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

out as well as that race you rode in at Lewes it will be grand," he said. "I wish Sam Slack had come with me."

"Is Sam in the 'Falcon' with you?" asked Jack.

"Yes, and so is Mac and most of the other boys. They'll be glad to see you again."

The horses were now moving out on to the track, and Job caught sight of the colours on Black Boy.

"He's running in Sir Lester's colours," said Job, in some surprise.

"And it is the same jacket I wore when I won on Topsy Turvy," said Jack. "Sir Lester gave it me."

"Then I'm hanged if I don't have another bit on," said Job, and this time he only secured a hundred to seven.

Jack laughed at his enthusiasm, and said—

"You had better have a pound or two on Lucky Boy as a saver, they will both do their best to win."

"No more," said Job, "I'll stand or fall by the old colours."

The stands were packed, and the people stood on the lawn, and leaned over the railings in dense masses.

Mentone was cheered as he galloped to the starting post, and the horse looked a perfect picture. Black Boy moved sluggishly, but Lucky Boy went past at a great pace, pulling his jockey out of the saddle, eager for the race.

"Too flash," said Job; "Give me the other fellow, he's steady and sure."

"I daresay you are right," replied Jack.

There was no more time for conversation, as the horses were quickly despatched on their journey, and the bright green jacket of Escort was easily distinguishable in front. The horse had a light weight, and a clever lad rode him. With a clean lead of several lengths, he brought the field along, his nearest attendants being Hiram, Tramp, and Maximus. Bunched together in the centre were the favourite, and Kenley's pair with the remainder of the field, well up.

As they passed the stand, Escort led at a great pace, almost overstriding himself, and his tiny jockey had no easy task to hold him.

There was some bumping as they swept round the bend and past Oxenham's, but nothing was seriously interfered with.

Along the track, Escort still led, but the others were gradually drawing up, and it was easy to see that by the time the sheds were reached, he would be caught.

Jack watched the black jacket and orange sleeves closely and also the cherry and white on Lucky Boy, who seemed to be going in splendid form, and fully bearing out his trial. So far Barry's horse clearly outpaced Black Boy, and Jack commenced to think he would win. He would have been almost as pleased to see Barry's colours successful as his own.

Job made no remark. He stood watching the race with a stolid face, and no one would have thought he was in a fever of excitement. A good race agitated him far more than a storm at sea.

They were nearing the turn for home, and Mentone was rapidly working his way round on the outside. The favourite seemed to have no difficulty in passing the leaders, and as they entered the straight, he was close up to Tramp, who held the lead.

Lucky Boy shot his bolt soon after they headed for home, and his collapse was a surprise to Joel Kenley, who fancied he would be sure to stay it out.

Bricky Smiles was watching the race from the trainer's stand, and when he saw Lucky Boy was beaten, he was glad his modest investment was on his favourite.

As they neared the first stand, Mentone looked to have the race well in hand. He was going easily and his jockey had made no call upon him; he had no intention of doing so if it could be avoided, for the horse had a decided objection to being pressed. His instructions were to get to the front as soon as they entered the straight and make the best of his way home, no matter whether it was a long run in or otherwise.

"Don't hit him if you can help it," said the trainer, "but, of course, if it comes to a pinch you must."

Will Sleath saw the favourite forging ahead, and also noticed Lucky Boy fall back.

"It all depends on me," he thought; "Andy has no chance."

Black Boy was a horse that could gallop at a steady pace almost any distance, but he lacked that sharp burst of speed which comes in so handy at the finish. Will Sleath knew his mount well, and had no hesitation in making the most of him in any part of the race. The rider of Mentone had been deceived as to the pace they were going, because Black Boy had been galloping alongside him, and he knew the horse was a "plodder." When he made his run round the home turn with Mentone, it took a good deal out of the favourite, more than he knew of. Sleath sent Black Boy along at his top, and together with Hiram and the Dancer, drew level with Tramp, who was soon beaten.

Mentone was sailing along comfortably in front, his backers being on excellent terms with themselves, and already the cheering which heralds the anticipated victory of a favourite were heard.

"It's all over," said Jack. "We're beaten, Job."

The Captain made no remark, he was too intent upon watching the black and orange jacket as it came creeping along.

Slowly but surely Black Boy made up his ground, and Hiram stuck close to him, yet it seemed almost impossible they would get on terms with the leader.

Will Sleath looked ahead and saw the judge's box very near: if only Black Boy could put on a spurt he had no doubt what would be the result. This was unfortunately what Black Boy could not do, for he was already at his top, and his jockey did not ask him to go faster.

