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Title: The Sweep Winner

Author: Nat Gould

Release date: June 22, 2011 [eBook #36480]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by paksenarrion, Suzanne Shell and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
        file was produced from images generously made available
        by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SWEEP WINNER ***




Produced by paksenarrion, Suzanne Shell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)









                      The Sweep Winner




                      The Sweep Winner

                        By Nat Gould

                       [Illustration]

                           London
                    John Long, Limited
            12, 13 & 14 Norris Street, Haymarket
                   _All rights reserved_


    _Readers are requested to note that all the characters
    in this story are purely fictitious, and the names are
    not intended to refer to any real person or persons._




                    TO THE MEMORY OF MY SON
             CAPTAIN HERBERT R. GOULD, M.C., R.A.F.
                FLIGHT COMMANDER, 18TH SQUADRON
     _Killed in Action on the Western Front, August, 1918_





Contents


         _Chapter_                                  _Page_

              I. THE GLITTERING WIRE                  11
             II. IN THE HUT                           21
            III. A STRANGE SITUATION                  31
             IV. "IT'S FOR A WOMAN"                   41
              V. WHY JIM CAME TO THE HUT              51
             VI. "COME"                               61
            VII. THE FACE IN THE WATER                71
           VIII. WAYS AND MEANS                       81
             IX. THE CHINAMAN'S SHOP                  91
              X. THE ACCUSATION                      102
             XI. JERRY, JOURNALIST                   113
            XII. IN SEARCH OF HORSES                 123
           XIII. LEIGH HEARS STRANGE THINGS          133
            XIV. "A MAGNIFICENT BRUTE"               143
             XV. THE BIG SHOW                        153
            XVI. MRS. PREVOST                        163
           XVII. JEALOUSY                            173
          XVIII. A QUESTION OF JOCKEYS               183
            XIX. MRS. PREVOST'S DILEMMA              194
             XX. THE DRAWER OF BARELLAN              205
            XXI. LAME                                215
           XXII. SWEEP MONEY                         225
          XXIII. BEATEN                              236
           XXIV. AT FLEMINGTON                       247
            XXV. HE LOOKED AT HIS TICKET             257
           XXVI. BARELLAN FALLS BACK                 268
          XXVII. WHAT A FINISH!                      279
          XVIII. A TERRIBLE SAVAGE                   288
           XXIX. MAN AND HORSE LAY SIDE BY SIDE      299
            XXX. THE SWEEP WINNER'S HOME             311




The Sweep Winner




CHAPTER I

THE GLITTERING WIRE


A man on horseback shaded his eyes with his hands as he looked along the
glittering line of wire which runs for hundreds of miles between New
South Wales and Queensland, and forms the great rabbit-proof fence, of
which he was one of the keepers.

The blazing sunlight scorched all things living. Not a blade of grass
was to be seen. The baked ground gasped with thirst. The slight breeze
was like the breath from a huge furnace.

The wire was hot and dazzling. Millions of glimmering specks and
hundreds of thousands of electric sparks danced on it in revelry. Merely
to look at the shimmering wire blinded the eyes. The horse turned his
head away. He was dried, shrivelled, mere skin and bone. Yet he was
strong, enduring, capable of going long journeys; an heroic beast,
fighting a terrific battle against tremendous odds; a faithful
companion, a true friend--always reliable. There was a mute appeal in
his puzzled pathetic eyes, which questioned why such things were; why he
should be rewarded for his efforts with a parched throat, an empty
stomach, and a hot skin.

The man dismounted, carelessly placing his hand on the wire, then
snatching it back quickly, with a sharp oath.

"Everything burns in this cursed country," he muttered.

The horse rubbed his nose against the man's arm.

"Ping, old fellow, it's hotter than hell. Thirsty? of course; so am I.
We'll have to thirst until we reach the next hole."

The man was strong, well-built, six feet high; even the hard life had
not sapped his strength. His dark hair, moustache, and beard, gave him
a sombre appearance. His eyes shone fiercely under bushy brows. His
face, hands and arms were tanned a deep brown, as also was his chest,
where the shirt opened from the throat. He was no common man. His speech
was not that of the keepers of the fence, or the bulk of them, for there
were many and strange beings on these hundreds of miles of wire line.
The majority were old boundary riders, stockmen, tank sinkers, fencers,
teamsters. In another class were criminals, convicts and men whose hands
were against their fellows; who were dangerous sometimes, when they
scented betrayal, or suspected they were being tracked. The man looking
at the mirage in the distance belonged to none of these classes; he
stood out alone. They knew it, and gave him a show of respect, when they
met him, which was seldom.

There must have been some weighty reason for him to bury himself in this
solitude, and to accept an occupation from which any educated man must
shrink. He wanted to be alone. He could not have come to a better
place. Boonara, the nearest bush town, was fifty miles away from where
he stood, and a dozen less from his hut.

He descended upon Boonara at night, and waited for it to wake up. When
it did, surprise was visible on every face as one by one the inhabitants
looked forth from their habitation. The surprise was genuine. It was
long since a man of this stamp had entered Boonara. He was amused at the
people, and wondered if there was one respectably clean inhabitant. Then
he remembered the scarcity of water and pardoned the dirt. He was not
clean himself, but he felt wholesome. His body had been cared for as
much as possible during the week's tramp.

He soon became acquainted with the Boonarites. They gathered round him,
and questions were levelled at him. It was quick firing to which he
responded with solitary shots. At the end of the first day the people of
Boonara were not a jot wiser about him. One fact was patent, he had
money. It was difficult to discover how much, but he "shouted" at Bill
Big's "shanty," and paid his footing, and was so far granted the freedom
of Boonara.

The township of Boonara consisted of one main street, with irregular,
irresponsible-looking houses dotted about, built anyhow. They had been
put up at various times by many different sorts of men. Building
operations commenced at one end and continued at intervals until a sort
of street was formed. The first inhabitant had been a "keeper of the
fence," and he camped there because it was convenient to his work.
Gradually, in oddments, other men came to the place. It was a bachelor
township until some enterprising man, bolder than the rest, and more
saving, ventured to Sydney and returned with a wife. She was the only
woman in the township for a long time, and was regarded with a certain
amount of awe and wonder. The consensus of opinion was that she must
have had a terribly bad time in Sydney, or nothing would have induced
her to marry Jack and come to Boonara. The example set proved catching,
and other members of the bachelor community took unto themselves
partners. The township grew slowly, unlike the centres of big mining
districts which spring up mushroom-like in a night and often die away as
quickly.

Boonara gathered in many of the keepers of the fence, who had tired of
the life and settled there on a mere pittance. It was not a prosperous
community; there was little conversation, and a lot of grumbling. Each
man regarded his neighbour with suspicion, not knowing who he was,
except by name, nor whence he came. All around Boonara was an arid
waste, except at certain seasons, few and far between, when rain came
sweeping in a deluge over the parched earth, filling up the gaping
cracks and crevices, hissing and swishing over the land, bringing life,
in every drop a new birth. Then the plains woke up. Miles upon miles of
dull-brown crumbling grassless spaces became green and refreshing.
Strange sights followed these deluges. In a mysterious manner sheep
appeared in thousands wandering across the plains, nibbling this
wonderful and succulent food from which they had been so long debarred.
Cattle came, mobs of horses, all branded, belonging to squatters miles
away. Nobody seemed to own the land round Boonara. At least no member of
the township had ever heard the name of an owner mentioned. They ran
what cattle, horses and sheep they possessed anywhere on it. There were
no enclosures, no square-mile paddocks. The only fence was the
glittering wire running along the border.

There were very few men in the township who had seen the wire fence. But
they met the keepers of it at long intervals when they paid visits to
Bill's shanty.

In all communities, however small, there is a fierce desire to look down
upon someone, to imagine a superiority. It is a trait which is
laughable, and sometimes pathetic. Although the Boonarites were far from
civilisation they had their pride, and regarded the keepers of the fence
as beings of an inferior order. As the keepers had no respect for the
inhabitants, everybody seemed satisfied with the state of affairs.

There was one keeper of the fence whom the Boonarites placed upon an
equality with themselves, and that was the man who came upon them in the
night.

They were amazed when he went on the glittering wire track. He was far
too good for that job; "he wouldn't stick it long" they declared. He did
"stick it," however, to their great surprise. The man was a mystery to
them, which is not to be wondered at, considering he was mostly a puzzle
to himself. His hut was forty miles away, and only three people had
visited him there. He did not encourage them. Loneliness sat lightly
upon him, so it seemed. Bill Bigs was the most frequent visitor, and
when he rode there, or drove in his buggy, it was seldom empty-handed.
Somewhere, hidden in the bowels of the earth beneath Bill's shanty,
there was mysteriously reported to be spirituous hoards of excellent
quality; these rarely saw the light of day in Boonara. Various
decoctions were served out over the bar, and there was a strange
resemblance in the flavour, no matter from which bottle they were
taken. A "nip" from one of Bill's underground bottles was like nectar
from the gods.

The man on the fence was never served with inferior stuff, and when Bill
visited him he took with him of his best.

Bill Bigs was rough and ready. Rumour credited him with having been in
league with bushrangers, before those undesirable and romantic figures
disappeared from the earth. Probably this was true, but Ben was no
longer an illegitimate preyer upon mankind. He was licensed to "rob" by
doctoring his goods. He prided himself on knowing a man when he saw one,
and he put down the occupier of the hut in this category. He, however,
knew nothing about his friend, except that he was worth a dozen ordinary
fence keepers. The man never spoke of his past, or explained why he was
in the most solitary place in this vast land. In vain Bill tried to
induce him to talk. There was a threatening glitter in his eyes which
caused Bill to halt and get on to another track. It was this man, the
keeper of the fence, who stood under the blazing sun pitying his horse
more than himself. He was waiting for another keeper at the point where
they had met, and had a few words and parted. He shaded his eyes again,
but saw no one coming.

"I'll wait, I'm always waiting. It hasn't worn me out; it never will.
There's a fire within that keeps me alive; it burns, but never dies
down. There's enough fuel in my thoughts to keep it glowing until my
light goes out."




CHAPTER II

IN THE HUT


Glen Leigh was his name. At least he was down as such on the books, but
names were not of much account on his job; they might as well have been
numbers seeing they were mere indications of identity. He waited until
he was tired, although he had much patience. His throat was parched; his
skin burned; there was no shade. On his head, straight down, poured the
fierce sun. To look at it was blinding. It seared the eyes; sparks
danced when they turned to the earth again. He had no watch. In his hut
there was one, but he seldom wound it. He told the time by nature's
signs, and was never far out in his calculations.

"I've waited an hour. Damn the fellow. Why doesn't he come? He expects
me to do his work and my own too." He shrugged his shoulders. Jim Benny
was a mere lad compared with him.

"Poor young devil. What's he done that he should come to this? The sins
of the father, and so on."

A shadow flitted across the ground. He started. This was not a land of
shadows, except when rain clouds swept away the dazzling blue. He looked
around, then above. There was a small black cloud floating in the
brilliant sky; it looked like a balloon.

"Rain!" he exclaimed. "By all that's holy, rain."

There was a power of feeling in the word.

"Rain."

In lands where skies are dull, where moisture hangs in the air, where a
downpour spoils pleasure and provokes temper, the word rain has a very
different meaning. To Glen Leigh rain meant almost everything. There had
been none for over nine months, not a drop, and that small balloon-like
cloud that cast its shadows and startled him, was more welcome than a
shower of gold.

"It's curious," he muttered, "I've never seen it exactly like this. But
it must mean rain. God send it. We want it, we dried up sapless things.
Rain, Ping. Do you hear, old parchment, rain. And your coat'll be
dripping wet. There'll be grass, and you'll feel juice in your mouth
instead of dried leaves and twigs. Rain, Ping, rain!"

He gave the horse a sound smack, jerked up his head, and pointed to the
cloud rolling above.

A slight breeze came. Ping sniffed, inhaling it with delight, while an
anxious look of anticipation came into his eyes.

Glen watched the cloud as though his life depended on it, as thousands
of lives did. It was a peculiar phenomenon, a black patch steering
through a sea of blue. In its wake it left a trail, dull, streaking out,
and beyond the trail were more heavy clouds on the rain path. This
leader was the herald of the storm.

There was no moan, there was nothing to cause it, but presently the wire
fence seemed to buzz, and the rising wind came through it playing on
the strings a sort of sad harmony, but sweet music in the ears of the
man and horse.

A low rumbling sound proclaimed the advance of the clouds, and they
rolled along in battalions blotting out the sunlight; the relief to the
eyes was immense. He waited, but Jim Benny did not come. He almost
forgot about him in his anxiety over the approaching rain.

A crack straight above his head, which echoed over the plain, was
followed by a burst of water which deluged him and Ping in a few
minutes. Both gasped with relief. They opened their mouths, and the
refreshing water cooled them; they had not had such a soaking for
months. The land responded to the rain. He fancied he saw the blades of
grass already shooting; he knew they would be there in a matter of
twenty-four hours. He mounted Ping and rode to his hut. It was no use
waiting any longer for Jim Benny; he would see him next day. Still he
wondered what had come to him, and felt a bit uneasy. He liked Jim,
although he seldom spoke more than a few words to him. Perhaps it was
the mystery surrounding him which appealed to him; he was a mysterious
man himself.

The rain poured down as he rode along. Ping's ambling pace soon covered
the ground, and he reached his hut in a shorter time than usual.

The door was wide open. Someone had been there in his absence. He
smiled; the intruder would not have had a very rich find. A few of his
provisions might be gone; the poor devil was welcome to that.

He was always cautious, for he was accustomed to face danger. There was
no telling what sort of desperate, hunted character had found his way
there, so he handled his revolver as he went in. Lying on his bunk he
saw a bundle of clothes, or what looked like it. Quietly he stepped up,
then started back in amazement. It was no sundowner, not even a man from
Boonara, out on the jag, who had wandered in a half-frenzied condition
so many miles. What he saw was a woman, a young, pretty woman, whose
face was lined with sorrow, whose cheeks were sunken. The hands were
hanging down, thin, almost emaciated, showing the veins, a dull blue.
One leg drooped down the side. The boot was worn, and torn. The dress
over it was ragged. Her whole appearance denoted the utmost distress,
hardship, exhaustion. She hardly breathed, although he saw her bosom
slightly heave and fall. She was in a pitiable plight indeed.

Glen Leigh was so wonder-struck at this strange sight that he stood
staring at her for some time, until Ping roused him by poking his head
in at the door, asking in his dumb way for food. Even the woman, lying
so strangely there, did not cause him to delay. Ping was a good comrade;
he must be attended to. He went round to the back of the hut, where
there was a lean-to shed, and Ping followed him. There was a little
precious hay still left, which he had secured for the horse at Boonara
at a fabulous price, panning out, if reckoned up, at about a hundred
pounds a ton. It had been brought down the river on one of the puffing,
snorting, little steamers, and deposited at the small staging, to be
left till called for, and fetched by Bill Bigs at his leisure. Ping
sniffed this small portion of evil-smelling stuff with satisfaction. He
had never known better fare, for he had been bred in the wilds, and
brought up anyhow, on anything. His dam had very little milk for him;
she had nothing to make it with. When his dam deserted him, or he left
her to go on his own, he wandered about, living precariously until he
was six years old. Then some master on two legs caught him, and Ping
began to learn the effects of contact with humanity. Ping's life had not
been a happy one until he passed into Glen Leigh's hands. With the
wisdom of the horse he discovered the great change in ownership, and
wondered at it. He followed Leigh about like a dog; there was no
bucking, biting, squealing, kicking against the pricks. He settled down
to a humdrum existence with a feeling of glorious content.

