money."
He spoke feverishly, hurriedly, evidently with the intention of propitiating Leigh.
"No thank you," answered Glen. "I prefer to buy right out. I'll pick what I want, and a hundred pounds will more than cover it. A bargain's a bargain. Besides if I buy the horses I'm under no obligation to you, and I can do as I like."
Glen left him, went into his room, and shut the door.
Bellshaw walked to his room and sat down in a cane chair, cursing his luck that he shouldhave walked in his sleep with Glen in the house.
What had he said?
This question kept on repeating itself with monotonous regularity. It sounded like the ticking of a clock in his head. On one occasion, when he woke up suddenly, and found himself on the verandah, it all came back to him how he acted in his sleep. He remembered it now. Had he said anything that Leigh could get hold of?
No, of course he hadn't. If he'd gone through the whole thing Leigh would not have understood what he meant. He laughed at his momentary fears. Glen Leigh might think him mad, but he would never guess at the truth; it was impossible. He started. Leigh had seen Garry Backham. Had Garry told him what he suspected? This was hardly likely. Why should he?
Glen Leigh did not lie down again. He was piecing the threads of a tragedy together, and Craig Bellshaw was depicted as a most hideous villain, a monster deserving of slowtorture, if what he, Leigh, thought were true. He'd find out, get proof, and when there was sufficient to go upon, Craig Bellshaw had better beware. No mercy would be shown him. The scene when he found Clara Benny in his hut rose before him. He clenched his fists, raised them above his head, and vowed vengeance on Craig Bellshaw.
Taking a piece of paper he wrote in pencil in large letters LIN SOO. Dressing himself he went out. When he reached Bellshaw's door he pushed the paper underneath. He got his horse, saddled it, and rode towards Boonara.
It was late when Craig Bellshaw awoke from a restless slumber. His first thoughts were about Glen Leigh, and the happenings of the night. He wondered if he had gone. He hoped so; he had no desire to meet him again at present.
Opening the door he saw a piece of paper on the floor. Picking it up he read the name Lin Soo written in pencil in large letters.
He stared at it, wondering how it came there.
Glen Leigh must have slipped it under the door. But why? What had he to do with Lin Soo? Probably he had never heard of him, and yet there was no one else to do it.
Lin Soo. Supposing by some strange chance Glen Leigh had met the Chinaman. Even so, it was not likely Lin Soo would say anything about their transactions; he dare not. Itflashed upon him he might have mentioned the name in his ramblings. If so, what had he said in connection with it? As he dressed he became nervous. If Glen Leigh had an inkling of what had happened there would be trouble brewing. He, and other keepers of the fence, had many grievances against Bellshaw which they would be only too glad to pay off. He must try and find out what had passed when he walked and talked in his sleep. It must be done warily.
"I'll see him before he returns to Sydney," he thought. "Even if he heard things he had no business to, I can silence him. Murder is not so easily shelved, and there's Joe Calder's death to account for."
Glen Leigh arrived at Boonara, and next day set out for Five Rocks, with Garry Backham and half a dozen good riders, used to the work, to round up a mob of horses and make a selection.
"The best plan will be," said Garry, "to drive 'em into the nearest yard, which is about half a dozen miles away, and testthem. It will be a tough job, but the men who are going with us are used to that sort of work. They'll not mind how rough they are."
They did not ride near Mintaro, and Glen had no intention of going there again.
As he rode along with Garry, he mentioned about Craig Bellshaw walking in his sleep; he said he talked a lot and acted strangely.
"What did he say?" asked Garry.
"Something about leaving someone to die—a woman. He went through some curious antics, as though he were struggling with her. At the finish he said he'd leave her to wander about until she died. He must have committed some dastardly deed or he'd never rave like that," said Glen.
Garry was silent. Should he tell Glen how much he knew? There was no necessity for it, and he might be dragged into trouble if he did.
"I've never seen him walk in his sleep," he replied eventually, "but he's a queer fellow, and has more on his conscience than I'd care to carry."
"I've heard of strange doings at Mintaro when I was on the fence," said Glen.
"What sort of doings?"
"About women who came and stayed for a time and were sent away."
"I'd rather say nothing about it," answered Garry.
Glen did not press the subject; he could find out what he wanted later on. In case it were necessary, he would put a straight question or two to Garry.
It was late when they arrived at Five Rocks and camped for the night. The place was well named. Five large rocks rose from the ground in the strangest manner. They were conical, smooth, not many yards apart. Their formation was a strange freak of nature. They were probably the result of a fierce upheaval in some far distant age, when natives and wild animals were the only occupants of the vast territory.
There was a water hole in the centre of the group, fed from the rocks, and Garry said it was this which brought the horses round, for it was seldom dry.
The six Boonara men were strong sturdy fellows used to a life of hardships. They were not given to conversation and quickly rolled over, with their saddles for pillows, and went to sleep.