Mentone was tiring, and his rider was aware of it, but he thought the commanding lead he held would carry him safely through.

It was a case of the favourite stopping and Black Boy plodding on. The exciting question was would Mentone fall back sufficiently to allow of Jack's horse getting up.

The crowd commenced to realise what was taking place, and there was a dead silence.

Jack felt his pulses tingle, and his blood seemed on fire. Being an accomplished rider, he knew exactly how matters stood, and he hoped almost against hope that Black Boy would just get up in time.

The black and orange was very near now, not more than a length away, and Mentone's jockey realising the danger raised his whip. In response the horse made a feeble effort which was not sustained, and a terrific shout burst from the crowd as Black Boy got on level terms.

For a second the pair struggled together, then Black Boy outstayed the favourite, and the black and orange jacket of Sir Lester Dyke was carried first past the post in a memorable Sydney Cup.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH THE NEW CLAIMS

The victory of Black Boy was not very well received, although no blame was attached to either owner or trainer. The horse's previous running showed he had very little chance of carrying off such a race as the Sydney Cup.

Jack Redland won a large sum, and half of this was to go to Barry Tuxford. Job Seagrave landed a couple of hundred pounds, and was jubilant.

The stewards could not let the previous running of Black Boy pass unchallenged, and called Abe Moss before them to give an explanation of the horse's performances during the time he owned him. Abe made some blundering excuses, which only half satisfied the stewards, and wound up by saying he had backed Lucky Boy in the Cup, as he did not consider the winner good enough. This was perfectly correct, and probably thinking he had been sufficiently punished by losing his money, the stewards gave him a severe caution, and warned him to be careful how he acted in the future.

Jack was naturally anxious to hear from Barry Tuxford, but there was nothing for it but to wait patiently until he communicated with him.

He lost no time in paying a visit to the "Falcon" and renewing his acquaintance with his old friends of the "Golden Land." Sam Slack and Rufus Macdonald gave him a hearty welcome, and the latter said the skipper was a "canny mon" to land the "Falcon" in port in time to back Black Boy in the Cup. "It's a pity we were not there," he said.

Jack dined with them on board, and they spent several merry evenings together, until the time came for the "Falcon" to commence her homeward voyage.

Captain Seagrave willingly took charge of several parcels Jack wished to send to Winifred and Sir Lester, he also entrusted to Job a splendid photograph of Black Boy, with Sleath in the saddle, and the black and orange colours up.

When the "Falcon" left the harbour Jack felt more lonely than he had ever done since he landed in Australia, and it was with a feeling of intense relief he received a letter from Barry Tuxford some weeks after Black Boy had won the Cup.

Barry wrote in high spirits, he had nothing but good news to tell. His man had not exaggerated in the least, and he reckoned their claims would be about the richest in Western Australia.

"The country, as you may expect, is infernal," wrote Barry, "not fit for a civilised white man to live in, but where gold is to be found there do the people flock together, and it was not long before they were on my track after the first gold went on to the Great Tom township, and the Warden had granted our claims. You have never been in a gold rush and I hope you never will. It is hell let loose, every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost. All the worst features of the human race come to the surface; if a man has any of the leven of unrighteousness in him it's bound to ooze out in a big lump. I have seen some very choice collections of blackguards in my time but I never set eyes on such a crew as we have had up here at Bundoola Creek. They are the scum of the earth, and although there are some good fellows amongst them, the majority ought to be in gaol. You know me fairly well, and that I am not easily staggered, but I tell you candidly when I looked round on the crew that rushed the Creek I felt a trifle uncomfortable. We had secured the best claims, and the fellows knew it, and this raised their ire. They saw there was gold on our pitches to be had almost for the asking, and they wanted some of it. I was equally determined they should not have it. I took with me, from the township, a dozen men I could depend upon, and to make doubly sure of them I gave them a hint where to peg out their ground. This gave them an interest in the concern and as they were all well armed the rogues and vagabonds would have had a rough time of it had they ventured to interfere with us. Things have settled down a bit now, and as there is plenty for all I see no reason why the peace should not be kept.

"As for the claims, I have called one the 'Redland,' and the other the 'Barry Tuxford,' so we stand a good chance of becoming famous all the world over, for sure as fate these will be big concerns. I have just heard Black Boy won the Sydney Cup, and you cannot think how delighted I am. For a middle aged man I acted in a most absurd way. I danced around the camp like a wild man, and my pals thought the heat had affected my brain. When I explained what had occurred they understood, they