As Glen Leigh stood for a few moments eyeing Ping he compared him with
the woman lying in his hut. There was a similarity between their lives.
Both had been ill-used, and both came into his possession. Into his
possession? What on earth was he to do with the woman? Ping was all
right. He had bought him for a trifle. But the woman. It was quite a
different thing. She was in his hut, and part of his household for the
night. What must he do with her?

"Eat your supper, Ping. I'll go and see to the other one," he said, and
went back to his "front door."

He entered softly. She was still sleeping. He sat down on a log and
watched her.

How had she come there? She must have tramped miles. From Boonara of
course, but he did not remember seeing her there. He smiled at the
thought. He seldom gave more than a passing glance to people in the
township. He was hardly likely to have noticed her sufficiently to
recognise her now. If she came from Boonara, why had she left the place
and wandered all these miles? Was it by chance she had struck his hut?
Of course, it must have been. No doubt she saw the rainstorm coming, and
seeing the hut at the same time hurried in for shelter.

She was not an ordinary working-woman, he saw that, and cudgelled his
brains to find out how she came into the country at all.

She must belong to somebody, but to whom?

He knew of women who had lost their reason in solitudes, and had not
wondered at it. The country was only fit for blacks, and even they
shunned it, the few of them that were left after the white man's march.
Had she come along with some squatter, when he had been making a visit
to Bathurst, or Bourke, or even Sydney or Melbourne? That was a possible
solution, but highly improbable. There was only one large station near
enough to this place, from which she could have tramped. Its owner was
Craig Bellshaw, of Mintaro Station, and he was not the sort of man to
drive a woman away by ill-treatment, quite the contrary.

She stirred. He listened. She was muttering, but he could not catch the
words. He got up and leaned over her.




CHAPTER III

A STRANGE SITUATION


He could make nothing of what she said. It was a jumble of incoherent
sounds, with no meaning in them. He gathered no information as to how
she came there.

"She's ill--delirious. What can I do for her?" he muttered.

He was a soft-hearted man, where women were concerned, and distress,
although he had seen much of it, appealed to him. There were no doctors,
not even in Boonara. When folks were ill in those parts they had to
fight for life as best they could, with a few patent remedies to aid
them.

"Fever," he said, "there's no doubt about it, and she has no strength to
withstand it. I can't leave her alone. I wish to heaven Bigs, or
someone, would come."

He sat by her all night; sometimes he had to hold her down, as she
struggled like a bird in his strong grasp. He was very gentle with her.
Not one man in a hundred would have credited him with such tenderness.
When daylight sprang out suddenly, as it does in these climes, she
became quieter. He put his hand on her breast, humming softly. The touch
and the sound soothed her. With wonderful patience he remained in this
position hour after hour, proving himself a great man, greater than he
ever thought or reckoned himself to be. He was hungry, but he did not
move. Ping came to the door and wondered why his wants were left
unattended. It was unusual. He would have resented it had not the
downpour brought up small shoots of green, with marvellous suddenness.
He turned away and went nibbling the unaccustomed luxuries. Ping came to
the door instinctively. Grass was a thing he had not seen for months. He
didn't expect to find it, but as he sniffed its freshness he left the
hut contentedly, and Leigh was glad.

"He smells the grass," he thought, "There's more chance of her pulling
through now it's cooler." He mixed up the horse and the woman in his
thoughts continually. How long he sat there he did not know, but a sound
reached him which gave warning that something or someone was
approaching. Ping neighed. He knew if it was a rider he would call at
his hut. They always paid "ceremonial" visits; it was an event in their
lives. A sound of hoofs reached him. It was very welcome; he gave a sigh
of relief. He looked round, and saw a horse and rider pull up at his
door. It was Jim Benny. At any other time Benny would have been cursed
roundly for neglecting his work. Curses were the habitual mode of
forcibly expressing disapproval by the men of the fence. But never was
man more heartily welcome. Glen Leigh didn't even give a thought as to
why Jim Benny came to his hut. It was an uncommon occurrence but he had
no time to consider it.

Jim grinned as he put his head in at the door. He was about to speak
when he grasped the situation, as far as it was possible for him to so
do, lacking all knowledge of the facts.

He was much surprised, as Glen Leigh had been, when he found the woman
in his hut.

"Hush," said Glen softly, and Jim crept in on tiptoe.

He stood looking at the woman. His thoughts were much the same as
Glen's. The white wan face struck a chord in Jim Benny's nature that had
not twanged before. His eyes glistened, then moisture gathered.
Presently a couple of drops trickled down his sunburnt face. He put a
hand on Glen's shoulder, bent down, and whispered, "How did she come
here?"

Glen shook his head.

"She's bad?"

"Fever."

"Poor little thing," said Jim.

Glen lifted his hand from her bosom. She only stirred slightly, then
with a sigh became still again. He beckoned Jim to follow him outside.
They walked a few yards away, so that the sound of their voices would
not disturb her.

"Where the devil were you yesterday?" was Glen's question.

"My horse broke down. I had to bag another, and a pretty brute he is.
Look at him," replied Jim pointing to the wretched mass of skin and
bone.

"Why have you come here?" asked Glen.

"I thought I'd ride over and explain. I know what you are when you're in
a temper," replied Jim.

"That's not the reason."

"Perhaps it isn't. Anyhow, what about her?" and he pointed to the hut.

"Somebody must go to Billy's and get some good brandy for her. It's got
to be the best--none of his poison," said Glen.

"In that case you'd better go. It's no good me trying it. He'd think I
was lying, and there'd be no getting it out of him. I'll stay with her
if you go. Besides my horse is no good. Ping will do the journey in half
the time," Jim answered.

Glen looked at him. Jim's face did not move a muscle.

"It's lucky you came," Glen remarked. "Tell me what brought you here."

"Another time," replied Jim hesitatingly.

Glen shrugged his shoulders.

"As you please," he said.

"How did she get here?" asked Jim.

Glen told him how he found her, and Jim Benny was as helpless as himself
in solving the problem.

"It's very strange," said Jim. "We've never seen a woman round here
before. What are you going to do with her?"

"Keep her until she's pulled round. Then I can find out all about her,"
returned Glen.

A faint cry came from the hut which caused them to turn round quickly
and run back. A strange, weird sight met their eyes. The woman was
standing close to the bed. Her hair was down. They noticed it was a
beautiful nut-brown, and there was plenty of it. Her arms were stretched
out. Her eyes stared glassily. As Glen came in she tottered forward, and
he caught her in his arms.

A thrill went through him as he clasped her. Her face was close to his.
He felt her breath on his cheek. He drew her tightly towards him, and
held her for several minutes. Jim Benny watched him with a queer light
in his eyes.

Glen carried her, laying her on his rough bed. She was exhausted with
the exertion and remained quite still.

"You'd better go at once," said Jim, "she's bad, very bad."

Glen stood thinking for a few minutes, then asked, "You'll not leave her
while I'm gone?"

"No, I'll sit by her as I found you sitting. See?" and he sat on the
log, placing his hand on her breast. "That'll soothe her."

Without another word Glen Leigh left the hut.

He whistled Ping, and obediently the horse came to his call. Glen
saddled him, and rode off towards Boonara. Jim Benny sat looking at the
woman. He heard the hoof beats gradually dying away, then with a sudden
movement got up and kissed her on the lips. She moaned.

"I couldn't help it. I meant no harm. She reminded me of--never mind
names. I loved her, and she married him--that's all done with."

He remained quite still until Spotty, Glen's dog, half dingo, came
sniffing round. He had been on the prowl for a day or so, and returned
repentant. The predatory instinct was uppermost, which was not to be
wondered at considering the wild stock from which he descended, and he
made excursions to some land of which his master knew nothing.

The dog knew Jim, on the fence, but had not seen him in Glen's hut. Then
there was the woman. Spotty had never come across one. Jim knew the
nature of these dogs, their faithful savageness, and scented danger in
the air. He had seen the dog on the fence with Glen, but had always been
on horseback, and Spotty had never really scented him. He didn't even
know the dog's name.

Spotty eyed Jim, then looked at the woman on the bed. Here was something
he did not understand. He came forward, crouching, like a panther ready
to spring, and Jim set him with his eyes, not daring to move, on her
account.

Spotty sniffed at her dress, turned round, faced Jim and growled, a low
rumbling sound. Then he lay on the floor, paws outstretched, head erect,
watching.

Jim knew if he moved the dog would probably fly at his throat. It would
be hours before Leigh returned, and he must remain in this position the
whole time, on her account. Had he been alone he could have cowed
Spotty, or attempted it. He heard distant thunder. There was another
storm brewing, the promise of more welcome rain. The lightning flashed
through the hut, playing in and out at the doors. The crashing sounds
came nearer; then the rain burst in torrents.

Spotty did not move. He remained with his eyes on Jim, not even giving a
glance at the figure on the bed. The woman slept through it all. Jim
wondered at her strange stillness. Was she dead?

The thought made him start. He had not put his hand on her again after
he kissed her, and could not feel or hear her breath. Spotty saw him
move, and growled. He seemed about to spring, then crouched again.

It was a strange situation--the man, the woman, and the dog, in the hut,
the storm raging outside, and Glen Leigh riding on his mission to
Boonara.




CHAPTER IV

"IT'S FOR A WOMAN"


"Hello, what brings you here?" said Bill Bigs, as Glen Leigh entered his
house. The tone was not encouraging. Bill was in an ill-humour, and it
was not difficult to discover the cause. The bar was in a state of wild
confusion. Broken bottles, bits of wood, splinters from the rough
furniture, and jagged pieces of glass lay about. There was every sign of
a fight.

Glen took it all in at a glance. Although he was in a desperate hurry he
knew the best way to succeed would be by humouring him.

"Bit of a skirmish, eh?" began Glen.

"Two of your fence fellows began it. I never saw such beasts in my life.
They all are."

Glen's eyes glittered.

"Does that include me?" he asked.

"No. I can't say it does, but there's no telling what may happen.
You'll break out some day. Flesh and blood can't stand your job,"
replied Bill.

Here was an opening. Glen was holding himself in leash wonderfully well.
All the time he was thinking, "What's she doing? What's he doing?"

He wanted to hurry back. Ping would have to hustle when he made a start.

"You're right," he agreed, "if it wasn't for a nip of your good stuff
now and again, Bill, I'd go under."

"I see. So that's what you're here for. Well, I can't gratify you this
time. I've run out."

Bill was husbanding his resources; it was his habit. Glen knew there was
a tough job before him.

"I must have some of the best, Bill, I'm run down," persisted Glen.

Bill laughed.

"Must have it? I like that. Look around. Do you think I'm going to stand
that sort of thing from your fellows without paying somebody out? As
you happen to have come along first I'll pay you out. You'll get nothing
from me to-day."

"I must have it, Bill. I'll pay double price for it."

"When?"

"In a month. I can't do it now."

"A month! Six months you mean, and then it's uncertain."

"Not with me."

"I'll not deny you're a good payer, and straight, but you've got to
suffer for the sins of others. You're one of 'em," returned Bill.

Glen Leigh leaned over the counter, his face close to Bill's.

"If you knew what I wanted it for you'd give it me without payment," he
said.

Bill looked hard at him. Glen's face was quivering. His mouth twitched.
His eyes glared. He was thinking of the woman. How should he get the
brandy if Bill persisted in refusing, for he meant having it at any
cost?

"What's it for?"

"I can't tell you. I will before long, but not now."

"Then it's a fake. You want it for yourself."

"I do not."

He fancied he could hear her moaning, becoming restless, and if he got
what he wanted and hurried back she might have a chance. It exasperated
him.

"Why not tell me the reason?" asked Bill, fairly enough.

"There's somebody ill in my hut."

"Oh, that's it, one of your mates. Do you think I'm going to help him
after last night's work? Not me."

Glen wanted to conceal that it was a woman, but he was wasting precious
time. Could Bill be trusted to keep it to himself? He had no desire for
the township to know until he had found out all about her.

"It's not one of my mates. I'd not ask it for him after that," and he
waved his hand round. "You'll not say a word, but keep it dark?"

"It depends on what it is you tell me."

"I can't tell you. Bill, we've been what folks call friends, as far as
it goes here. Promise me. It's a matter of life and death. You'll not
be sorry. You'll have done a good action, and saved a life."

Bill saw he was in deadly earnest. He knew Glen Leigh had always gone
straight with him.

"Out with it then. I'll promise, so help me I will, but I don't say I'll
let you have what you want."

Glen saw he was yielding. Again his thoughts went back to his hut, and
he groaned at the loss of time.

"It's for a woman. She's got fever, and is delirious. She'll die if she
doesn't have some stimulant. For God's sake, Bill, let me have it."

Bill stared at him. There was a genuine, even pathetic ring in his
voice. But a woman! He couldn't be expected to swallow that yarn.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"In my hut."

Bill laughed. He couldn't help it. The thing was so ridiculous.

"Who's the lady?" he asked with a grin.

Leigh's hands clenched. He was becoming dangerous.

"I haven't time to tell you lies. I don't know who she is, or where she
comes from. All I can say is I found her in there lying on my shakedown,
dying," and he told the whole story as rapidly as possible to the
astonished Bill.

"It's as true as gospel, and Jim Benny's with her waiting my return.
Think of the time I've wasted here. I may be too late. Ping's none too
fast, but he's sure. For heaven's sake, Bill, let me have it, and some
tinned stuff, soup, anything you've got. There's nothing at my place for
her."

He spoke rapidly, excitedly. He was strung to the highest pitch as he
thought how long he had already been away.

"It's the rummiest yarn I ever heard, but I don't see as how you could
make it up. I wonder who she is?"

"That's what I've got to find out. If she dies, her secret goes with
her. Help to save her, then we'll get to know," begged Glen.

Bill thought of his girl at work in Adelaide. Supposing she was in such
a plight? The mere idea made him shiver.

"I'll do it, Glen. Damn it, man, if you'd outed with it at first the
thing would have been settled in five minutes."

He disappeared. Glen knew if he had fired the story at him straight away
it would not have been believed at all. Bill also knew it as he dived
into the bowels of the earth beneath his bar.

"He's worked me cleverly," he muttered. "He saw I was cut up rough when
he came in, and he handled me well. It's a queer go, a very queer go,
but I believe him. He's not given to lying, and in any case I can go and
see for myself in a day or two. If he's put up a game on me, I'll--No,
he'd never do it. He's too much of a man. And his face! It might be his
sweetheart the way he looked."

Bill was rummaging about. Selecting two bottles he took them with him.
As he went back through his storeroom, he collected some tinned milk,
soup, and biscuits.

He packed them all carefully so that there would be no risk of breakage,
then went back to the bar.

Two men had come in during his absence. One was "on the fence," and as
usual they had selected a bottle of alleged whisky, and were helping
themselves. Glen had refused to join them. He was called a sullen
bounder.

"Get out of this," yelled Bill when he saw the rider on the fence.
"You're one of the devils who caused all this mess."

"I'll pay for it--at least my share," answered the man.

"Then out with it," said Bill, putting his package down.

Glen eyed it greedily. He ought to have had it an hour ago and been well
on his way back to the hut. Here was more delay. Would she be alive?
Would she be alive? Was Jim with her? Yes, he'd wait. He was sure of it.

The man pulled out some greasy pound-notes and handed Bill a couple.

"That's more'n my whack. It'll have to stand good for this," and he
placed his hand on the bottle.

