The Sweep Winner

"By Gad, you can ride above a bit," was Garry's admiring comment.

CHAPTER XV

THE BIG SHOW

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 big reputations, 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 pick out 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."

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."