The Second String, Nat Gould [top rated books of all time txt] 📗

disposition to follow his lead. As a natural consequence, Lucky Boy dropped in the quotations, but when Jack snapped up a tempting offer at the extended odds he speedily recovered. There was nothing sensational about these transactions, and when one or two questions were asked he merely replied that he was backing Lucky Boy for Barry Tuxford, and Black Boy for himself.

"We may divide the spoil if either horse wins," he added, laughing.

This was feasible enough, the horses were in different ownerships, and would therefore run independently, but for all this there was an air of uncertainty about it.

If Lucky Boy was the better horse, why had Barry Tuxford cleared out instead of remaining to see his colours carried to victory. It must be very important business to take him away at such a time.

Joel Kenley secured two reliable middle-weights to ride the horses. Andy Wilson was to have the mount on Lucky Boy, Will Sleath was to ride Jack's horse. There was not much to chose between the pair; if anything, Wilson had a larger number of followers. They had ridden the horses at exercise and each jockey fancied his mount, so that a rivalry, quite friendly, existed between them, as to which would prove the better of the two in the Cup.

They were talking it over the night before the race, and eventually decided to make a wager of five pounds aside, each jockey backing his own mount. They were not sanguine of success, as there were many good horses in the race, including three or four cracks from Melbourne.

Jack Redland was exceedingly anxious. Sleath was to wear Sir Lester's jacket, which he had brought out from home, and in which he had ridden Topsy Turvy to victory at Lewes. He impressed upon the jockey that there was a halo of romance hanging about the jacket and that he must strain every nerve to win.

As he looked at the brilliant orange sleeves, and the dark body, he thought of the last time he had worn it and wondered how everything was going with Winifred and Sir Lester. Somehow he felt sanguine of victory, and if Black Boy won he determined to cable to Sir Lester, who would be delighted to receive the news. He wished Barry Tuxford could be present to see the race and judge for himself as to Lucky Boy's running if he was beaten. Not that Barry would doubt anyone, he was too honest for that, but Jack felt it would be a disappointment to him if his horse lost.

It was also an anxious time for Joel Kenley, who had several horses running at the meeting. The trainer was still puzzled as to the merits of "the two boys", as he called the horses. Common sense told him Lucky Boy ought to beat Black Boy, and yet he could not drive away the idea that Jack's horse would beat him, if not actually win.

As he went round the boxes the night before the race, he found Bricky looking earnestly at Black Boy.

"Anything the matter?" asked Joel.

"No, sir. He never was better. He's as hard as nails and fit to run any distance."

"You seemed a trifle anxious about something."

"I was wondering how much he'd win the Cup by," said Bricky, without a smile.

Joel Kenley laughed as he replied—

"Then you are sure he will win, and it is only a question as to how far the others will be beaten. What makes you think he will beat Lucky Boy?"

"I don't know, a kind of presentiment, one of those things a fellow can't understand. I'm sure he is a better horse than the other fellow."

Joel Kenley seldom talked with his lads, but he knew Bricky had a wide experience and had ridden and looked after all sorts of horses, so he spoke to him with more freedom than usual.

"What about the trial? Lucky Boy won that easily."

"That's true, too easily I thought, he'd never do it again. It reminded me of a trial I once rode for Mr. Mason, at Eagle Farm, Brisbane."

"What was there curious about it?" asked Joel.

"There were two horses in his stable, same as it is here, and one of them won a trial with any amount to spare. They backed him for a heap of money, put the other horse in to make the running, which he did, for he was never caught, and won the race almost as easily as his stable mate did the trial. I rode the favourite, and I also rode him in the trial. In the race he would not try a yard and there was a regular row about it. Most people blamed me, but Mr. Mason stood by me and said he'd have another trial. We had, and dash me if my fellow didn't win again easily, and I rode him. Well, about a month after we took him to Gympie, backed him heavily, and he ran nearly last. The other horse, that he beat in the trial, we took to Rockhampton, and beggar me if he didn't win easily, fairly smothering the Gympie winner. What do you make of that?"

"One horse must have been a rogue in a race, but would do his best at home," said Joel.

"Quite so, and I have an idea that will be the case here."

"You may be right, but we have no occasion to think Lucky Boy lacks courage, he ran a good race at Rosehill."

Bricky shook his head and smiled as he said—

"I can't give any reasons, sir, but to-morrow my bit for the Cup goes on this fellow."

"It will be a surprise for a lot of people if he wins."

"It's good for 'em to be surprised sometimes," said Bricky.

Jack Redland called at the trainer's the same night, and Joel told him what Bricky had said.

"It's curious," said Jack, "but I cannot get it out of my head about Black Boy, I feel sure he will run well and beat Barry's horse."

"Have you heard from Mr. Tuxford?" asked the trainer.

"No, he has hardly had time to write."

"He must be a long way from here?"