"And mind, if I see any signs of strife brewing you'll not get away so
easily next time," warned Bill, as he stuffed the dirty notes in his
pocket, only too glad to get anything in payment for the damage.

He beckoned to Glen, picked up the package and went outside.

"You'll find all you want here; at least as much as I can give you."

"I'll never forget it, Bill. One of these days I may be able to do you a
good turn. I'll see you are paid in full, and more."

"Never mind about that. It's something to my credit that I've faith
enough in a man to believe such a dodgasted yarn as you've spun me."

"You do believe it?"

"Yes. Shake. You'll not mind me driving over? I'll not come
empty-handed, and not to act the spy, but it's such a stretcher that I'd
just like to see for myself."

Glen smiled as he mounted Ping, and Bill handed him the parcel.

"I can't wonder at it. I can hardly believe it myself. Come and see.
You'll be welcome. You always are, but not a word to a soul."

"I'll keep it dark, you bet. I'm with you in finding out all about her.
It'll be a bit of a change from that filthy work," and he jerked his
thumb in the direction of the bar.

As Glen was riding away, the man who had paid Bill the two notes rushed
out and yelled, "Expect you've not heard that Joe Calder's been found
shot dead on his track!"




CHAPTER V

WHY JIM CAME TO THE HUT


Joe Calder shot dead on his track!

Glen had no time to waste or he would have gone back to hear more. He
must hurry on. Ping felt there was need for haste. His master seldom
pushed him as he was doing now.

Joe Calder done for at last! Glen had warned him it would come some day,
for the man was a brute. He had no human feeling, and how he earned
promotion over his fellows was one of those things no man could
understand.

Glen was overseer on his track, as Joe Calder was on the other, and the
two men often met, but they were as wide apart as the poles in every
respect.

Calder was a sneak. The men under him hated him. More than one
threatened to do for him, but he was a big powerful man, and dangerous.
He was one of the worst characters, and when he went to Boonara even
Bill Bigs fought shy of him. There was no doubt he was a criminal. His
face, his shifty eyes, the backward glances, his fear of being followed
and tracked down betrayed it. But he must have had a friend somewhere,
or he would never have got his post.

Glen was surprised, and yet he was not. The news was shot at him
unexpectedly, but he believed it, and wondered who had rid the world of
a scoundrel, and the track of a desperate man. Ping travelled well, his
head bound for home, such as it was, and every horse knows the way to
his stable. Mile after mile was traversed, until Glen saw a faint speck
in the distance and knew it was his hut. A townsman would have seen
nothing, but Glen's eyes were used to looking long distances, and were
almost as powerful as a glass in distinguishing objects.

"Go on, Ping. We'll soon be there," and the horse put on another spurt.

The tension in the hut was not relaxed for a moment. Hour after hour
passed, and still the dog stood on guard and eyed Jim. If the man moved
there came an ominous growl.

Two or three times the woman groaned, and Spotty pricked his ears
wonderingly. Such sounds were unfamiliar. Jim watched him. The dog
seemed half inclined to spring on the bed. Thinking better of it he
settled down again with his eyes fixed as before.

A drowsy feeling crept over Jim. He was fearful of going to sleep. He
had been sitting like a statue for the Lord knows how long and he had no
idea of the time.

He listened. Not a sound, except a few melancholy notes from a passing
bird. What was Glen doing all this time? He had promised to watch, but
Glen had not promised to come back. Jim's mind was in a chaotic state,
and he was hardly responsible for it.

Spotty pricked his ears. Jim accepted this as a sign that he heard
something, and listened intently.

The dog gave a short, sharp bark, a true signal this time.

In his great sense of relief Jim stood up. He could bear the strain no
longer.

Spotty flew at him, straight at his throat. Jim caught him with both
hands and held him, the dog growling, snarling, trying to wrench himself
free to bite his hands. Jim held on. He heard the hoof-beats. It was
Glen returning and all would be well, but he was tired and cramped with
the strain, and Spotty was a ferocious dog, and strong.

The woman moved and half sat up; then she sank back again. He was
thankful.

Ping halted. Glen got out of the saddle with the precious burden and
strode into the hut. Unstrung as he was, the sight that met his gaze
caused him to drop the package. With a cry of despair he caught at it,
just breaking its fall.

Spotty, seeing his master, ceased struggling. Jim let go his hold and
fell on the floor in a dead faint.

"Get out," almost yelled Glen, and the dog shot through the opening like
a fox bolting from hounds, dashing under Ping's belly and scouring
across country at top speed. Yet he had only guarded his master's hut,
and his doggy brain resented the injustice.

Glen opened the package before attending to Jim. There was no damage
done, and he had never felt so like offering up a prayer
before--supposing, after all, he had gone through, the precious bottles
had broken? He knelt down beside Jim, summing up the situation, and
wondering how long he had been subjected to the strain caused by the
dog. Opening one of the bottles, he poured a small quantity down Jim's
throat, being careful not to spill a drop.

Presently Jim sat up, looked round in a dazed way, and then seeing Glen
said, "It was a near go. The dog watched me for hours. I dared not move
for fear he would savage me or her, but when I heard you coming I could
stand it no longer. I got up, and he flew at me. She's been like that
ever since you left. What have you brought?"

"Many things, but I'd a job to work round Bill. There'd been a row in
his shanty. Two of your fellows smashed things up, and he was in a
towering rage. Fetch some water. It's funny we can get it nice, cool,
clean and fresh. We haven't done that for months, have we?"

As he spoke he was busy with the package placing the things carefully on
the floor. Bill had made amends after all, and opened his heart. He was
a dashed good sort, and should be repaid.

Jim staggered out for the water. The tank was overflowing into sundry
water-catchers. It was far too precious to waste, although many times
the quantity would have been used to wash up after a single meal in a
big hotel.

Glen made the mixture weak, then, taking a bit of rag, he moistened her
lips with it, squeezing a little into her mouth.

He was glad she was alive. A tremendous sense of relief came over him,
and with it relaxation from the strain he too had gone through. He could
have lain down on the floor and slept for many hours.

"Get some rest, Jim. You need it," he said.


"Not so much as you."

"Yes, your struggle was greater than mine. Sleep, man; then you can
watch when I give up."

Jim lay down. He was in a dead slumber in a minute or two.

Glen sat looking at the woman. A slight colour came into her cheeks, her
lips were not so blue, a warmth spread over her body; he could feel it
as he touched her bare arm. Then a curious thing happened. He bent down
and kissed her, not like Jim Benny, on the lips, but on her forehead,
reverently, tenderly, like a father would a child--and he was the most
reckless rider on the fence. Both men were among the legion of the lost,
why was only known to themselves, but they had given this woman what
many a one of her sex in a great city would have been thankful
for--human kindness.

"Sleep's best for her," he thought, as he moistened her lips again.
"She's been hot and cold, but there's a nice glow on her now. It's
healthy. She'll pull through. I'll bet she pulls through, and we'll
have done it, Jim, and I, and Bill. He's had a big share in it. I should
say the three of us will be able to look after her and find out all
about her."

Jim had his rest. Glen roused him when he found sleep would overcome him
whether he willed it or no.

"Wet her lips with it when they're dry. Place your finger on and feel."

Jim nodded. He thought how he had placed his lips to hers when Glen was
away. He was ashamed of it; somehow he thought he ought to tell him.
He'd think it over while he slept.

In the midst of nature's great silent solitudes these three were working
out their fate. It was so still that to most people the silence would
have been worse than the noise and rush of traffic. Outside, Ping,
neglected after his long journey, unsaddled, was finding refreshment.
The horse was weary, leg tired, but his heart was in the right place. He
was the sort that never gives in until something snaps.

Spotty called a halt when he had gone a couple of miles, and considered
the question of the unjustness of his master. He must have arrived at
some conclusion for he retraced his steps slowly. Near the hut he
encountered Ping, so nosed round him as though apologising for the
sudden bolt under him. Ping and Spotty were chums. They were both
mongrels, but there is often a lot of good to be found in such animals.
Eventually when Ping lay down Spotty curled up close to his back; the
silence was unbroken.

When Glen awoke he saw at a glance the woman was coming round. She began
to mutter. They listened but could make out no words.

"She's pulling through. I reckon she'll mend now. We've all of us got to
get her round."

"All of us?"

"Yes, you and Bill and me."

"And what about the fence?" asked Jim.

"Damn the fence," answered Glen fiercely, "I've done with it."

"Then so have I," echoed Jim almost gladly.

"Good boy. It's a cursed job. Keepers of the fence. I tell you, Jim,
it's slow murder. I'd as lief have solitary confinement."

"I guess we'd get better tucker in prison," said Jim.

The word murder recalled to Glen's mind the death of Calder.

"Jim!"

"Well?"

"Joe Calder's been shot dead on the track."

"Serves the brute right," replied Jim in a hard voice.

"You haven't told me yet what brought you here," said Glen looking at
him.

"That was it."

"What?"

"The Calder business."

"You--?"

Jim nodded.

"I shot him."




CHAPTER VI

"COME"


Glen asked no questions. If Jim Benny had shot Calder he must have had
good reason for it. He waited to hear if he would say more.

"Do you want to know why?" asked Jim.

"Please yourself."

Jim pulled off his shirt, or tried to. It stuck.

"The water," he said faintly.

Glen gave him a damp cloth. Jim bathed the shirt, near his breast. For
the first time Glen noticed a deep red mark.

"That's better," said Jim, as he felt the shirt give, and pulled it off.
Then he went on, "He did that with his knife, and I shot him."

"It served him right," returned Glen.

"We quarrelled, not for the first time. He said brutal things to me,
and called me names no man would stand, so I struck him between the
eyes. He whipped out his knife, and I had it before I could think. I
pulled my revolver from my belt, and shot him through the heart. He fell
like a log. I left him there. I never even looked at him, but came on
here."

"Why did you come here?"

"Because I thought I could depend upon you, and you would give me good
advice. I didn't tell you at first, because of her. One thing at a
time's enough."

"You can depend upon me. I'll help you if there's trouble, but no one
knows you shot him, and there'll not be much fuss made over him,"
declared Glen.

The woman opened her eyes, and looked at them. Then a faint smile spread
over her face.

"Are you better?" asked Glen.

No answer.

"Do you feel stronger, my lass?"

She pressed her hand over her forehead feebly, and a vacant look came
into her eyes.

"She's weak. She's had no food. Warm some of that milk, Jim."

When it was ready Glen gave it to her with a spoon. She took it
greedily. In a few minutes she dozed again.

"Her head's sure to be bad for a time," said Glen.

There was a brief silence, then Jim said, "While you were away I did
something."

"What?"

"I kissed her on the lips. I couldn't help it. Something prompted me."

Glen started. For a moment he felt angry, then muttered, "When you were
outside I kissed her on the forehead."

These kisses were characteristic of the men and showed the difference
between them.

They said no more about it. Both thought it strange, and the subject
dropped.

The woman progressed slowly but surely. As she recovered some strength
they found her memory had gone; she did not know her name, or where she
came from. She appeared to imagine she had been there all her life.

Bill Bigs arrived in his buggy, and did not come empty-handed; there was
an ample supply stowed away in the back.

"That's her, eh?" he asked.

"Yes. Do you believe me now?" replied Glen smiling.

"I believed you before, but I wanted to see her. I say, Glen, she'll be
a grand-looking woman when she's picked up and filled out a bit. Where
the deuce did she come from? It's miles away from everywhere here," said
Bill.

"It'll be hard to find out. She's lost her memory; she fancies she's
been here all her days, but she's sane enough. She'll talk all right in
a bit," replied Glen.

"Jim Benny!" exclaimed Bill.

"He's been here ever since she came. It was funny he should turn up
almost at the same time."

Jim came into the hut and greeted Bill.

"I never expected to see you here," exclaimed the latter.

"He came to consult me. We're going to throw it up," Glen told him.

"Throw what up?"

"The fence. We've done with it; we're sick of the whole thing. It's too
much for flesh and blood to stand."

Bill stared.

"Going!" he cried. "Why you're the best man on the job."

"Am I?" answered Glen. "I'm glad to hear someone has a good opinion of
me."

"I always had," pursued Bill. "I'm not surprised. I've often wondered
why you came. I remember the first time I saw you in Boonara. I thought
you'd dropped from the clouds. Have you sent in your resignation?"

"No. What does it matter. Let 'em find out. You can drop a line to the
overseer when we're gone."

"And the fence?" asked Bill "We don't want those cursed rabbits to get
through to our side."

"There are plenty to look after it; men are always disappearing. There
are good and bad among us. Some fellows are there fighting down the
drink curse. I don't blame 'em; it's their only chance. I know two of
'em, good men in their way, but I can tell how it would be with them if
they went back to a town life. They'd go under quick. I've been in many
a jag myself, but that's not why I came out. I can stifle it; it's only
a matter of will," declared Glen.

"I don't know so much about that. I've had a lot of experience in that
line. Some of the poor beggars can't help themselves," said Bill, and
then added, "They've buried Calder. There'll be no inquiry. Most people
think he shot himself. Anyhow we've shovelled him away in Boonara. If
any trouble is made they can dig him up again and call him as witness.
He's the only one who could give evidence. All your fellows are glad
he's gone."

Jim listened in silence, with a feeling of relief; he did not in the
least regret what he had done. He regarded it as a righteous act.

The woman sat up. When she saw Bill she asked, "When did he come?"

This was almost the first sentence she had spoken correctly. Hitherto
her words had come disjointedly--in jerks.

"Me, my lass? I've just dropped in to see my friend, Glen. He told me
you were here."

"I've been here a long time. Oh, such a long time. I must have been
sleeping for weeks. I've forgotten which is Glen," she answered.

"I'm Glen--Glen Leigh," he said as he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"How silly of me that I didn't remember, but I shall not forget again.
You have been very good to me. Have I been very ill?"

"Yes, for a long time," replied Glen humouring her.

She looked at Jim, and Glen said, "He's Jim Benny, another good friend.
And that's Bill Bigs, one of the best of friends. We're all going to
look after you."

She smiled.

"Do I want looking after?"

"You'll not be too strong for a good while yet," replied Glen. "When
you are strong we're going away from here."

She looked at him wonderingly.

"Going away from home?" she asked.

"You'll want a change when you get stronger."

This put a different complexion on the matter, and she smiled again,
nodded, and lay down once more.

"That's the first attempt at conversation she's made," said Glen. "We're
getting on."

"You boys--where are you going when you leave here?" asked Bill
suddenly.

Glen did not hesitate.

"Sydney," he answered.

Bill remained silent a few minutes, then said slowly, as though still
thinking it out, "Sydney! I've a good mind to go with you, I'm sick of
Boonara. It's the last place that was ever put up on this earth."

Glen jumped up from his seat, so did Jim. They took a hand each and
almost pulled Bill's arms off.

"Do it!" cried Glen. "Do it! We want you. If the three can't make
headway in Sydney we're not the men I fancy we are."

"Yes, come with us," put in Jim heartily.

"Stop, you fellows, stop," said Bill. "It's easier said than done. I'll
tell you something. I've had an offer for my shanty, a damned good
offer, more than it's worth. I can't think why he's made it, or where
he's got the money from. I never knew Craig Bellshaw to give much money
away, and I don't see where else it could have come from."

"Craig Bellshaw!" exclaimed Glen in surprise, "has he made a bid for
it?"

"Not likely. What'd he want with a place like mine? It's Garry Backham,
Bellshaw's overseer. He came into my place and wanted to know if I'd
sell out. He said he wanted the place and was tired of Mintaro. I was
never more surprised in my life. You could have pushed me over with a
blade of grass."