Garry and Glen talked for some time, but gradually they dropped off, and the silence of the night reigned round the eight recumbent forms.
As soon as daylight sprang upon them they were astir, and after a hasty, scanty meal they set out to round up the horses.
This was easier said than done. They traversed several miles before they sighted a mob, but were rewarded by seeing at least fifty.
"You'll be able to get what you want out of that lot," said Garry, "if we can get 'em into the yard."
"We'll manage that," answered one of the men. "I suppose the gates are always open?"
Garry said they were, and indicated the direction in which the horses should be driven.
The men set out to round them up on the side. Garry rode to the left, Glen to the right, so as to guide them in the right direction as they came along.
The horses quickly scented danger, and started off, but were headed back and driven at a wild tearing pace towards Garry and Glen.
The pace became faster and Glen watched the horses as he rode at top speed alongside them, and saw they were a good lot. He hoped their vicious propensities had never been checked. They were all practically unbroken. A few of them might have been handled and turned loose again, but it was improbable.
Towards the yards they went, the men shouting behind them. These yards were erected with a view to driving horses, or cattle, into them with the least trouble. They were at the end of a dried-up river between high banks, whose strange formation Craig Bellshaw had taken advantage of. The opening to the yards extended the wholewidth of the pass, and there were three large gates through which horses entering the cul-de-sac were bound to go. The difficulty was to head the wild horses into the opening. Once in they were easily driven into the yards.
As luck would have it, the leader of the mob headed direct for the spot, guided by Garry on the one side, and Glen on the other.
It was a stern chase, and it said much for the horses Garry supplied that they kept pace with the galloping mob. As the leader rushed into the narrow channel the rest followed him pell-mell. The men closed in after them, driving them along at full speed, rushing them through before they realised they were caught. When this happened the din was tremendous. The trapped horses gave vent to their feelings by kicking, squealing, and biting in an extraordinary manner.
The men rested themselves and their horses and watched them.
"There are pretty near fifty," said Garry. "They're a good-looking lot. It's the recentrain's done it. They've had more to eat than they've had for months past."
"It will make them the harder to mount," replied Glen.
"Suppose we give 'em a rest for a night, and try our luck to-morrow. They'll have been without food for about eighteen hours, and it may tame them down," Garry suggested.
This was agreed to and they camped for the night close to the yards.
Next morning business commenced in earnest. Likely looking horses were separated from the rest, and then the struggle began. The bulk of them were hard to saddle, still harder to mount, but it takes more than a savage, untamed buckjumper to conquer a man from the West.
There were some stiff fights, and now and again a horse more desperate than the rest managed to rid himself of his rider after a long struggle. He was at once selected by Glen as one of his lot.
Glen Leigh excited the admiration of the men by the way he rode a tremendous horseabout six or seven years old. He was a rough untamed animal, probably a son of old Tear'em, Garry said. At any rate he was very like that incorrigible savage. He stood nearly seventeen hands, and had the strength of half a dozen ordinary wild horses.
It took them half an hour to get the saddle and bridle on, and Glen was another ten minutes before he got into his saddle.
The Boonara men never forgot that mighty struggle. They talked about it for years after, whenever buckjumpers were mentioned. It easily broke all records as far as they were concerned.
The huge animal was a prince among buckjumpers, and Glen had all his work cut out to keep his seat. The horse bounded up and down as though his legs were springs. One moment he was off the ground, on all fours, his back arched like a bended bow, the next his fore feet were planted firmly on the ground and his hind quarters elevated almost to the perpendicular. He twirled and twisted in an extraordinary fashion, lay down, crushedGlen's leg, rushed against the fence, did everything to throw his grim rider, but without avail. At last he stood covered in sweat, and quivering in every limb. It was then that Glen dismounted, but when he tried to get into the saddle he found the horse ready for another battle-royal.
"He'll do, Garry. If anyone can ride him in Sydney they'll earn any prize that may be offered. What a magnificent brute he is. If one could only tame him—but I expect that's impossible," said Glen.
"By Gad, you can ride above a bit," was Garry's admiring comment.
The horses selected were safely railed to Sydney. Bill Bigs had secured stabling for them; such as it was it answered the purpose. They bore the journey better than might have been expected, but there was some danger and difficulty in getting them through the streets to Redfern. Once they were safely housed Glen felt a difficult task was well done.
He went to see Clara Benny. She welcomed him in her usual way, with a smile and a kiss. These constant kisses embarrassed Glen, but he liked them. They showed she had faith in him, and that gave him hope. He told her where he had been, and what for, watching her closely all the time, but there were no signs of recognition. Her memory in that direction was still a blank.
He had no doubt, after what he had heard and seen, that she was at Mintaro with Craig Bellshaw, and that he had driven her away, after a struggle with her, and left her to die a terrible death, which would have happened had she not found her way to the hut. For this Bellshaw should pay in full when the time came. Glen, however, had such a lot of work in hand with the horses that he had no time for anything else. It took a month to get them in hand so that they could be saddled quickly, but their bucking propensities were encouraged in every way. They were given full scope in this direction. Jim and Glen were constantly in the saddle. The big horse threw them both more than once, until Glen fairly mastered, but could not tame him.
