The Sweep Winner

CHAPTER XVI
MRS. PREVOST

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 he said 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 would be 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 small boarding-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 would oblige 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.

CHAPTER XVII
JEALOUSY

"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 man banishes 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 this handsome 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 make him 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 were difficult 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."

CHAPTER XVIII
A QUESTION OF JOCKEYS

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. Letters for 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 be doing 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 go to, 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 buy this 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.