"I met him several times. He seems a taciturn sort of man, sullen, bad
tempered--not one of my sort," said Glen.

"I fancy he's had a roughish time at Mintaro," Bill surmised, "but he
must have saved money. Bellshaw wouldn't lend it him in hundreds."

"He was a pal of Calder's; about the only one he had," Jim remarked.

"I never knew that," said Bill.

"They used to meet on the track, and talk and smoke. He bought Calder
drink at times," explained Jim.

"Birds of a feather," said Glen.

"He made no fuss about Calder being shot," Bill commented.

"It was no use. He's dead and gone, and there's no proof that he was
shot; he probably did it himself as you have said," decided Glen.

The woman stirred, murmuring some words in her sleep; with a start she
sat up, stared at the group, stretched out her arms, and in a pleading
voice uttered the one word, "Come."




CHAPTER VII

THE FACE IN THE WATER


"I'm not superstitious," said Bill, "but that settles it; she said
'come' as plainly as she could, although she's fast asleep. I can't get
over that. I'll sell out to Backham, and join you. We'll make things gee
in Sydney, I reckon."

They were delighted at this decision, for they knew Bigs was a good man
of business, who had his head screwed on right, and if there was
anything to be made he'd be on to it straight.

"She'll want some clothes. She can't go in those things," said Glen.

"I'll fix that up. I can get sufficient garments in Boonara for her to
reach Sydney in and there's no occasion for her to arrive like the Queen
of Sheba," Bill replied.

They laughed. Things were more cheerful. The decision to abandon the
fence livened them up.

When Bill left he promised to return in a week, and see how the woman
was progressing.

"It'll be longer than that before we can travel with her," he said.

Away in Sydney, the great city, vast even in those days, life was going
on very differently from the solitudes round Boonara. There were
hundreds, nay, thousands, of people in that beautiful city who had never
heard of Boonara, or knew there were such men as the keepers of the
fence. As far as the majority of the inhabitants were concerned such men
as Glen Leigh, Jim Benny, and Bill Bigs, might not have existed. Had the
story of the woman in the hut been told it would have been laughed to
scorn, and counted impossible, but there is nothing impossible in the
world, however improbable it may seem.

Sydney was pulsating with life in this year of grace 18--. There is no
occasion to be exact. It might partially spoil matters, and what's a
year or two to a story, so long as the interest is maintained, and the
characters are living beings? Late in the nineteenth century Sydney
flourished exceedingly. The last twenty years of that remarkable era saw
it going ahead by leaps and bounds, and it has been growing ever since
until men who left it years ago, and have revisited it, can hardly
recognise the place. Long may it flourish, most beautiful of many
beautiful cities!

There was a crowd in Pitt Street, outside Tattersalls, and over the way
at the marble bar streams of people were passing in and out, for it was
hot, and there were many parched throats. Moreover, it had been the
winding up day of the A.J.C. Meeting at Randwick, and every favourite
had got home, much to the disgust of the bookmakers.

It was ten at night and sultry; there was no air to speak of. The
keepers of the fence would have thought it cool, but they were used to
being burnt up and parched, and lived in a land where water was often
flavoured with the taste of dead things, and not cooled with ice and
fragrant with lemon. Not one of this crowd knew what took place on the
border line of glittering wire. Boonara was as far off as, and more
strange than, Timbuctoo.

Not one of this crowd? Stay. There was one--probably the only one--who
knew all about it, and he stood smoking a cigar and chatting to a man
outside a tobacconist's shop, not far from the Club on the opposite side
of the road. He was a man nearly six feet high, with black hair and
eyebrows, and a sunburnt face. Not a pleasant face, but strong,
determined, with a rather cruel mouth and dark cat-like eyes; a man
dangerous both to friend and enemy if he willed. He was well-dressed,
but somewhat carelessly; he had a slouch hat, dark grey clothes, and his
tie was awry. He stood with his legs slightly apart, gesticulating with
one hand as he talked. The man to whom he was speaking was the leviathan
of the Australian turf, who had made his position by a mixture of shrewd
business qualities and bold gambling, who betted in thousands, and took
"knocks" that would have sent a less plucky man out of the ring. But he
always came up smiling, and his luck was proverbial. He had been known
to play hazards for twelve hours at a stretch and never have a hand
tremble when he lost thousands. He was ostensibly a dealer in choice
cigars, etc., in fact in all the paraphernalia of a tobacconist's, and
it was his shop they had just come out of as they stood talking on the
pavement. He was not so tall as his companion, and had a much more
kindly face. He was popular because he was cheerful and honest, and the
little backer could always get a point over the odds from him.

The taller man was Craig Bellshaw, of Mintaro Station. The bookmaker was
Nicholas Gerard, always called Nick by everybody.

Craig Bellshaw was, as before mentioned, probably the only man who knew
there were such men as the keepers of the fence, who had heard of
Boonara, and was acquainted with the vast solitudes in the West. He was
a wealthy man, and could afford to leave Mintaro to the men he employed,
and come to Sydney in search of pleasure. When he was away he still had
his grip on his place, as some of his hands found to their cost. They
put it down to the spying of Garry Backham, the overseer.

Craig Bellshaw was a man of about fifty years of age, but did not look
it. He had led a hardy life, and been successful. He owned miles upon
miles of land, thousands of cattle, and his sheep ran into hundreds of
thousands. Horses he had in abundance; how many he had no idea. He
claimed all within reach of his land round Mintaro district, but never
missed a dozen when they were taken. It pleased him to say they were
his, so he did not grumble when Boonara men, and fencers, claimed a few.
Bellshaw was difficult to understand, but one thing was certain: once he
got his hold on a thing, he seldom let go.

He was a bachelor, but had a house in Sydney which cost him a
considerable sum to keep up; he found it handy when he came to town. He
owned racehorses, and his trainer was Ivor Hadwin, who had stables on
the hill at Randwick. Hadwin was completely under Bellshaw's thumb, and
was heavily in his debt. It was owing to pecuniary difficulties that he
became connected with him. This was often the case with Craig Bellshaw.
For once in a way the A.J.C. Meeting proved successful to the stable,
and Bellshaw's horses had won four races, one on each day; all were
heavily backed, and the bulk of the money had either been laid by Nick
Gerard, or he had worked the commission. This was the subject of their
conversation, and as they talked in the flare of the gaslights and the
shops, many people turned to look at them, for both were well-known
figures in the sporting world.

"Yes, Nick, I've had a pretty good meeting," said Craig.

Nick Gerard smiled.

"I should say you had. There are several thousands to your credit," he
rejoined.

"What do you think of the dark bay--the fellow that won to-day?"

"Barellan? Oh, he's all right. A pretty fair horse I should say."

"Yes, he is, a good deal better than you think."

"Is he? I've seen him at work on the track. He won to-day, but I don't
think he's the best you've got."

"No? Which is?"

"Flash."

Bellshaw smiled in his peculiar way as he said, "Perhaps he's a better
track horse, but I'm sure Barellan is the better horse in a race,
especially over a distance."

"He may be. When are you going back West?"

"Not yet. I'm sick of it. We've had such a long dry spell, but now we've
had rain, a real soaker. We wanted it badly enough."

"It must be terrible when you have no rain for months."

"It is. You're lucky to be here always."

"Why don't you give it up now you've made your pile?"

"Throw it up? I can't afford it. You don't know what's hanging to
Mintaro."

"A good deal, no doubt, but you're a single man, with no one dependent
on you. It seems to me you're wasting your time. You've worked hard
enough," argued Nick.

"So I have, but I couldn't live in Sydney always, any more than I could
at Mintaro."

They talked for some little time. Eventually Gerard bade him good night
and went over to Tattersalls. The squatter walked along Pitt Street,
then hailing a cab drove to Surrey Hills. He called at a house, remained
some time, then drove to Circular Quay, catching the last boat to Manley.
It was beautiful on the harbour; a cool breeze was blowing from the
heads. The moon shone, and as he leaned over the side he saw his face
reflected in the water. This was peculiar. He did not remember having
seen such a thing before. As he looked he clutched the rail with both
hands, turned pale, and gasped. Reflected beside his face was another
face, that of a young woman--he had not noticed a lady standing a short
distance away from him who was also looking over the side of the boat.

He staggered away and went to the fore part of the steamer, where there
was more breeze, and sat down. The perspiration broke out all over him.
He felt faint for the first time in his life.

"I saw it. I'm sure of it, and it was like her face. I'm a fool to be
frightened at a shadow on the water," and he laughed harshly, a
mirthless sound.




CHAPTER VIII

WAYS AND MEANS


Three men and a woman arrived in Sydney by the mail train from Bourke;
there were not many passengers, and they attracted some attention. It
was evident they came from out back, their appearance denoted it; they
were clothed in a rough country style. They were Glen Leigh, Jim Benny,
Bill Bigs, and the woman. They had very little luggage; it was contained
in a couple of bundles, "swags," that could be strapped on the back,
slung over a shoulder, or carried in the hand. Many people in Sydney
have seen the once familiar figure of a tall Queensland millionaire
walking along George Street with a similar outfit. In appearance Glen
Leigh was not unlike him, only younger.

A porter watched them as they walked out of the station. They all seemed
solicitous about the woman. The man understood the three, the female he
was puzzled about.

"They can't have picked her up coming in the train. She belongs to one
of them. I wonder which. The tall chap, perhaps. He's a big 'un; I fancy
I've seen him before. I wonder where they're bound for?"

The porter's attention was claimed and he forgot all about them.

"There's a coffee place in Lower George Street that will do us for a
time," said Glen, "till we've had a look round."

The woman stared about her wonderingly. If she had ever been in a large
city it was evident she had forgotten all about it.

Since her illness, which was not yet shaken off, she had developed in
body and mind, although as regards the latter it was to a great extent
blank as to the past. She had some colour in her cheeks. There were
signs that she would be pretty, with a good figure, and be an attractive
woman.

She made no remarks as Glen and Jim walked on either side of her, Bigs
following behind with the larger bundle. Several people turned to look
at them as they went along.

The coffee house was large, but unpretentious, the locality being none
of the best. It was at the Circular Quay end of George Street, and
Chinamen's shops and dens abounded--dull dirty places, with a few empty
tea chests in the windows, and bits of paper with Chinese characters
scrawled, or printed on, in various colours, like cracker coverings on a
table after a riotous Boxing Day dinner. In several of the shop doorways
Chinamen leaned against the posts, seldom moving when a customer pushed
by them into the shop, bent on playing fan tan, or smoking opium.

"The Chinkies might have been propped up there since I was here last,
and that's a few years ago," laughed Bigs.

"Rotten lot," said Jim.

"Most of 'em. I've met one or two decent pigtails out West," Bill
answered.

When the woman caught sight of the Chinaman it had a most peculiar
effect upon her. She shrank close to Glen, pushing him on to the
roadway, and almost slipping down herself. He saw by her face that she
was terrified, and followed the direction of her glance. It was fixed on
a fat Chinaman standing in his shop door looking across at them. He was
not exactly repulsive, but he was sleek and oily. His face shone, his
cheeks hung low, he had a double chin, and his eyes were like nuts fixed
in slits.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," said Glen. "If he is a nasty-looking
beggar I daresay he's harmless."

Jim and Bill noticed her agitation and scowled at the Chinaman, who
returned the challenge with a broad grin, showing his yellow teeth.

She trembled violently. Her hand shook as it clasped Glen's arm with a
tight squeeze. He hurried her on; she was quite willing. It was not
until they were inside the coffee house that she recovered.

"You don't like the Chinamen?" asked Glen.

"I hate them. They frighten me," she said.

I wonder why? thought Glen, as a maid came to show her her room.

She looked back and asked, "Where is your room?"

"I don't know yet," returned Glen.

"Please don't go far away from me. Please don't."

"All right," replied Glen. "I'll see to that."

The maid smiled, but Glen's scowl quickly frightened it away.

"We'll have to fix something up," he said. "She'd better be somebody's
sister. I'm too old; you take it on, Jim."

"Yes, Jim's most suitable. He's not much older--a matter of three or
four years," agreed Bill.

"His sister!"

Jim didn't like the relationship. Once it was established it might be
difficult to induce her to change the feeling. He must accept, however;
there was no excuse for not doing so.

"Very well, that's settled. I'll tell her about it," went on Glen. "Try
and explain to her, but she's as simple as a child, and won't understand
the reason for it."

She was tired. The maid, who regarded her curiously, saw she was weak,
and asked her if she had been ill. She said she had been very ill, for a
long time, and she wanted rest.

"Lie down on the bed. Let me take your boots on. I'll draw the curtain
round, and you can have a sleep. It will do you good. Have you travelled
far?"

"From Bourke."

"Where's that?"

"In the West. Some hundreds of miles away."

This excited the maid's compassion. She was a good-natured kind girl,
but fond of admiration, and she had seen a great deal of life since she
came out as an emigrant from the old country.

"I'll be back in a minute," she said as she left the room. She went to
ask if she could remain with her for a short time, and receiving a reply
in the affirmative returned, after telling Glen she had persuaded her to
rest.

"She's my friend's sister," and he pointed to Jim. "She's been very ill;
take care of her."

"I'll look after her. I'm sorry I smiled as I did, but--"

"But what?" asked Glen.

"Oh, nothing. We see some queer folks here sometimes," she said.

"I daresay you do," replied Glen, "but we're all right. You needn't be
afraid of any of us."

"I'm not," she retorted, unable to resist laughing at him.

"That girl's better than I thought," he remarked when she had gone.

"They often are, if you'll only take time to find it out," said Bill.

"Where's Jim?"

"He must have just gone out. I don't think he liked the sister
business."

"Why not?" Glen asked, surprised.

"That remains to be seen," Bill answered, and the remark made Glen
thoughtful.

Jim came in again and they had a council of ways and means.

Bill Bigs had a considerable sum of money. He had not half-poisoned the
inhabitants of Boonara, and the keepers of the fence, and others,
without making a handsome profit on his concoctions. His dealings in hay
and provender of various kinds had been another source of income.
Occasional loans, at heavy risks, and corresponding interest, had also
brought grist to the mill.

The sale of his shanty to Garry Backham brought him in several hundred
pounds, about twice the amount he valued it at, and he had not yet
recovered from the surprise at his good luck, or at the fact that Garry
had found the ready money in a lump sum. Altogether he had a few
thousands at his back.

Glen Leigh had more money than the other two would have thought
possible. He had it stowed away in a bank in Sydney, where it had
remained, and been added to, ever since he had been on the fence.

Jim Benny had a few pounds which he carried with him.

"I'll look round," said Bill. "I'm the business man. I reckon I'd best
stick to my own line and buy a 'house' if I can find a decent one at a
fair price."

"It's about the best thing you can do," agreed Glen.

"And if I succeed, you two, and the girl, must put up with me until you
find work," went on Bill.

Glen laughed.

"What sort of work?" he asked.

"That's a bit difficult, but two fellows who ride like you can ought to
find some sort of occupation. Start a buckjumping show. Give 'em a taste
of your quality; that's the game; I've hit on a little gold mine. We can
get horses, and it won't cost a deal to run it."

"You mean have a real genuine show of buckjumping, and riding, in
Sydney, and other places?" Glen queried.

"Yes, that's the idea."

"How much would it cost to start it?"

"A few hundreds. I'll find the money."

"I must have a share in it, and we'll let Jim come in. He can take it
out in hard work," said Glen smiling.

"I'm willing to do anything you wish," Jim declared.