He was a big bay horse with a savage-looking head, and his strength was great.
They called him The Savage, which was appropriate, and he did not belie his name.
There were fourteen horses in all, and a cheque had been sent to Craig Bellshaw for them.
Jerry Makeshift came to a private exhibition, and was enthusiastic about it. He gave the show valuable assistance in "The Sketch," spoke to many of his press friends, and the buckjumpers were boomed well, so that public excitement about them was roused to the highest pitch.
The building was well adapted for the purpose. A ring was formed and fenced in with stout posts and rails so that there would be no danger to the spectators. On the opening night the place was packed. A challenge had been issued. Two hundred pounds would be given to anyone who could sit The Savage for ten minutes; assistance would be given to mount. Fifty pounds was offered for riding half a dozen others, ten pounds for the remainder, all ten minutes' spells.
There were scores of men in Sydney and the surrounding districts who thought they were equal to the various tasks set.
Six well-known riders sent in their names. Two of them came from Wagga with bigreputations, and one from Bathurst. They all tried The Savage. The horse had an easy task, for he was no sooner mounted than he shot riders through the air like rockets. Not one of them made the semblance of a fight with him.
Then Glen Leigh's turn came. He sprang into the saddle without assistance and the battle commenced. Round and round the ring The Savage bucked in a series of furious leaps. He kicked, squealed, fought desperately, tried to bite Glen's leg, but all in vain; he stuck to his seat in splendid style. The Savage finding these tactics of no avail, threw himself down. Glen slipped out of the saddle. As the horse struggled to his feet he sprang on again amidst a hurricane of applause. At the end of a quarter of an hour he concluded his exhibition, and when he stood in the ring holding The Savage tight by the bridle, the people cheered him to the echo, and the building rang with the shouts. The other riders were exciting, but paled before the performance of Glen Leigh and The Savage.
As the crowd left the building everybody was asking who Glen Leigh was, and where he came from. He was the most wonderful rider they had seen.
Jerry Makeshift had not given Glen away. He reserved the account he intended to publish for the issue following the opening night. He made good use of the material he had in hand. It so happened that "The Sketch" came out in the afternoon of the next day, and a full account of the "keeper of the fence" was given and the manner in which he had captured the horses and brought them to Sydney.
It was the genuineness of the show that attracted the people, and the place was crowded every night. Money came rolling in and the promoters were in high spirits.
Ivor Hadwin, Bellshaw's trainer, had been a great rider of rough, unbroken horses on his father's station, before they fell on evil times, were ruined by drought and moneylenders, and came to Sydney. On the station he had ridden the worst of buckjumpers,and he thought with a little practice he might be able to stick on The Savage for ten minutes and win the two hundred pounds. For four nights running he succeeded in riding the horses for the lowest prizes. Then he won one of fifty pounds, and Glen Leigh complimented him.
"You'll have to try for the two hundred," he said to Ivor.
"That's what I mean to do."
"Will you allow us to advertise it?" asked Glen.
"Certainly," answered Hadwin. "I've no objections. You've treated me well, and paid me the money I have won."
"We shall always do that, and I hope you have to draw the two hundred, but I warn you The Savage is a demon, and you'll have to keep your eyes open," said Glen.
"I believe at one time I could ride as well as you, but training has made me a bit soft," replied Hadwin.
Strange to say Glen Leigh did not know Hadwin was a trainer. No one told him, probably taking it for granted that he knew.
"You train racehorses?" asked Glen.
"Yes, at Randwick. Come and see me one day."
"With pleasure," said Glen. "Who do you train for?"
Ivor Hadwin smiled.
"I wonder someone has not told you about me," he said.
"I never asked. There is such a heap of things to do I've had no time, and it matters little who wins the prizes," returned Glen.
"I train for Craig Bellshaw," said Ivor.
Glen started. This was strange, especially as the horses all came from Mintaro.
"I know him," he said.
"So do I, too well," answered Ivor. "He's a hard man to please."
"I daresay he is," Glen agreed.
Someone called him away and he left Hadwin, saying he would call and see him next morning.
"I'll be there. Come about eleven," said Ivor.
"What night will you attempt to ride The Savage?" asked Glen, looking back.
"Saturday."
"That's the best night for us, thanks."
Glen told Bill what had passed between them when he reached The Kangaroo.
Jerry Makeshift was there. "You mean to say you didn't know until to-night who Ivor Hadwin was?" he asked.
"No."
"And you made no enquiries?"
"It didn't interest me. It was part of the show."
"And no one enlightened you?"
"No."
"Well, I'm blessed. That's funny; everybody knows Hadwin. I'm told he's likely to win the Caulfield Cup, or the Melbourne Cup, or both, for Bellshaw," said Jerry.