"He is," replied Jack, smiling, and the trainer said—

"It is no use trying to trap you."

"Not a bit," said Jack.

"He has left everything in our hands," said the trainer, "but it would be far more satisfactory if he were here, or even if we could communicate with him."

"I am afraid that also is impossible. A telegram would not reach him, besides what is there to wire about?"

"Nothing, when you come to think of it," answered Joel.

"We must give orders for both horses to be ridden out, and then we shall discover which is really the better of the pair. I confess the solution of that question interests me as much as the result of the race itself."

"And so it does me, and I am not at all sure, Mr. Redland, that the second string will not win," replied the trainer.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH THE SECOND STRING

It was a brilliant scene on the beautiful Randwick course on Cup Day, and Jack Redland, as he looked round, thought it compared more than favourably with anything of the kind he had seen in the old country. He knew it was to be a day of excitement, and he heartily wished he had some friend to share it with him. Sometimes our desires are gratified in a strangely sudden manner, and so it chanced to be with him.

As he looked at the moving mass of people in the ring at the rear of the Stewards' Stand, he saw a burly figure that seemed strangely familiar. At first he did not recognise it, but as the man moved nearer, he gave an exclamation of delighted surprise, for it was his old friend Captain Seagrave, who in some extraordinary way had turned up at this opportune moment.

Jack darted down the steps of the stand and hustled his way through the crowd, not stopping to answer numerous heated inquiries as to where he was "pushing people."

He caught Captain Seagrave by the arm, and the astonished sailor gasped as he looked at him.

"Of all the blessed experiences I ever had, this beats all," said Job, as he gave his hand a hearty shake. "Where on earth have you sprung from?"

"I ought to ask that question," replied Jack, laughing. "What brings you here?"

"Come under the trees and sit down, and I'll tell you."

They went towards a shady seat, and then Job Seagrave said—

"It does me good to see you. I've a heap of things to tell you. I saw Sir Lester and his daughter last trip and they have sent no end of messages, especially the young lady. Lucky dog, that's what you are."

Jack forgot all about the races for the time being, so absorbed was he in listening to the Captain.

"I'll leave all the good things they said until later on," went on Job. "I only arrived here late last night. I've got a new craft, a real tip top steamer. I've chucked over the old firm, they treated me badly. I'm skipper of the "Falcon," and a right down good steamer she is. I never expected to see you here. Knowing the Sydney Cup was run for to-day, I thought I'd come and see it. Lucky we arrived just in time. I don't know a blessed horse that is running in the race."

These remarks brought Jack's thoughts back to the business in hand. They had been talking for some time, and Joel Kenley was hunting all over the paddock for Jack. At last he spotted him and went hurriedly across.

Jack saw him coming and went to meet him.

"I have been looking for you this half hour," said the trainer. "It is almost time for saddling up, will you come and see the horses put to rights?"

Jack beckoned Captain Seagrave, and introduced him to the trainer, remarking that he was the brother of Caleb Kenley, of Lewes.

"Proud to meet you," said Job, "I know your brother, saw him when I was in England last voyage."

"We have no time to talk now," said Jack, smiling. "There is a lot to be done. Come and see the horses saddled, Captain."

"Whose horses?"

"Our's—mine and Barry's."

"Is he here?"

"No, worse luck."

"What races are they in?"

"The Sydney Cup," replied Jack.

"Both of them?"

"Yes."

"Well, this is a go, and which of 'em is going to win? Do you ride?"

Jack and the trainer laughed heartily, and the former explained the situation to Joel, who was thanking his lucky star that the "Falcon" had arrived in time for him to be present.

Lucky Boy was saddled first, then Black Boy, and quite a crowd gathered round the pair, for Joel Kenley's horses always attracted attention, his stable was generally dangerous.

Black Boy was quiet, but his stable mate was restless, and lashed out freely.

"Which do you like best?" asked Jack.

"I'm not much of a judge, but I prefer this one," replied the Captain, pointing to Jack's horse.

"The other one is the better favourite, but I rather fancy mine will beat him."

"What does the trainer think?"

"He's in a bit of a fix. Lucky Boy won the trial, and yet we all seem to fancy the other one."

"Then he carries my money," said Job. "What odds can I get?"

"About twenty to one," replied Jack.

"That beats Topsy Turvy," said Job. "I'll have a fiver on."

Jack laughed, and advised him to do his speculating at once, and he would wait for him.

The jockeys came up and mounted, and by this time the interest in the race had risen to fever heat.

Mentone, a Melbourne trained horse, is favourite, and the opinion was that he had been leniently treated, in fact, was the pick of the handicap. A strong contingent of visitors from the Victorian capital had come over to back him, and were confident of success.

Escort, Tramp, Hiram, and the Dancer, were all more or less fancied.

Captain Seagrave had no difficulty in obtaining a hundred to five about Black Boy, a wager he was more than satisfied with.

"If it pans