"If I manage to make the necessary arrangements," said Bill, "you'll
have to go and find the horses, the very worst buckers you can get.
There must be no faking about it."

"There'll be none where I am concerned," replied Glen, "I'll pick up
some rough 'uns, you may depend on that, I say, Bill, I believe you've
hit on the right thing."

"I'm sure I have. You're the best rider I ever saw sit a horse," said
Bill.




CHAPTER IX

THE CHINAMAN'S SHOP


Bill Bigs met a good many Chinamen, and had dealings with them, always
finding them keen business fellows, moderately honest, though some were
arrant rogues.

He went out of the coffee house to look round, and saw the fat Chinaman
still standing in his doorway like a statue, as though he had not moved
since they saw him before entering the house.

The name on the shop was Lin Soo. Probably this was the name of the man
at the door; at any rate something prompted Bill to cross the road and
look in at the shop window. He saw three tea chests, which he guessed
were empty, a couple of Chinese bowls, a vase with strange hideous
dragons painted or burnt on, an ivory-handled stick, a hat, a pile of
chop-sticks, a bundle of red papers, and a cat slumbering serenely
among the miscellaneous collection.

"Is the cat for sale?" he asked the man.

The Chinaman smiled.

"Not for sale. A good cat; he catchee mice, cockroaches."

"I didn't know there were any mice here."

"He catchee them if they were here," grinned the man.

"Your name is Lin Soo?"

The Chinaman nodded.

"You speak very good English," said Bill.

"Been in Sydney years," he replied.

"And made a heap of money," said Bill.

"No. Chinaman no chance with the white man," said Lin solemnly.

Bill laughed.

"You yellow heathen, I know better than that. Are you a tea dealer?"

Lin Soo nodded; it was a habit, and when he did so his cheeks flapped
and his eyelids fell up and down like trap doors.

"Sell me half a pound of good tea," said Bill.

Lin Soo turned and walked into the shop. Bill followed. He did not want
any tea, and Lin Soo knew it.

The Chinaman went behind the counter, leaning on it with his elbows.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Tea."

Lin Soo grunted.

"You no fool," he said.

Bill laughed.

"How do you know?"

"You want no tea."

"What do I want?"

Lin Soo's head wagged again.

"Guess," said Bill.

"Give it up," replied Lin.

"Why did you leer at the girl we had with us? You frightened her, you
oily beast," said Bill.

Lin Soo started back. This was evidently unexpected, and Bill was a
formidable fellow to tackle.

Lin Soo protested he had not stared at her. Lots of silly women were
frightened at Chinamen--why he didn't know. They had no cause to be.

"They have every cause," said Bill. "Chinamen have ruined many white
women. Some of you yellow dogs buy and sell our girls, and trade them to
human beasts, who disgrace their colour. They're worse than you
fellows."

"Much worse," agreed Lin. "You know about it?"

"About what?"

"Trading in white girls."

"Yes, you scoundrel. I expect you've been at it."

Lin Soo protested. He was a good Chinaman,--not one of that sort.

Bill noticed the leer in his eyes, and concluded he was a deep-dyed
rogue.

"Have you ever been out West?" he asked out of curiosity.

Lin Soo said he had. A few years ago he had business in Bourke.

Bill became interested. What took him to Bourke?

Dealings with a big man, a man of money. He did not live at Bourke, but
he met him, Lin Soo, there.

"What sort of dealings?" queried Bill.

Lin Soo would not disclose them.

Bill questioned him for some time, and discovered that he might smoke
opium there if he wished; also that he might gamble for a considerable
sum if he so desired.

He left the shop, wondering what had induced him to waste his time
there.

Lin Soo watched him go up the street, scowled after him, called him bad
names and cursed him in some horrible guttural way.

"You sneaking round me," he said. "Better take care. Lin Soo stand no
fool play. Me stare at white woman! Why not? Me had dealings with many
white women. Business in Bourke with what you call squatter and white
woman. Tell him? Not muchy!"

Bill walked into Pitt Street. When he came to the corner of Market
Street he stopped and stared.

That looks uncommonly like Craig Bellshaw, he thought.

The man he had seen turned round and came towards him. It was Bellshaw.
He saw Bill Bigs and recognised him.

"You here, Bigs? What brings you to Sydney?"

"I've sold out."

"Have you? Tired of Boonara, eh?"

"It's hardly a paradise as you know, and I got a good price for the
place, so I thought I'd quit."

"I expect you've knocked up a nice little pile out of the natives, the
fencers, and my men, shearers, and so on. I had a nip or two at your
shanty. I can taste it yet. What horrible stuff you sold," said Craig.

"No worse than others sell. No worse than the man who bought me out will
sell."

"Who bought you out?"

"Don't you know?"

"How should I?"

"Garry Backham. He paid cash down, too. I wonder where he came by it? I
don't suppose you've been over liberal with him," said Bill. He watched
Bellshaw as he spoke, and the squatter returned his glance without a
flicker.

"Garry's bought you out? I wondered why he wanted to leave me," replied
Bellshaw.

He's lying, thought Bill, and wondered why.

"He'll not find it all profit," said Bill.

Bellshaw laughed.

"I don't expect he will," he agreed. "Who's there now looking after the
place?"

"He is."

"You mean he's left Mintaro and gone to Boonara?"

"That's about it. He was in the house when I came away."

"The scoundrel. He's neglected my interests. He shall pay for it. He'd
no business to leave Mintaro until I returned."

"I expect Mintaro will be all right. You've plenty of hands there."

Bellshaw laughed again.

"I daresay they'll pull through somehow," he said.

When Craig Bellshaw left him Bill went back to the coffee house, and
told them he had seen him.

"Did he say when he was returning?" asked Glen. "I don't want to meet
him. He's not my kind. Besides he might try and make it nasty over
leaving the fence. He's one of that sort."

"He's sure to be going back soon. He's been here some time I fancy. I
wonder why he tried to make me believe he knew nothing about Garry
Backham taking my place? It's all bunkum. He knew right enough, but he
must have some reason for trying to hide it," said Bill.

"If all I've heard about Mintaro is correct there are some queer goings
on at times. I've never been there, but one of the fellows on the fence,
Abe Carew, was employed by him for a long time. He offended Bellshaw,
who kicked him out, and he was very sore about it. He gave him a nice
character. I didn't believe it all, of course, but no doubt a lot of
it's true," Glen remarked.

"Bellshaw's one of those queer sorts, you never know what they are up
to, never know when you've got 'em. He's been in my place and said
things I knew were lies, and he seemed to have no reason for it, but he
must have had," said Bill.

"Some fellows lie for the sake of lying," Glen answered.

The woman slept all night until late next morning. When she came into
the large room Glen was the only one in it. She went straight up to him,
holding out both hands. When he took them she kissed him. The hot blood
surged in his veins. Was she always going to do this? He was glad no one
saw it.

"You feel much better?" he asked when he had recovered his equanimity.

"Almost well. Sleep is wonderful. Are we going to live here?" she
returned.

"No. This is a sort of hotel. We are staying here until we find a home."

"Why did we leave home?" she asked.

"It was impossible to stay there; there was only one room in the hut."

"Wasn't it always like that?" she asked as though trying to recall
something.

"No, not always. Can't you remember?"

"Remember--what?"

"Where you came from when you came to the hut."

She laughed.

"How funny you are. You know I always lived there."

"With me, and Jim, and Bill?" he asked.

She seemed puzzled.

"It must have been so, and yet--" she put her hand to her head.

He watched her. Would she remember, or would he have to wait? That it
would all come back to her some day he was certain, and then--

She was at the window, looking into the street. Lin Soo's shop was
nearly opposite, but he was not visible.

A dark man walked rapidly along, and was about to enter Lin Soo's when a
cab horse slipped and fell. This attracted his attention. He turned
round with the intention of going to assist the driver, but the horse
struggled to his feet unaided.

As the man looked across the road the woman at the window gave a faint
cry. Glen was at her side in a moment.

"What is it?" he asked.

"That man, the dark man, looking this way. I've seen him before. Who is
he? Do you know?" she said in an agitated voice.

It was Craig Bellshaw.




CHAPTER X

THE ACCUSATION


"Have you seen him before? Do you know him? His name is Craig Bellshaw.
He lives at Mintaro, a big homestead, some miles from the hut, the home
we left," said Glen.

The fear, or whatever it was, passed. She smiled. No, she did not know
him, nor had she heard the name.

"Perhaps you knew someone like him?" Glen suggested.

She shook her head. She did not remember.

Much to Glen's surprise he saw Bellshaw go into Lin Soo's shop. He came
out again in about a quarter of an hour, hailed a passing hansom, and
drove away.

Why had he gone into the Chinaman's? It was about the last place Glen
would have expected to see him in. He told Bill what had happened. They
could make nothing of it, but it made a deep impression on them.

Craig Bellshaw was uneasy. The face on the water troubled him; it
haunted him as he walked about. He left Sydney suddenly and returned to
Mintaro, where he arrived unexpectedly. He found everything going on as
usual. Garry Backham had put a man in charge of the shanty at Boonara,
and returned to his duties until such time as Bellshaw came back.

"I met Bigs in Sydney," said Bellshaw. "He told me you went into his
place the day he left, and handed it over to you. I suppose you came
back when he had gone?"

"Yes. I thought it best to make sure of the place. Bigs is a shifty
customer. If I'd left him in charge he might have done me out of no end
of things," returned Garry.

"Probably he would. He seemed surprised when I told him I didn't know
you had bought him out."

Garry grinned.

"Of course you didn't know. How should you?"

The two men looked hard at each other.

"Joe Calder's dead," said Garry.

Bellshaw started.

"Dead," he exclaimed.

"Murdered. Shot through the heart."

"Who did it?"

"Nobody knows, but I have a suspicion," Garry answered. "He's buried,
and so far as that goes it's done with, but he was a friend of mine, and
yours, and we ought to do something."

"I shan't. Let it be, man. What's the good of kicking up a fuss?" argued
Bellshaw.

"Two men have cleared out from the fence."

"Who are they?"

"Glen Leigh and Jim Benny."

"Good riddance to them. They were rotters--no good to me."

"You don't like Leigh. He's been one too many for you once or twice."

"I hate him. It was Leigh who kicked up a fuss about that mob of cattle
that broke the fencing down. He complained that I ought to have them
driven off, and said it was not the duty of the keepers of the fence."

"It's part of their duty. They are a lazy lot of beggars," replied
Garry. "I fancy Glen Leigh and Jim Benny know a good deal about Joe
Calder's death."

"Do you think that's why they have cleared out?"

"Yes. Don't you?"

"It may have something to do with it; I wish I could find out."

"You said a minute or two back it was best left alone," said Garry.

"But this is different. I'd like to put a halter round Leigh's neck."

"Why? Have you any strong reason?"

"I'm told Abe Carew and he were pals, and that Abe told him a good many
things about Mintaro. Calder gave me the information," Bellshaw
answered.

"Did he now, and Abe wouldn't spare you, would he?"

"Spare me? What do you mean? He'd tell a lot of infernal lies about me,
the scoundrel."

"You should be more careful how you send men away. You were not over
polite to him," said Garry.

"He didn't deserve it. He robbed me right and left."

"I don't think he did. I told you so at the time."

Bellshaw made an impatient gesture.

"You know nothing about it; I shan't be sorry when you're gone, Garry.
You've been getting above yourself for some time."

"You think so, do you? I shan't be sorry to get away from Mintaro.
There's some things a fellow can't stand."

Bellshaw laughed harshly.

"I didn't think you were soft, or chicken-hearted," he said.

"I'm not, but I'd like to know what became of the woman," retorted
Garry.

"I told you I took her away with me because I was tired of her, and that
she was going back to Sydney with me," said Bellshaw.

"Did she go to Sydney with you?"

"Yes."

"And she's there now?"

"Yes."

"With her mother, I suppose," sneered Garry.

"Never mind who she's with. She's all right."

"I don't believe you took her to Sydney," said Garry.

Bellshaw glared at him.

"Where else could I take her?" he asked fiercely.

"Nowhere."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's pretty lonely about here. One woman would not be missed."

Bellshaw caught him by the arm in a fierce grip and raised his fist.

"Be careful, or I'll make it hot for you," he snarled.

Garry wrenched himself free.

"Let me alone. I guess I'm a match for you, and I'm not afraid of you,
if other people are," he cried. "You lent me the money to buy Bill Bigs
out. Well, it will be better for you to make me a present of it."

Craig Bellshaw started back.

"Look," he said, "see that?" and he pointed to the wide verandah, built
round the house.

"There's nothing there," answered Garry, thinking he must have been
doing it heavy in Sydney and that the effects had not died out.

"No, of course not," said Bellshaw, trying to laugh it off. "So you say
I had better make you a present of it. Why?"

"Because I know you did not take her to Sydney," said Garry slowly.

"It's a lie," roared Bellshaw.

"No it isn't, and you know it. Where is she now?"

"That's my affair."

"You can't tell me. I'm worth a few hundreds. I'll bet them you can't
tell me," Garry persisted.

"This is foolishness. What the deuce have you got into your head?"

"More than you think. I know you travelled to Sydney alone," replied
Garry.

"And supposing I did, you fool, do you expect I'd travel in the same
carriage with her?"

"Maybe not, but you'd have been only too glad to have gone anywhere with
her a couple of years back," Garry retorted.

"It was her own fault. She was tired of my company. She behaved badly. I
treated her well," said Bellshaw.

"When you first brought her from Bourke you did, but I don't think she
ever forgave, or forgot, how she came here. It was a blackguardly trick
to play her."

"What trick?"

"Oh, stow that. Do you mean to say you think I don't know? I'm no fool.
She was dazed, drugged, or something, when she came. Why it was more
than a week before she found out where she was, and she had to stay
because she couldn't get away. There was nowhere to go."

"We'll drop all that. She's safe enough now. Don't bother your head
about her."

"But that's just what I do. I might have saved her. I could have done so
if I'd had the pluck, but you bought me off, and I hate myself for it.
Do you know what I think?"

"No."

"You can have it whether you like it or not--I think you've done away
with her."

Bellshaw stepped up to him in a threatening attitude.

"Stand back," said Garry, pulling out his revolver. "I found this near
the big water hole when I was having a ride round."

He pulled a handkerchief and a piece of ribbon out of his pocket.

"Well?" Bellshaw asked.

"There'd been a struggle near the water hole, but she wasn't in there. I
made sure of that, but you left her there, and she's as dead as if you'd
shoved her in. She'd starve, die of thirst, go mad wandering about. It
would have been more merciful to strangle her. I saw her tracks for some
distance, but I couldn't follow them far; the ground soon dries up.
She's no more in Sydney than I am, and you've done a brutal, cowardly
act, Craig Bellshaw!"

Bellshaw made no answer, and Garry went on, "It'll come home to you some
day, mark my words if it doesn't. If I thought she was alive I'd be
mighty glad, for I feel as though I had a hand in it. When I saw her
drive away with you something told me you meant mischief, but I never
thought you'd kill her by inches. Hadn't she suffered enough at your
hands that you must let her die such a terrible death?"

"Have you done?" asked Bellshaw quietly. His tone surprised Garry.

"Yes, I've said enough, and you know the bulk of it's true."

"You may think it is, although it's a poor recompense for all I have
done for you. However, I bear you no malice. I have only one request to
make."

"What is it?" asked Garry.