"Has Bellshaw some good horses?" enquired Glen.
"Yes, about a dozen in all, I think, and four or five above the average, but I don't go in for racing much. Tom Roslyn, of 'The Racing Life,' told me. He's the best turf judge we have on the press, and he can pickout good horses as easily as I can a bottle of wine."
"Then he must be an uncommon judge," laughed Bill.
"What's the name of the Cup horse?" asked Glen.
"Barellan. He's five years old now, and has a nice weight, so Tom says. I forget what it is," Jerry answered.
"Here's Nick Gerard's list," put in Bill. "Barellan, 8st. 7lbs., in the Melbourne Cup, 8st. 10lb. in the Caulfield Cup."
"I'll ask Hadwin to let me have a look at him when I go there in the morning," said Glen.
"Have you bought a ticket in the big sweep on the Melbourne Cup yet?" asked Jerry.
"No, I forgot all about it," replied Glen.
"I'll get one for you if you like," said Jerry.
"I wish you would. Here's the money," and he handed him a sovereign.
Jerry tossed it, "Heads a horse, tails a blank," he called.
The coin fell on the table head up.
"That's a fair start, anyhow. Let's hope it will be a good 'un you draw."
Glen laughed.
"I haven't much faith in sweeps. I was never tempted to throw money away in them."
"Have one in the Caulfield Cup as well?" suggested Jerry.
"No, that will be sufficient," returned Glen. "It's a sovereign gone to the bad."
"Don't be too sure about that; it's your maiden effort, and may prove successful," said Jerry.
"Get me a ticket at the same time," said Bill.
"All right, and I hope when I call here with them it will bring luck to The Kangaroo," answered Jerry.
"I can do with the cash," said Glen laughing, "Bill's got heaps."
Glen Leigh went by the train to Randwick, and walked to Hadwin's stables. The trainer was glad to see him. He liked him; something hearty about Glen appealed to him.
"We'll have a look round the horses first, if you care to see them," said the trainer.
"That's just what I want," replied Glen. "I'm fond of horses. When I was a keeper on the fence old Ping was my only companion. I've got him in Sydney. He's the queerest horse out; you'd be amused at him. I don't suppose you'd consider him worth a fiver, but it would take a good many fivers to buy him."
"A bush horse, I suppose?"
"Yes, one of the best, a faithful old slave. We've been companions for many years."
"I like a man who's fond of horses. What a queer name—Ping."
"And he's a queer horse," laughed Glen.
They went round the stables. All the horses belonged to Craig Bellshaw; they were a fair lot as far as Glen could judge.
"That's Flash," said Ivor, pointing to a good-looking chestnut. "He's rather smart."
Glen eyed him over and came to the conclusion he was the best he had seen so far. In the next box was Barellan. The brown horse looked well. He was full of muscle, hard and clean.
As they entered his box he turned and looked at them. When he saw the trainer he seemed quite contented, knowing everything was all right when he was there.
"He's quiet enough," said Ivor. "Have a good look at him. He's a bit different tempered from The Savage."
"I hope so, for your sake," retorted Glen smiling, "or you stand a very fair chance of being killed."
"That's something to look forward to on Saturday night," Ivor answered.
Glen went up to the horse and examined him well, passing his hand over him, carefully taking in his points. It was difficult to find fault with Barellan. If there was one it was his hocks, which were large and rather unsightly, but there was nothing wrong with them. They were rather low down, in the greyhound style. He had a splendid back and quarters, good shoulders, neck and chest, a shapely head and a good forehead, and fine eyes. He stood over sixteen hands.
"What do you think of him?" Ivor asked.
"He's a good-looking horse. He ought to gallop. He's built for it," replied Glen.
"So he can. He's the best I have by a long way, although some people prefer Flash."
"I don't," said Glen promptly. "He's in the Melbourne Cup, isn't he?"
"Yes, in both Cups," said the trainer.
"Will he go for them both?"
"I don't know. It depends on the sweep-money, I expect. Bellshaw's always insisted on having a cut out of the sweep with his horses."
"I suppose that is a regular thing," said Glen.
"Generally speaking it is, but he's greedy. He wants too much," Ivor answered.
Glen stayed to lunch, and they chatted about life in the West, and the trainer told him about the doings at Randwick and elsewhere, interesting him in some of the great horses and races he had seen.
"I shall have a good try to win that two hundred on Saturday night," said Ivor.
"If you stick on for ten minutes you'll deserve it," replied Glen. "I'll give you a bit of advice. If he throws you get out of the ring as quick as you can, or he'll be on top of you before you know where you are."
"He's not going to throw me," said the trainer confidently.
Glen smiled. He had no wish to dishearten him, but he knew there was little chance of his being successful.
On Saturday night the building was crammed, every seat being taken. The announcement that the well-known trainer, Ivor Hadwin,was going to ride The Savage, and try to win the two hundred pounds, caused much excitement.
There were some good bouts before the event of the evening took place, and when Ivor entered the ring he was loudly cheered. The trainer was pleased with his reception. He had not received much of the world's applause during his career.
The way he mounted The Savage augured well for his success. The horse appeared to know he had a man on his back who would give him "a good game." For a moment The Savage stood still, then suddenly he sprang straight into the air, all his feet off the ground, and his back arched. Ivor had a severe wrench, but stuck to his seat. Round the ring the horse went, backing and fighting in his most savage mood.
Glen saw the horse was in a nasty temper and hoped the trainer would not be hurt. That he would retain his seat for ten minutes he thought impossible.
Ivor Hadwin made no empty boast when hesaid at one time he believed he rode as well as Glen Leigh. Considering the small amount of practice he had his seat was splendid, and for five minutes The Savage tried in vain to throw him. Glen, who was in the ring, encouraged him by frequent shouts.
Six minutes passed and still Hadwin was in the saddle, but Glen fancied he saw signs that he was tiring. If this were so it was all up with his chance.
Again The Savage stood still, gathering his strength. His eyes rolled, his nostrils were extended and red. Foam came from his mouth, but his limbs were set, and there was no quivering. It was all determination, and no excitement.
Away he went again, round and round the ring, twisting and twirling, leaping sideways, banging Hadwin against the posts. Then he went to the centre of the ring, turned suddenly, galloped round at top speed. In a moment he stopped dead and springing into the air gave a terrific buck, squealing like a mad horse as he did so.
The trainer was tired. The struggle had been tremendous, and the last plunge proved too much for him. He was thrown clean out of the saddle, and fell with a thud. Remembering Glen's warning to get out of the ring as quickly as possible, he was scrambling to his feet, when The Savage rushing at him, knocked him down, and trampled him with his forefeet.
Glen Leigh sprang forward as soon as the trainer fell, and it was well he did. He arrived just in the nick of time, before any more serious injury than a few bruises was done. He seized The Savage by the bridle and pulled him back, unconsciously showing his great strength; there was a cheer as he held the brute in hand while the trainer left the ring. Before The Savage had time to switch round Glen was in the saddle, and another tussle took place, but it was an easy task for the rider this time. The trainer had given the horse a severe dose, which had had due effect.
Glen dismounted and announced from the ring that a cheque for twenty-five pounds wouldbe handed Ivor Hadwin for the splendid way he had handled The Savage; a roar of cheering greeted this generous offer.
There was one woman in the vast audience who watched Glen Leigh all the time he was in the ring. She was a dark, handsome, well dressed woman, with fine eyes, a good figure, rather inclined to be stout, and she evidently knew many people present. She had been several times, and had always given her whole attention to Glen's performance with The Savage. This alone appeared to interest her.
She wished she knew him. She was about forty years of age, perhaps a year or two older, and her life had been a peculiar one. She had married at the age of eighteen, and her husband deserted her when she was twenty. At this time she went as a barmaid in one of the numerous private bars that then existed in Sydney. Some of these were veritable dens of vice, but she kept herself respectable for several years. When she was thirty she had saved sufficient money to take a smallboarding-house at North Shore. Shortly afterwards she was introduced to Craig Bellshaw, and from North Shore she went to Macquarie Street; for the last year she had lived at Manley. She did not like Bellshaw, but he was useful to her and not ungenerous, and as he left her pretty much to herself she was fairly contented. She was one of those women who, given a better chance early in life, would probably have made good use of it. She had plenty of confidence, boldness if you will, but she was not vicious; her life was irreproachable, except for Bellshaw's coming into it, and she lived quietly at Manley, with her maid, and a Chinaman cook, who was a perfect marvel at concocting curious and succulent dishes. Her name was Rosa Prevost, and her neighbours, although they did not quite understand her, found her affable, generous and hospitable. In fact Mrs. Prevost was popular in her surroundings. She knew Ivor Hadwin, through Bellshaw, having been to the stables with him. If she wished to be introduced to Glen Leigh the trainer wouldoblige her, but she did not care to ask him; she was too proud.
Her house at Manley was frequented by several well-known people such as Jerry Makeshift, Tom Roslyn, and other journalists, and many actors and actresses, several of whom knew her past life, and how she had been treated in her young days.
She was destined to have her desire for an introduction to Glen Leigh fulfilled sooner than she expected.
"Yes, I know Glen Leigh—a most interesting man," said Jerry Makeshift.
He was at Sea View, Mrs. Prevost's house at Manley. She had invited him there with the purpose to find out something about the daring rider of The Savage.
"Tell me about him. I admire his riding," she said.
Jerry gave her a full account of Glen's career as far as he knew it. She had read "The Sketch," but he embellished what he had written there for her gratification.
"So he was a keeper of the fence," she said thoughtfully. "Fancy a man like that being exiled there. I wonder why he went?"
"A woman probably," said Jerry.