"Keep your thoughts to yourself. The law is powerful. There's more than
that--in this part of the country I am the law, and I can take it into
my own hands without fear of being called to account. You've seen me do
it; you know I'm not a man to be cowed, that I do not fear you, or any
other man, nor what you say, or do. Listen to me, Garry Backham. There
are men round Mintaro who will do my bidding for money, no matter what
it is I ask. You know the sort of men, desperate, some of them, the
worst of criminals. If I hear any of the lies you have said repeated I
will burn your place to the ground, and you with it. You had best keep a
still tongue."

Garry knew he was capable of carrying out his threats, and that he had
the men to do what he willed. He believed the accusation he had brought,
but he had no wish to run into grave danger.

"You'll think about that money, Mr. Bellshaw," he said.

"You mean giving it you, not lending it?"

"Yes."

"It depends upon yourself," was the reply.




CHAPTER XI

JERRY, JOURNALIST


In a small house, in a side street, on Moore Park, the woman who came to
Sydney with Glen Leigh, and the other two, had rooms. It had been
decided to call her Clara Benny, as it was necessary she should have a
name, and to install her here. Mrs. Dell, who kept the house, was a
widow, a respectable woman in reduced circumstances, and she had
promised to do what she could for her lodger. Clara could not understand
it. She wanted the three to be with her. They had always been together.
Why should they leave her alone? It was useless to try and explain, and
no attempt was made. Glen said it was necessary because they had to
work, and it would be better for her to have a kind motherly woman to
look after her; this made her more contented, and one of them called to
see her every day. Mrs. Dell was puzzled over her lodger; she fancied
she suffered from some brain trouble, but she liked her from the first,
and quickly came to love her; she looked upon her as a substitute for
her own girl, who had died of consumption at about the same age. Clara
repaid this affection, and in a very short time they became inseparable.
The money she received for her board and lodging was a great help to
Mrs. Dell, and Glen Leigh was always supplying some delicacy for the
table.

Bill Bigs succeeded in finding a small hotel to his liking in
Castlereagh Street. The seller came into some money, and sailing for
England, was glad to find a buyer at a reasonable price. The house was
in bad condition, but Bill, with his usual energy, quickly set to work,
and in a few weeks it was spick and span, clean and inviting. There was
a steady trade, and a fair number of customers frequented the
place--many theatrical, sporting and pressmen, with whom he became
popular.

Jerry Makeshift, of "The Sketch," found good copy in Bill. Jerry was
one of the most popular men in Sydney, a wonderfully clever black and
white artist, a born joker, and an excellent writer of highly
sensational news, in paragraphs, or columns, as required. He had one
failing, not an unusual one in these days. He was fond of his glass and
hilarious company, and as he always had a lot of admirers following in
his wake he soon brought genial customers to "The Kangaroo," as Bill
curiously named the place. Jerry Makeshift extracted from Bill much
interesting press matter about Boonara, and the district surrounding it;
also about the keepers of the fence.

The clever journalist was astounded at what he heard, especially about
the men on the rabbit-proof fence. In a hazy sort of way he had heard of
them before, but when Bill began to talk about them, with intimate
knowledge, Jerry opened his eyes.

"I'll introduce you to two of 'em," said Bill. "They are staying with
me. In fact they came to Sydney with me from the forsaken place. They
found the life too much for 'em, and you bet it must be awful when such
men as they throw it up."

"I'd like to meet them," replied Jerry. "How is it I have not done so
before?"

"Well, it's this way. They're busy. They've got a scheme in hand that I
suggested, and I think it's just the thing for 'em and will pay well,"
and he explained about the buckjumping exhibition.

"By Jove, that's a capital idea," said Jerry, who saw the possibilities
at once.

"You might be able to give it a lift," suggested Bill cautiously.

"Probably. I will if I can, but I must hear more about it," Jerry
answered.

"Come in to-night, and I'll introduce you to Glen Leigh. He's the chap,
a wonderful man, as straight as a die, big, strong, a rough customer,
but with the heart of a child when anything appeals to his better
nature. Why he went on the fence the Lord only knows. I remember him
arriving in Boonara. It caused quite a sensation. No one could make him
out then, and no one made him out before he left. A mystery man, that's
what he is. Don't forget to-night. I'll have a decent dinner for you,
and a bottle of the right stuff, and you can talk in my room to your
heart's content."

"That will suit me," said Jerry as he went out.

"He's a good sort," thought Bill. "He ought to be able to boom the show
when it starts."

Glen Leigh was averse to talking with strangers, but Bill persuaded him
to meet Jerry Makeshift.

"It's the fellow who draws those funny things that catch the eye on the
front page of 'The Sketch.' They're the cleverest things out, and 'The
Sketch' is the best paper of its kind in Australia. It goes all over the
place. It even got as far as Boonara," said Bill.

"And I've had many a copy in my hut," answered Glen. "I don't mind
meeting a man like that. He's out of the common. He can teach you
something."

"That's settled," said Bill. "He'll be here at seven, and mind you pitch
it him strong about the show. He'll ask you about work on the fence.
Tell him what it's like; he'll appreciate it."

Jerry Makeshift was punctual. He loved a good dinner and he sniffed
appreciatively as he came into the house. Jim Benny was away, so Glen
went upstairs with his companion, and they did full justice to Bill's
good things, which he laid himself out to supply.

Jerry at once saw that Glen Leigh was no ordinary man, and that he would
have to be handled in anything but an orthodox fashion. With his usual
skill in such matters he set to work to propitiate him, and succeeded so
well that at the end of the dinner Glen was talking freely to him. He
told him all about the glittering wire, of the awful loneliness of the
life, the terrible droughts, the millions of rabbits, how they died in
hundreds of thousands from lack of food, and their bones were piled up
in great heaps. He told of the losses of sheep and cattle, how squatters
were almost ruined, and had to borrow money to go on with. He pictured
the thousands of square miles of desolate land without a blade of
grass; then suddenly the rain fell in torrents and in twenty-four hours
came the glorious change from baked brown to verdant glistening green
which covered the earth like a brilliant carpet, dazzling the eyes, that
had been accustomed to dead colours for months at a stretch.

Then he went on to describe the life on the fence, the men, their varied
characters; some strange stories he told of crime and criminals that he
heard when he was one of the keepers. His language was plain and simple
so that every word hit home.

Jerry Makeshift listened with his eyes fixed intently on Glen Leigh's
face. As he talked he seemed to forget where he was; he was back again
in his old surroundings, in the hut, in Bill's shanty at Boonara. He
stopped suddenly. There must be no mention of Clara Benny, the woman in
the hut, or how they came to Sydney.

"I never heard such a thrilling, interesting, story before," said Jerry,
who knew he had discovered a storehouse of fresh copy in Glen Leigh.
Apart from this Leigh had won his wayward, roving nature completely.
Here was a man after his own heart, a man who had seen much and done
more, a worker at the hardest kind of work, who went grinding on in
solitude with no word of encouragement from a living soul.

Glen Leigh had made a staunch friend. He did not think he had done
anything, or said anything, out of the common. That was where he proved
so attractive to Jerry. The practised journalist knew every word he
heard was true, that no exaggeration was here. On the contrary the
reality must have been ten times worse than it was described.

"Tell me about this buckjumping show Bigs mentioned," said Jerry.

Glen smiled.

"Bill's sanguine, too sanguine, about that."

"I don't think he is. There are great possibilities in it," Jerry
answered.

"Maybe so, but it'll take a lot of working up."

"I'll do what I can for you," promised Jerry.

"You will! That's good of you. I reckon a few words from you, or a
sketch from your pen, goes a long way with the public," replied Glen.

Jerry laughed. There was not an atom of conceit about him.

"I do my best to amuse the public. I fancy I manage it all right
somehow, but heaven knows where the talent I possess comes from, for I
never had much education. I'm what they call self-taught."

"Then you were a better teacher than hundreds of men who profess to know
a heap of things," declared Glen.

"Perhaps so. A battle with the world when you're young is a good
education in itself," replied Jerry.

Glen told him how "The Sketch," and Jerry's drawings, were to be found
even on the fence and in Boonara.

"I've spent hours over 'em," he said. "The man who can make a keeper of
the fence laugh deserves a big pension for life."

Jerry pulled "The Sketch" out of his pocket.

"That's the latest. Just off the press. I'll leave it you."

A paper fell on the floor. Jerry picked it up.

"Have you seen this?" he asked.

"What is it?"

"Tattersalls' Hundred Thousand Pound Sweep on the Melbourne Cup. You
ought to try your luck in it," said Jerry.




CHAPTER XII

IN SEARCH OF HORSES


"I think I'll risk a pound," said Glen laughing.

"A hundred thousand pound sweep is not bad, and the winner takes about a
fourth of it," Jerry answered.

"Twenty-five thousand. That would do me all right. No occasion for more
work. I'd buy a nice little property and be comfortable for the
remainder of my life," said Glen.

They parted in a very cordial manner. It was not often Glen let himself
go like this, but he liked Jerry, and when he was fond of a man he was
not slow to show it.

Glen went West next day and forgot all about the ticket, but there was
plenty of time as the sweep did not close for several weeks.

He went on a purchasing expedition, to buy horses for the show, while
Bill Bigs and Jim Benny were preparing the way in Sydney for an opening
in the exhibition building, which had already been secured. Jim had no
desire to go into the Boonara district again after what had happened.
There was no telling what rumours might be about. As a matter of fact
Garry Backham was sorry he had thrown out a hint to Craig Bellshaw. He
might be inclined to follow it up.

Garry was very much surprised one morning when Glen Leigh walked into
his place and bade him the time of day as though he had seen him a few
hours before. Leigh was a cool hand and never flustered, except on
special occasions, when he knew he had been put upon, or someone tried
to bounce him. When he flared up there were ructions, as more than one
man on the fence had found out during his time there.

"You're about the last man I expected to see in Boonara," said Garry.

"I daresay I am. I'm here on business. I can put some money in your way
if you'll help me. We were never very friendly, but that's all over. I
daresay you have no objections to earning money?"

"None at all. We're most of us that way inclined," replied Garry. "As to
being bad friends, don't you think that was mostly your fault?"

"No. There was a good bit of underhand work on the fence, sneaking, and
so on. Joe Calder and you were pretty thick. I fancy Bellshaw got some
hints, true or untrue, from the pair of you."

"He never got any from me, whatever he did from Joe."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'll try and believe it. Joe Calder paid for all the wrong he
did."

"Do you know what some folks say about here?"

"No."

"That either you, or Jim Benny, shot him, and that's why you both
cleared out."

"They say that, eh?"

"Yes."

"They're wide of the mark. Why didn't they say it before we left, not
when our backs were turned?" asked Glen.

Garry smiled.

"It wouldn't do for a man to accuse you to your face of murder," he
answered.

"Then you don't hold me responsible for Calder's death?" Glen queried.

"Not likely, is it?" answered Garry. "What's the business you're here
on?"

"I want a dozen of the worst bucking horses in the district. It swarms
with bad 'uns of all sorts," said Glen.

"You're right. I never saw such brutes in my life. Mintaro's overrun
with them, if one could only find them."

"Would Bellshaw sell some?" asked Glen.

"I should say he'd be only too glad to get rid of any you cared to
pick."

"You can manage it, can't you? You were always on good terms with him,"
said Glen.

"I'm not now," replied Garry.

Glen looked surprised. He thought Bellshaw found the money with which
Garry bought Bill Bigs out.

"You don't mind me saying it, but Bill fancied Bellshaw found you the
money for this place," he said.

"He did, but he only lent it me. It's since I bought it we quarrelled."

"Serious?"

"Rather, but we've agreed to drop it. Still, we're not on good terms."

"Then I'd better go and see him alone," said Glen.

Garry hesitated. There was no telling how Bellshaw might act, as Glen
ought to have sent in his notice to him before he left the fence. He
knew, however, that Glen Leigh was capable of taking care of himself,
and that he was more than a match for the squatter.

"Perhaps you had," he agreed. "I can tell you where the best horses for
your purpose are to be found. I never saw such beasts, regular savages,
half wild, unbroken, not even handled, and some of them six years old.
They're most of 'em by old Tear'em, as they call him. Perhaps you've
heard of him?"

"I've heard the name, but nothing much about him except that he's a
savage."

"So he is, and so are all his lot. Tear'em has accounted for more than
one man's life," said Garry.

"Why doesn't Bellshaw shoot him?"

"That's more than I can tell. It strikes me he rather likes the horse.
It suits his temperament."

"Where are these horses to be found?"

"At the Five Rocks most likely. Do you know where that is?"

"No."

"To the south of Mintaro, a good twenty miles."

"And how the deuce am I to get at 'em? I shall want assistance."

"If you get Bellshaw's permission to bag a dozen or two I'll go with you
to get 'em and take half a dozen men from here."

"That's a bargain," said Glen. "I expect it will be tough work getting
'em into the trucks when we have driven them as far as Bourke, if ever
we get 'em there."

"Never fear about that. I know how to handle them. What are you going to
do with 'em when they reach Sydney?"

Glen explained, and Garry thought the idea splendid. He was quite sure
it would pay. He said he'd like to be in it.

"So you shall, Garry," said Glen, who was one of the quick forgiving
kind. "How much?"

"A couple of hundred or so."

"It's as good as done. Of course, I must consult Bill. He's the prime
mover, the originator of the scheme."

"You'll stay the night?" Garry asked.

"I've no time to spare. I must return as soon as possible, so if you'll
let me have a fresh horse I'll ride on to Mintaro at once."

"You can have the best I've got. It'll be nothing very grand, but I'll
find one that will take you there."

He went out, leaving him in the bar.

Glen as he looked round vividly recalled the day he rode in from the hut
to see Bill on behalf of the woman. He wondered what she was doing. Was
Jim Benny with her? He did not like the idea of Jim seeing too much of
her. Yet it was foolish of him. Why should he not see her as often as he
wished? She was supposed to be his sister.

Garry returned and said the horse would be round in a few minutes.

"Don't ruffle Bellshaw," he counselled. "He's not been in the best of
tempers since he came home from Sydney."

"Bill had a talk with him in Pitt Street, and I saw him. Where do you
think he was going?"

"I don't know. He's a queer sort."

"Into a Chinaman's shop in Lower George Street. A fellow named Lin Soo.
A beastly-looking Johnnie. I wonder what he went there for?"

Garry was glad Glen was not looking at him or he might have seen his
agitation and wondered at it.

"He knows a lot of curious people," he answered. "Probably he went to
buy tea."

"It wasn't a tea shop, although that is what Lin Soo pretends it is. I
expect, from what Bill said, it's an opium den, or worse."

"There are lots of 'em in Sydney," said Garry with an assumption of
carelessness.

"Plenty in that quarter. They ought to root the whole lot out. It
wouldn't be a bad job if the places were burned down."

Glen went out, mounted, and had a parting word with Garry, who said,
"Remember what I told you about Bellshaw. There's something wrong with
him, I'm certain."

"In what way?"

"He talks a bit wild, and seems to have something on his mind; he sees
things," and he told Glen about the verandah incident. "I put it down to
the spree he'd probably been on in Sydney."

"I'll humour him," replied Glen laughing. "If he turns rusty I'll have
to try and get the horses elsewhere. There are plenty of 'em, I
expect."

"Heaps, but none half so good for your purpose as those at the Five
Rocks, by old Tear'em, or one of his sons," said Garry.

Glen waved his hand as he rode away. Garry watched him until horse and
man became specks in the distance. As he went inside he muttered, "I
think I can guess why Craig Bellshaw went into Lin Soo's shop."




CHAPTER XIII

LEIGH HEARS STRANGE THINGS


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 your grumbling 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; he seemed 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. A quick 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 should have 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 slow torture, 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.