"That's always the way when a manbanishes himself from society. It's always a woman who is the cause," she said.
"And don't you think nine times out of ten it is so?" he asked.
"No, the man is often more to blame than the woman. Take my case."
"Which is an exception," he said smiling.
"Will you bring him here? I should like to meet him. Do you think he would come?"
"I'll try. He's not a shy man, but he doesn't go out much. Are you anxious to know him?" asked Jerry.
"He interests me," she answered.
"Then I'll try and fix it up. Only promise me not to draw him into your clutches; you are so fascinating. Look at me, I worship you."
"Jerry, you're a humbug. You don't care a straw for anyone except yourself," she laughed.
"That's all you know. I have done some generous actions in my time, that it won't do to speak about; it would sound too much like blowing my own trumpet," he said.
Jerry had some difficulty in inducing Glen Leigh to go to Manley, but succeeded at last, and they went together.
"Who is Mrs. Prevost?" asked Glen.
Jerry explained as much as he thought proper. There was no occasion to mention Bellshaw. If his name cropped up in conversation it would not be his fault.
Mrs. Prevost was agitated. She almost wished she had not asked Jerry to bring him, and yet she was desirous of making Glen's acquaintance. Already, before she knew him, he had a peculiar fascination for her. She felt angry because it was so. The feeling was quite new and strange; hitherto she had been cold and calculating. She knew all this would vanish where Glen Leigh was concerned.
They arrived before lunch, and when Glen saw Mrs. Prevost he was at once struck with her peculiar charm of manner. No sooner was he in her presence than all her doubts and agitation vanished, and she exerted herself to her utmost to please him.
Glen was quite willing to be pleased by thishandsome woman, whose preference for him was already beginning to be marked.
Jerry smiled as he watched her. He knew her powers. No woman had ever gone so near to capturing him as she, but he had steeled himself against her. His career did not include a wife; he could not afford the luxury, he said.
It was a nice luncheon. Glen thoroughly enjoyed it, and complimented Mrs. Prevost on the possession of such an excellent cook.
"He's a Chinaman," she said smiling. "One of the despised heathens, but I have had him several years, and he has served me well. I found him."
"Found him!" exclaimed Glen.
"Yes. It's quite correct; strange though it seems."
"Where did you find him?"
"Some years ago when he was quite young. He lived with his uncle in Lower George Street. He offended the great man in some way, and he turned him out of the house. He was wandering about when I came along. He spoke to me, pleaded hard for me to makehim my servant. Strange, was it not? Something prompted me to take him in. I did, and have never regretted it. He appears to have one set purpose in life, to pay his uncle, Lin Soo, back in his own coin, and have his revenge. Most unchristian-like isn't it? But of course he's a heathen," she said laughing.
"Lin Soo is his uncle!" said Glen.
"Yes. Why? Do you know him?"
"Not exactly, but I know of him. He keeps an infamous den in Lower George Street."
"I thought it was a tea shop," she said.
"To outward appearances, but inside it's an opium den, a gambling hell, and worse," Glen replied.
"Worse!" she exclaimed enquiringly.
Glen did not care to pursue the subject and she asked no further questions.
No mention was made of Craig Bellshaw, and Glen left, not knowing she was intimate with the squatter. He promised to call again. She knew by his ready acceptance that she had made a favourable impression, and she was more pleased than she had been for many a day.She walked to the steamer with them, and when the boat left sat down on a seat at one side of the wharf. Why should she not have her share of happiness in life? It had been denied her so far. There had been riotous living, and much pleasure, but no peace, no contentment. It was all a struggle, and part of a game which she had been forced to play, but never cared for.
She walked slowly back to her house, thinking all the time, hoping, wishing as she had never wished before. If a man like Glen Leigh had come into her life years ago, how different everything would have been. She felt she had great capacity for making a man she loved happy. She was in the prime of life, good-looking, robust, full of health and spirits, and she did not lack money. Why should she not find a fitting mate? A man who would condone the past, forget, or shut his eyes to it, and love her for herself. Glen Leigh was a man after her own heart, the stamp of man she had always admired. No matter what he thought of her, or whether they were merely acquaintances,she would never forget him. She made a firm resolve to try and win him; she would exert all her powers to that end. She craved for the real love of a man to meet the love she knew she had to give. It would not be half-hearted love or cold surrender. She wanted the real thing, not a sham. She had had too much of shams; she was sick of them. She longed for honesty, not deception, pretence, lies. There was Craig Bellshaw. He must be made to understand that she desired to sever all connections with him. She would write and tell him so. If he insisted on seeing her for a personal explanation she supposed she must grant him an interview, but it would be the last; she vowed it.
Glen Leigh little knew the storm of feeling he had raised in Mrs. Prevost. Had anyone told him he would have laughed at the idea. In answer to Jerry he said he thought Mrs. Prevost a very nice woman.
"Handsome, eh?" said Jerry.
"Yes, and she's a jolly good sort I should say."
"So she is. I wonder some fellow hasn't snapped her up long ago," Jerry answered.
"She's better as she is," said Glen.
"Not she. In her case I should say she ought to have a mate. She looks a woman who could make a man happy."
"There's no telling," declared Glen gloomily.
The Buckjumping Show was a huge success, and a large ground had been taken for it in Melbourne for a month, during which time the Caulfield and Melbourne Cups would be decided.
Glen was surprised when his share was calculated by Bill Bigs. It was far more than he had expected in his most sanguine moments. Jim Benny was given a bonus with which he was more than contented. Nearly all Jim's spare time was spent with Clara, who was in perfect health, and had developed into a very pretty woman. Her mind, however, was still a blank as regards everything before she came to Glen Leigh's hut. Glen thought some sudden shock might restore the lost memories. At the same time the effect might be serious. Probably it would be better for her peace to remain as she was. Glen's feelings towards her weredifficult to analyse. He knew by the way she always greeted him that she regarded him as a father. At first he thought he loved her, but gradually this feeling lessened, and he knew it was pity and compassion that had grown in him, not love. He was more solicitous towards her than he had ever been, spoke kindly, looked after her every comfort, and she trusted and idolised him—but not as a lover.
With Jim it was different. He was younger than Glen, and there was no doubt about his affection for her. She treated him differently from Glen, was more reserved, never kissed him; she shrank away when he came too near, and was nervous in his presence.
Jim noticed all this and misunderstood. He thought her love was all for Glen Leigh, and this embittered him. He had not the strength of character of the elder man, could not stand trials so well, was soon cast down and dispirited. He had seen her kiss Glen when they met—she always did—and yet when he came near her she shrank away.
Glen seemed to get the best out of life, while he, Jim, had hardly anything to look forward to.
He forgot what Glen had done for him. A growing jealousy rose against his comrade; such feelings were easily roused in him.
"I must know what he means, what she means," said Jim to himself. "It's torturing me. I can't stand it—I won't."
Craig Bellshaw's life at Mintaro was a burden to him; if his time had not been occupied there is no telling what might have happened. During the day he was constantly out of doors, but at night, his lonely dinner ended, he sat down and brooded. There were many actions in his life that would not bear the searchlight. He did not regret them; he was hardened. What he missed was the presence of a woman. It could not be called companionship, because he never gave his friendship fully to anyone. It would soon be time for him to go to Sydney and see his horses do their work for the big Victorian Meeting. He had great hopes of Barellan winning the Melbourne Cup, and thought Flash had a chance in the Caulfield Race. He heard from his trainer regularly, and the reports were favourable. Lettersfor Mintaro were left at Boonara by the mail coach which came twice a week.
He read the account of the buckjumping exhibition, and begrudged Bill Bigs and Glen Leigh their success. They were his horses; why had he not thought of such a show and run it himself? He always begrudged fortune's favours to others.
He had been uneasy ever since he found the piece of paper with Lin Soo written on it pushed under his door. He tried to persuade himself it meant nothing, but he knew different. It was a warning and he wondered how much Glen Leigh knew. Then there was Garry Backham. He must see him before he went to Sydney and find out how the land lay in that quarter.
His man brought the post-bag and placed it on the table. Craig unlocked it and took out the letters and papers. He opened one from Ivor Hadwin, who gave favourable accounts of the progress of all his horses, and prophesied a successful campaign in Victoria. Barellan was specially mentioned. No horse could bedoing better; he had come on by leaps and bounds and was at least ten pounds better than when he ran at Randwick.
"If he is he'll win the Cup," said Craig.
He placed the letter on one side to answer; the post-bag had to be at Boonara next day. There were several bills, some circulars, newspapers, and one or two packages. A letter, directed in a lady's hand, claimed his attention. He knew the writing; it was from Mrs. Prevost.
"She wants more money, I suppose," he muttered. "She'll have to want. I've been too openhanded with her, and she's not a bit grateful. Women never are."
As he read the letter his face became gloomy: it was not pleasant to look at. The contents angered him. She expressed her intention of severing all connection with him, said she had no desire to see him again, and much more to the same effect.
Craig Bellshaw was in a rage. He considered Mrs. Prevost a useful adjunct to his visits to Sydney. There was always a house to goto, where he could be sure of comfort, and the presence of a woman who was good to look upon; and now she coolly said she had no desire to see him again. There were no words of apology or respect. She repudiated the bargain, or what he considered the bargain, between them. There must be some solid reason for it, and the only one he could think of was another man. She would find he was not to be treated in this cavalier fashion. Some men might stand it; he would not.
He made up his mind to go to Sydney at once. There were plenty of hands at Mintaro, and his new overseer would look to things. He announced his intention of going next day.
He started in the early morning, arriving at Boonara about eleven o'clock; from there he would take the coach to Bourke. He went to Garry Backham's, and asked him if there was anything he could do for him in Sydney.
"He's mighty polite," thought Garry, "there's some mischief afoot."