CHAPTER XIV

"A MAGNIFICENT BRUTE"


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. It flashed 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 test them. 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 whole width 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 recent rain'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 horse about 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, crushed Glen'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.




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."

"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.




CHAPTER XIX

MRS. PREVOST'S DILEMMA


There was a tough skirmish when Nicholl met Craig Bellshaw at Hadwin's,
but eventually the owner of Barellan gave way, mainly owing to his
trainer's representations and persuasion, and settled with the jockey to
ride both his horses, Flash at Caulfield, and Barellan at Flemington,
for two hundred, win or lose, five per cent. on the stakes, and five per
cent. on any sweep money that might be forthcoming. Having fixed this
up, with a good deal of grumbling, Bellshaw set out for Manley to see
Mrs. Prevost, who was not aware he was in Sydney.

Bellshaw was in a bad temper. Things were all awry, and even the thought
of winning the Melbourne Cup with Barellan did not soothe him. It was a
disagreeable surprise to Mrs. Prevost when she heard who her visitor
was.

Bellshaw made no bones about the matter. He asked her what she meant by
writing him such a letter after all he had done for her; he upbraided
her in no measured terms, used harsh names, and behaved somewhat
brutally. It was his way with women.

She resented his conduct and replied forcibly. He saw she was
determined, and this angered him still more. There was a scene, they
lost their tempers, and mutual recriminations were the result. Mrs.
Prevost was expecting Glen Leigh for lunch and wished to get rid of
Bellshaw before he arrived. She dreaded their meeting, not on his
account, but for the effect it might have on Leigh, and her influence
with him. Bellshaw, however, did not seem in any hurry to go. He was
loth to give her up; in his way he liked her.

"The fact is," he said, "you've taken up with someone else. I warn you
he shall know all about you."

"You are cad enough to do that?" she asked.

"You can call me names if you wish; I don't care, but I'll make it
mighty unpleasant for you," he said.

There was a ring at the front door. Mrs. Prevost was at her wits' end
how to act. It was no doubt Glen Leigh.

She left the room hurriedly, and opened the door herself. It was Glen
Leigh. She took him into the front room, and said her maid had just gone
out; she promised to return in a few minutes, and left him.

Glen thought this strange. She was agitated; something must have upset
her. He wondered what it was.

Craig Bellshaw also wondered why she had gone out of the room. He heard
her open the door, and someone come in. Who was it? The voice sounded
like a man's.

She gave him a hint that he had better be going.

"Not until I have seen who your visitor is," he said.

"If I have a visitor it is no business of yours," she retorted.

"It is. I am still interested in you even if you treat me badly," he
said.

What was she to do? How could she prevent a meeting between him and Glen
Leigh? She cudgelled her brains but was at a loss to find a plan.
Bellshaw did not seem inclined to move.

Glen Leigh waited a quarter of an hour and became restless. What
detained her? He heard voices in the next room, but could not
distinguish who was speaking. Perhaps she had a visitor. If so, why did
she not tell him?

"I must ask you to leave my house," she said desperately.

Bellshaw laughed.

"Your house?" he sneered.

"Yes, mine. You did not know I had bought it."

"Have you paid for it?"

"I have, if that's any consolation to you."

"And you wish me to believe that? I wonder where you got the money
from?"

"It was my money. I am not without means," she answered indignantly.

He laughed as he got up, but there was an evil look in his eyes.

"I'll go. I don't wish to interfere with your pleasures, or any
conquests you may make, but I've not done with you, I promise you that,"
said Bellshaw.

He took up his hat and opened the door. She followed him. Would he go
into the front room?

Her heart beat fast. She felt faint. It was a trying moment.

Glen Leigh might see him leave the house, but he would not know who he
was; if Bellshaw saw him there was no telling what might happen.

Bellshaw passed the door of the room, opened the front door, and walked
away without saying another word, or even raising his hat. It was a
tremendous relief now he was gone; she waited a few minutes to regain
her composure, and then with a faint smile, entered the front room.

Glen Leigh was looking out of the window; he recognised Craig Bellshaw
and was so astonished he did not hear her open the door. Scores of
questions crowded into his mind as he saw the owner of Mintaro walking
away; the main questions were how came he to Mrs. Prevost's, and for
what purpose?

She saw Glen with his back turned to her, and knew he had seen her
visitor; she was not aware Leigh knew him, and of his doings elsewhere
of which she was in ignorance; she had, as yet, no conception of the
depths of infamy to which Bellshaw had sunk.

"I am sorry to keep you waiting so long, but I had a visitor," she said.

"I saw him leave the house," said Glen, turning sharply round.

"He's an old friend; I have known him many years." She could not make
him out. He was looking at her steadily; his eyes seemed to pierce her.

"I know him," said Glen quietly. "I did not expect to see him in _your_
house."

"You know him!" she exclaimed aghast, the colour deserting her cheeks.

"Yes. Do you know him well?" he asked.

"Yes, but why do you ask in such a strange way?"

"I do not think you know what Craig Bellshaw really is. I am sure you do
not. If you did he would never have been admitted to your house," said
Glen.

What was she about to hear? She must learn more; how was she to excuse
herself to him? What if he and Bellshaw met? There would be revelations,
her backsliding would be magnified a hundred times; she must have the
first say no matter what it cost her.

"What is he?" she asked.

"A bad man, almost a murderer. I dare not tell you what has happened at
Mintaro. You would be overwhelmed with shame to think you ever had
dealings with, or ever took the hand of such a man," said Glen
seriously.

She looked very charming in her distress. Even Glen Leigh would have
been very dense had he failed to see the appeal in her eyes, or to
recognise that she liked him very much indeed.

No woman had ever appealed to him quite in the same way as Mrs.
Prevost; he had thought a good deal about her since he saw her last.

"Tell me about him," she said.

"What was he doing here?" asked Glen who doubted everything where Craig
Bellshaw was concerned.

"He came to see me, not at my request, but I was not surprised. I had
written to him at Mintaro telling him--" she hesitated.

Glen waited. Should he help her out? He thought he could. Rage was
surging up in him, not against Mrs. Prevost, but against Bellshaw. Was
she another of his victims?

That was hardly possible; yet there were unmistakable signs of acute
distress at the situation in which she was placed. As Glen thought, a
sudden wave of feeling overwhelmed him, and would not be beaten back. He
loved this woman. By some strange fatality Bellshaw was connected with
her as he had been with the other woman. He felt a mad desire to rush
after Bellshaw and kill him. This passed in a few seconds; then he said,
in answer to her hesitation, "Telling him you never wished to see him
again."

She looked at him in great surprise, feeling intense relief. This man
understood her, because he knew Craig Bellshaw for what he was. Already
he had forgiven her without the asking. He did not blame her, but the
man. In that case he guessed some of the truth and the rich blood
crimsoned her cheeks. She bowed her head; then she looked straight at
him and said, "That is what I wrote him--that I never wished to see him
again. I ordered him to leave the house, my house, when you saw him go.
I will never admit him again."

"I am glad of that," said Glen. "Very glad. When did you write to him?"

It was the truth she would tell him.

"The day after you came here with Jerry," she said.

Glen smiled.

"What decided you to write?" he asked.

"You did."

Again he smiled.

"I wonder how that happened?" he said.

"Can't you guess?" she answered in a low voice.

"No, at least not yet. Later on I'll try--with your permission."

"You have it now. I want a friend--like you."

"You don't think he'd dare to come here again?" asked Glen savagely.

"There is no telling what he might do. Try and avoid him."

"Why should I?"

"He's a dangerous man."

Glen laughed.

"I'm more than a match for him in many ways," he replied.

After lunch she asked him to tell her about Craig Bellshaw.

"I will tell you one terrible thing which I believe to be quite true,"
he said. "I am waiting to find out. It is a matter of time, and you must
promise not to repeat what I tell you."

She readily gave her promise and he told her in a graphic narrative all
about the woman who came to his hut, what happened there, and since her
recovery. He concealed nothing, not even about Lin Soo. He thought, in
justice, she ought to know what manner of man Craig Bellshaw was.

As she listened, horrified, believing every word, she felt deeply
humiliated when she thought what Bellshaw had been in her life; she
shuddered with repulsion.

"Bring her here," she said. "Let her be my companion. I may be able to
call back her lost memories. I will love her for all she has suffered.
You will trust her with me, will you not?"




CHAPTER XX

THE DRAWER OF BARELLAN


They decided to allow Clara to go to Mrs. Prevost's, and Glen took her
there. She was given a kindly welcome. Mrs. Prevost was glad to have
her, liked her at once. The feeling was mutual. Glen felt he had left
her in good hands, that she would be happy and comfortable.

"Don't let Bellshaw see her if by any chance he calls," said Glen, "but
he will be going to Melbourne for the Cup meetings, and our show leaves
to-morrow. I shall not see you again for several weeks."

"I shall look forward to your return. I hope you will do well there,"
she answered.

"I think we shall. There is no reason why we should not do even better
than in Sydney."

As Glen was leaving, having bid good-bye to Clara, he said, "On my
return I may have something to tell you; something which I hope will be
for our happiness."

She smiled brightly, guessing what he meant. There was a prospect of
sailing into a peaceful harbour after a stormy life. Glen Leigh was
indeed a man. He had not even questioned her about the past, or her
relations with Bellshaw.

The horses, and all the paraphernalia of the show, went to Melbourne by
steamer, Glen and Jim going with them. During the short voyage Glen
thought Jim taciturn and ill-tempered. He asked him the cause.

"I'm sick of life," said Jim, "I never seem to get anything out of it.
You and Bill have all the luck."

"I don't think you've done so badly," objected Glen, "and now you have a
share in the show. What more do you want?"

"A good deal more. I want happiness, and I don't seem in the way of
getting it."

"Why not? What troubles you? Tell me, lad; I may be able to help you."

Then, as they sat on deck, Jim poured out the vials of his ill-tempered
wrath on Glen's head. He told how he loved Clara, but that she avoided,
shunned him. He complained that it was very hard lines he, Glen, should
come between them. For a long time he went on grumbling, and Glen
listened to him patiently not saying a word. He let him exhaust himself
before he made any reply.

"Jim, you're a fool," said Glen. "When she first came across my path and
found her way to my hut, as I sat and nursed her back to life, you
helping me, I thought I loved her. I was sure of it. That same feeling
possessed me when we came to Sydney. It remained with me until something
happened which opened my eyes, something totally unexpected. She put her
arms round my neck and kissed me."

"I know," said Jim. "I know. She always does. She loves you."

Glen smiled as he said, "You're a bit shallow, Jim. You can't see far. I
knew when she kissed me she would never love me like that, so I gave it
up. She regarded me as a father, that was all, and I'm quite contented
she should. I've found out the feeling I had for her was not that of a
lover. I love her, I always shall, because I rescued her from death.
It's only natural. You've no need to fear me as a rival. I love another
woman, not her."

Jim's face brightened. He knew Glen spoke the truth; he always did. It
clouded again as he thought how she avoided him.

"The reason she doesn't kiss you," said Glen, "is because she feels
different towards you. She doesn't think it would be right. I've watched
her, and I think if she does not love you now she will in days to come.
She'll miss you when you are away from her in Melbourne. Probably she'll
talk to Mrs. Prevost about you. Wait till you come back and then see how
the land lies. She's not fit to marry yet, not strong enough. It will be
better to wait until she recovers her memory."

"She may never recover it," said Jim.

"She will, I'm sure of it, and through Mrs. Prevost, who will help her.
She's a sympathetic woman, and I told her all about it, everything.
She'll do all in her power to bring back her lost memory; she said she
would," Glen answered.

After this conversation Jim was a different man.

All along he had been jealous of Glen; now the cause was removed.
Sometimes he gave a thought to Joe Calder, but he felt no regret for
what he had done; the man had brought it on himself.

"If I hadn't shot him he'd have done for me," said Jim to himself.

The show arrived safely in Melbourne, and opened in a large tent on the
St. Kilda Road. Crowds flocked to it, and before the first week was over
Glen knew they were in for an even better season than in Sydney. They
started business the Saturday before the Caulfield Cup. The tent was
packed every night, and sometimes twice a day.

Ivor Hadwin arrived at Caulfield with his horses, Barellan, Flash, and a
couple of others.

Betting on the two Cups was brisk, and Barellan was well backed by the
public at a hundred to eight.

Bellshaw had been laid a fair sum to nothing by the drawer of Flash in
the Caulfield Cup Sweep.

The first Hundred Thousand Pound Sweep on the Melbourne Cup was to be
drawn in Sydney on Monday night.

When Glen Leigh was informed he laughed, and said, "I don't set much
account on it. A fellow can't expect to get anything with one ticket in
a hundred thousand."

There was a tremendous race for the Caulfield Cup, and Flash ran third,
being beaten by Roland and Mackay.

Flash ran a remarkably fast race. Ivor Hadwin hardly thought him good
enough to win and he died away a furlong from the post. Knowing what
Barellan could do with Flash on the track, the trainer told Nicholl he
thought the Melbourne Cup was pretty nearly as good as won.

The result of the drawing for the Hundred Thousand Pound Sweep on the
Melbourne Cup was made public on the Wednesday. Glen Leigh received a
wire from Bill Bigs which fairly astonished him.

"You have drawn Barellan. Good luck, Bill."

This was astounding news indeed. He had only one ticket in the sweep,
number 33444, and it had drawn Barellan, third favourite for the great
race. Was there ever such a stroke of luck! Glen could hardly believe in
his good fortune. Barellan was Bellshaw's horse which made it more
remarkable still. All his friends connected with the show crowded round
congratulating him. He was regarded as a kind of hero. The first prize
was close upon twenty-five thousand pounds, and there were numerous
other large and small sums to be divided. He was bound to get one of the
first three big prizes with such a horse as Barellan running for him, so
said everybody who knew him.

Ivor Hadwin heard the news with mixed feelings; he was glad Leigh had
drawn the horse, but wondered what would happen if he declined to give
Craig Bellshaw a cut out of the sweep money. It was impossible to keep
the fact that Leigh had drawn Barellan a secret, nor had he any wish it
should be so.

"I've drawn the horse; where's the harm in people knowing it?" said
Glen.

Bill Bigs arrived in Melbourne, and consulted with Glen as to what was
best to be done.

Bill advised him to lay some of it against Barellan. He could stand to
win a large sum to nothing, and if the horse lost he would also be a
winner. Glen, however, was adamant on this point. He declared he would
not lay off a penny; he'd stand the thing right out.

"It's only cost me a pound," he said. "That's not much, and I'd sooner
go the whole hog and win the lot, if Barellan wins. If he loses I shall
not grumble."

"Please yourself," said Bill. "From all I hear you stand a good chance
of pulling it off at the first time of asking. It's an extraordinary
piece of luck, that's what it is. I know fellows who have been going in
for sweeps for years and have never drawn a horse. I've been doing it
for a dozen years, and all I ever got was a non-starter."

"You shall have a couple of hundred if Barellan wins," said Glen. "So
shall Jim, and I'll see Hadwin and Nicholl have a trifle."

"You're distributing the cash before you've won," laughed Bill.

"Half the fun of things is to anticipate, and plan out what you'll do
with the money," Glen laughed back.

"So it is. I've drawn some nice little pictures myself, but they've
always been rubbed out, not so much as a daub remaining," said Bill.

When Glen met Hadwin, the trainer asked, "I suppose you've not heard
from Bellshaw?"

"No. What do I want to hear from him for?" replied Glen.

Hadwin smiled.

"You've not had much experience of sweeps. Owners generally expect a
good slice out of them," he said.