They talked for some time, and Craig said. "About the money I lent you to buythis place, I've thought it over; you're welcome to it. You were always reliable when you were with me and did your work well."
"He's changed his tune," thought Garry.
"You can consider yourself free of that debt," said Craig.
"I thought you'd come round to my way of thinking," replied Garry, who knew well enough why he had suddenly become generous.
"It was always my intention to make you a present of it," Craig declared.
"Then why didn't you do it at first?"
"Because I wished to see what sort of man you were, and how you'd take it."
"Glen Leigh and Bill Bigs have done well in Sydney with the show," said Garry.
"It's lucky they got some of my horses. He seems to have picked out the right sort."
"Trust him for that. The fellow they call The Savage is a ripper. He's by old Tear'em, I'll swear. I never saw such a brute, but Leigh mastered him as soon as he was yarded."
"Everybody seems to think he's a wonderful man," said Craig.
"So he is. They're few and far between," answered Garry. "I see your horses are doing good work for the Cups. Do you fancy them?"
"Barellan and Flash both have chances."
"I've got a couple of tickets in the sweep on the Melbourne Cup," said Garry.
"If you draw Barellan I shall expect you to stump up a good round sum out of your lot," Bellshaw told him.
"You'll get nothing out of me if I draw him, but it's about a million to one I don't," retorted Garry.
"Whoever draws him will have to give me a cut out of the sweep or they'll stand a poor chance of getting a run for their money," said Craig.
"You don't mean to say you'd scratch Barellan for a race like the Melbourne Cup merely because you were not offered anything out of the sweep?" Garry asked.
"I would. No man shall get the better of me. It's only fair. I have all the expense incurred over the horse."
"Then you're not much of a sportsman."
"Just as good as anyone else," returned Craig.
"Well, if I happen to draw him you can scratch him. You'll not get me to lay you anything," said Garry.
When Bellshaw arrived in Sydney he went to Hadwin's house at Randwick, where there was always a room for him. The trainer would have preferred his staying elsewhere, but could raise no objections. The horses pleased him, Barellan especially. He seemed in rare fettle, and the trainer said no horse could possibly have done better.
"You'll have to look out for a jockey soon, or they'll all be snapped up. There is likely to be a big field, thirty runners or thereabouts," said Ivor.
"What about Nicholl?"
"He'd be all right if you could get him."
"Is he engaged?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then what's to prevent me engaging him?"
Hadwin hesitated, then said, "He'll want a big fee."
"And can't I pay it?" thundered Bellshaw.
"You can pay it. The question is will you?" said the trainer.
"If it's reasonable. What will he want?"
"A hundred at least."
"Then he'll not get it. I'm not going to pay any jockey a hundred, win or lose. If Barellan wins it's a different matter."
"Shall I see him about it or will you?" asked Ivor.
"You'd better see him. If he asked me that figure there's no telling what I'd say to him," Bellshaw answered.
Hadwin saw Nicholl on the training ground next morning. Bellshaw was there, standing some distance away.
"Will you ride Barellan in the Melbourne Cup?" asked Ivor.
"What sort of a chance has he?"
"A winning chance. You can have the leg up on him this morning; he's just coming out."
"All right," agreed Nicholl.
"Then come with me," said the trainer.
When Barellan came out with Nicholl up there was a stir among the watchers. Luke Nicholl was one of the best jockeys. There were few to equal him, and it was known he had not a mount in the Cup, as he declined to tie himself down. His appearance on Barellan at once set tongues wagging as to the possibility of his riding the horse in the Cup. Nicholl liked the way Barellan moved. He knew he was a good game animal, and 8st. 7lb. was a nice weight. He could do it comfortably.
"He moves well," said Nicholl, when he dismounted.
"You'll find him a far different horse in a race. He's not a track horse," said Ivor. "Will you accept the mount?"
"It all depends."
"What on?"
"The amount to be paid me."
"What do you want?"
"A couple of hundred."
"Win or lose?"
"Yes."
"He'll never give that. I doubt if he'll give a hundred, but come over to my place and talk it over. I'd like you to be on him, Luke, because I think he'll just about win," said the trainer.
"You can't expect me to ride him without I get a good fee," answered Nicholl. "I'm worth it, eh?"
"You are, and if I had the arranging of it I'd give you fair terms. You'll just suit Barellan; he wants a lot of riding. He's a lazy beggar, and you know how to handle such horses."
"When shall I come over?"
"After breakfast."
"I'll be there soon after nine," said Nicholl, "but you can tell him I must have my price. I've not worked my way to the top of the ladder without trouble, and I mean to get what I'm worth."
"I'll do my best, but don't be hasty over it, or you'll regret it," replied Ivor.
Something in the trainer's earnest manner appealed to the jockey.
"We've always been friends," he said. "I'd like to ride a big winner for you."
"Then ride Barellan. He's one of the best horses I ever saw," said the trainer.