"If Bellshaw expects to get me to lay him a big slice he's mistaken. I
shan't lay him a penny," replied Glen determinedly.

"For goodness' sake don't say that," expostulated Hadwin in genuine
alarm.

"Why not? I mean it."

"It will ruin me, Leigh, ruin me. I've backed Barellan for all I'm
worth, or nearly so," said the trainer.

"Well, my drawing him in the sweep won't stop him winning."

"No, I don't mean that. I think he will win, but if you don't lay
Bellshaw a fair sum, there's no telling what he'll do."

"What can he do?" asked Glen, surprised.

"Scratch him," said Hadwin in a low tremulous voice.




CHAPTER XXI

LAME


Craig Bellshaw soon heard who was the drawer of Barellan in the great
Melbourne Cup Sweep. Glen Leigh held the ticket. He smiled wickedly. He
had found out that Glen had been a welcome visitor at Mrs. Prevost's. So
this was the man who had supplanted him. He wished him joy of his
bargain; he'd find it pretty expensive. No doubt it was Leigh who called
when he, Bellshaw, was ordered out of the house. If he had only known he
would have enlightened him there and then; he intended doing so at the
first favourable opportunity. He'd make it particularly hot and sultry
for Mrs. Prevost, put a spoke in her wheel that even Glen Leigh would
not care to try and pull out. A keeper of the fence, a common showman, a
rider of buckjumpers, to be ousted by such a man--it made Craig
Bellshaw writhe. He did not call at Sea View before he left for
Melbourne; there was time enough. He'd put in an appearance when he had
fairly choked Leigh off, made him sick of the whole business. He hated
him, he hated Mrs. Prevost for throwing him over, and he vowed vengeance
against them. Leigh had thwarted him in many ways when he had been on
the fence. Bellshaw recalled how on one occasion he had given him the
lie direct at a meeting held at Boonara, and had proved his statement up
to the hilt. This had lessened the owner of Mintaro's prestige
considerably, and he had not forgiven it.

Glen Leigh had drawn Barellan. Bellshaw chuckled, a curious gurgling
sound, more like the growling of a dog. This decided him. He had
returned to Sydney after the Caulfield Cup; he didn't care for
Melbourne. He took train back again as soon as he heard who had drawn
Barellan in the sweep.

He always stayed at Scott's. He walked there from Spencer Street
Station, along Collins Street.

"Hallo, Bellshaw, back again?"

It was Nick Gerard who, for a wonder, was in that part of the town.

"You, Nick. What's the news?"

"I expect you know it all; you're never much behind the times where your
interests are concerned. By Gad, perhaps you don't know; it only
happened this morning. When did you arrive?"

"I've just come in by the express. What's up?"

"Your horse, Barellan."

"Well?"

"He went lame on the track at Flemington this morning, limped away
badly, and it's the week before the race. He'll not have much time to
pull round. I'm sorry for you. It's deuced bad luck, but you can stand
it. I'm more sorry for that chap, Glen Leigh, who drew him in the sweep.
It's rough on him. I like him; he's the best roughrider I ever saw. I'm
open to bet there isn't a bucker in Australia can get rid of him in a
quarter of an hour. I told him I'd bet a level thousand, two thousand
if anybody wanted it, and give him half if he won," said Nick.

"My horse lame!" exclaimed Bellshaw, ignoring the latter part of Nick's
remarks.

"Dead lame, from all accounts. I didn't see him, but I met Luke Nicholl
in Bourke Street, and he told me. He was on his back, so he ought to
know," said the bookmaker.

"Damn him! He'd no right to say anything about it, especially to a
bookmaker," cried Bellshaw angrily.

"And pray why not? What have I done? The fact will be in all the evening
papers. Most men I met at the Club were talking about it."

"Were they? It's a den of thieves," almost shouted Bellshaw, in his
anger.

"You're talking rot," said Nick, who knew his man. He also had a fairly
thick skin, and such remarks failed to penetrate it. "Have you been
playing 'solo' all the way from Sydney and losing, or what's ruffled
you?"

"I never play 'solo' or hazards," sneered Bellshaw.

"Well, I do, and I'm considered a fairly good hand at the former. As to
hazards, I'll not say much about that. I'm out on the green cloth, out a
biggish sum, but I can't leave off. It's in my blood. I must throw the
dice sometimes," said Nick.

"More fool you. Where are you going?"

"To the Federal."

Bellshaw smiled grimly.

"What have you got there? Is she nice? bewitching? or just an ordinary
filly?" he asked.

"It's a man, a dashed clever fellow, but he's one failing, and it's got
fairly hold of him since he's been in Melbourne this time. I've known
him come here and never touch a drop the whole blessed time, but he's
been knocked out this trip. I'd like to find out the beggar who led him
on. I'd give him a piece of my mind," said Nick hotly.

"Haven't you enough to do without wasting your time over a boozer?"

"He's always been a friend of mine; he's done all his expenses in, and
hasn't a bean. I mean to see him through, if he'll promise to keep
straight until the meeting's over."

"And do you suppose he will?" sneered Bellshaw.

"Yes, if he gives me his word," replied Nick.

"You're blessed with an uncommon amount of faith," said Bellshaw.

"And you've got none, not even in yourself. If you'd any pluck you'd not
squeal because Barellan's gone lame. He may pull round. Hadwin's a
clever man with dicky horses."

"He's an ass or he'd not have galloped the horse to a standstill. I told
him he was giving him too much work."

"I'm more sorry for him than you," said the bookmaker.

Bellshaw laughed cynically, ignored the remark and asked, "Who's your
sick friend at the Federal?"

"Jerry Makeshift, of 'The Sketch,' one of the best, the very best, a
jewel with only one flaw in it."

"A gem of the first water, with whiskey in it," jeered Bellshaw.

"And supposing he is? That's better than being a grinding, snarling,
miserable money-grubber," retorted Nick.

"Who's in a bad temper now?" asked Bellshaw.

"You're enough to rile a parson," said Nick.

"I never tried. I don't know much about 'em. I haven't got a chaplain at
Mintaro."

"By all accounts you ought to have."

"What for?"

"To marry you," said Nick laughing.

Bellshaw swore and left him. Nick looked after him.

"He's a rotter if ever there was one, but he's been straight with me so
far, and he'd better continue to walk the line. The first time he steps
off it I'll push him right down," he thought, then went into the
Federal.

"Is Mr. Makeshift in?" he asked the young lady presiding over the entry
book in the desk, on the right hand side near the door.

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Gerard. Yes, he's in. He's been asking for you," and
she told him where to find him.

Nick ascended the stairs, knocked at the door.

"Come in," said a thick voice.

Nick entered and found Jerry struggling with a sketch.

"I don't feel a bit humorous," said Jerry.

"You're a pretty specimen," began Nick.

"Look here, Old Nick, if you've come here to upbraid me I don't want to
see you. What I want is ten pounds to see me through."

Nick laughed.

"I'll let you have it if you promise to keep all right."

"Snakes alive. You don't suppose I want to be sacked, do you?" exclaimed
Jerry.

"I'd be sorry if you were, so would thousands of people. We'd all miss
you, Jerry. 'The Sketch' wouldn't be the same paper," answered Nick.

"That's awfully good of you," said the repentant Jerry. "It means a lot
to me. I'll not go back on you, Nick, I promise you, and you shall have
some good stuff to amuse you next week."

"That's right, old boy. Buck up. Here's the cash. Have you heard the
latest?"

"I haven't been out for days."

"Barellan's lame; Nicholl told me this morning. I've just met Bellshaw.
He's in a towering rage, cursing everybody, and everything. He can
handle some language when he likes. He's a heavyweight at it," said
Nick.

"Bellshaw's a beast," replied Jerry. "I'm not sorry for him, but I am
for Leigh and Hadwin."

"So am I, and I told him so," said Nick.

"What'll happen?" asked Jerry.

"I suppose he'll scratch him if there's no chance of getting him to the
post."

"Lame horses have gone to the post and won a Melbourne Cup," said Jerry.

"I'd sooner have one with four legs sound."

"I say, Nick?"

"Yes."

"What do you fancy?"

"If Barellan gets right I think he'll win."

"And if not?"

"Roland."

"The Caulfield Cup winner?"

"Yes. He's a good horse--better than folks imagine."

"But his penalty?"

"He's a weight carrier. His trainer says he'd a stone in hand at
Caulfield."

"That settles it," said Jerry.




CHAPTER XXII

SWEEP MONEY


After the Caulfield Cup, Hadwin took the horses to Flemington, where
they were boxed at the top of the hill, at the Racecourse Hotel, where
many good horses have had their quarters.

Thither Bellshaw went, when he had been to Scott's, and cleansed himself
from the grime that accumulated coming from Albury to Melbourne. He was
not popular at the hotel. His generosity was of the miserly kind, and
everybody knew it. Still he was the owner of Barellan, the sensational
horse of the hour, and people wondered if it would be a case of another
Assassin, who was reported lame, and won easily.

The head waiter said, "It's just up to Bellshaw to plant a lame 'un on
us, and then for the horse to come up smiling and win."

When Bellshaw arrived at the Racecourse Hotel he at once saw Hadwin, and
there was a stormy scene.

"I told you he'd break down if you gave him such strong work," said
Bellshaw.

"He hasn't broken down," retorted the trainer.

"Gerard told me he's dead lame."

"That's different to breaking down. He's not dead lame."

"Then what's the matter with him?"

"Limped when he pulled up, that's all."

"Isn't that enough the week before the race?" growled Bellshaw.

"It would be under certain circumstances, but it's not serious."

"You think he'll be fit to run?"

The trainer laughed.

"Of course he will. Who put that silly idea into your head?"

"Let's look at him."

They walked down the yard to Barellan's box.

"Bring him out," said Bellshaw.

Hadwin called the head lad and the horse was led out. He limped
slightly. His near fore-leg was swollen.

"It doesn't look hopeless," said Bellshaw.

"It isn't. He'll be all right in a couple of days, and he's as fit as he
can be. The rest will not do him any harm."

"I haven't seen Leigh yet," said Bellshaw.

"You'll have no difficulty in finding him."

"He'll have to come down handsomely over the sweep money."

"I don't think he will. I shouldn't be surprised if he declines to lay
you at all."

"He'll do it. If he doesn't I'll scratch Barellan."

"You dare not. There would be a terrible outcry against you."

"What do I care? He's my horse; I can do as I like with him."

"If you scratch him you'll throw the Cup away."

"You're confident. What makes you so sanguine?"

"I know what he can do, and after Flash's running in the Caulfield Cup
it is a good thing," returned the trainer.

"Don't say anything about the lameness being slight," said Bellshaw.
"You're sure to have someone rooting round for information."

"Very well," said Hadwin, who intended doing as he thought fit.

At night Bellshaw went to the Show and saw Glen Leigh ride The Savage.
He admired his skill; he could not help it.

After the performance he went round to see Glen Leigh and had a cool
reception.

"I've come about the Sweep," he said. "You've drawn my horse."

"He's lame," answered Glen. "Just my luck. Will he run?"

"It all depends."

"Depends whether he's got over it by Tuesday?" said Glen.

"It depends on you."

"What have I got to do with it?"

"A good deal. You've drawn Barellan in the Sweep, and I expect a cut out
of it."

"Do you, and how much do you expect?"

"Half of what you draw. That's fair."

Glen laughed as he said, "You don't want much. You'd better have the
lot."

"It's a fair proposition," said Bellshaw.

"I drew Barellan and I shall stick to anything I get out of it," Glen
replied.

"You mean you will give me nothing out of the Sweep?"

"Not a farthing," snapped Glen.

"Then do you know what I shall do?"

"No."

"I shall scratch him."

"A nice sportsmanlike proceeding that would be," said Glen.

"I don't run my horse for your benefit, or the benefit of the public."

"So I always understood," answered Glen.

"Consider it over. If you do not make me a fair offer by Saturday I'll
strike him out on Monday."

"I don't think you will," said Glen, in a mildly irritating way.

"But I shall."

"Again I repeat I don't think you will."

"Why not?"

"Because I can advance some weighty reasons against your doing so."

"To which I shall not listen," said Bellshaw.

"To which I am certain you will listen, and, having heard them, will
fall in with my views."

Bellshaw was fast losing his temper. He had no idea what Leigh was
driving at.

"I tell you again if you don't come down handsomely with the sweep money
I'll strike him out."

"And I say you will not," retorted Glen.

Gerard came round to see Glen Leigh. Jerry Makeshift, and Tom Roslyn
were with him.

"How's your horse?" Tom asked Bellshaw.

"Lame," snapped the owner of Barellan, who objected to being questioned
by the representative of "Racing Life" or any other journalist.

"I'm quite aware of that, but as I presume you have seen him since your
arrival, I thought perhaps you could give me some later information to
wire to Sydney. There will be considerable excitement over the mishap,"
said Tom in his most placid manner, at the same time wishing Bellshaw at
the uttermost part of the earth.

"You know as much as I do," returned Bellshaw. "If he doesn't pull round
by Monday he'll be struck out."

Glen Leigh looked at him with contempt. He knew Bellshaw would not be so
anxious about the sweep money if Barellan were dead lame, a hopeless
case.

"That won't be the reason he's struck out," said Glen and they all
looked at him questioningly.

Bellshaw turned on him in a rage.

"It's a lie. It _will_ be because he's lame if he's struck out."

Glen laughed.

"You told me a few minutes ago you'd strike Barellan out if I did not
give you a cut out of the sweep," he said.

Tom Roslyn smiled knowingly at Jerry as much as to say, "That's more
like it."

"I say, Bellshaw, you'd never do a dirty thing like that?" said Nick.

"I've told you my horse is lame; I also told Leigh I expected a cut out
of the sweep, and he said he wouldn't lay me anything. Do you think
that's fair?" Bellshaw asked.

"He's drawn the horse; he can do as he likes. Personally I don't think
an owner has any right to demand sweep money," said Tom.

"That's your opinion, is it? I expect you'd talk differently if you
owned Barellan," sneered Bellshaw.

"If a lucky drawer of the sweep money offered me a portion I'd take it,
but I'd never demand it," replied Tom.

"I mean to get some of it anyhow," declared Bellshaw.

"Then if Barellan will start on those conditions," said Tom, "he can't
be so bad. I think I'll risk it and wire to that effect. It will relieve
his backers."

"Wire if you like, but don't say I gave you the information."

"Not willingly, but putting one thing with another I think I am
justified in wiring that your horse's lameness is not so serious as at
first supposed," answered Tom.

"Then you'll be misleading the public, as you have done many a time."

"I never mislead the public, knowingly," said Tom.

"Through ignorance of facts," sneered Bellshaw. "Put it that way."

"You're not making a bed of roses for yourself by going on in this way,"
said Jerry. "You'll smart for it if you don't mind."

"You've been on the spree ever since you've been here," remarked
Bellshaw. "I wonder what your boss would say if he knew."

"You can tell him if you wish. I fancy you'd get your change," retorted
Jerry.

Turning to Leigh, Bellshaw said, "I've had enough of this talk. You let
me know by Saturday what you are going to do, or I'll act as I said I
would."

He left them and walked out of the office.

"The atmosphere's a bit purer now he's gone," said Tom. "Isn't he a
bounder?"

"He is. I've a good mind to rub it into him next week. He's a good
figure to caricature," answered Jerry.

"Let him alone. Don't waste your talent on him," said Nick.

"I'd better turn my attention to you, and call it 'The Philanthropist',"
suggested Jerry smiling.

Nick laughed. He knew to what Jerry alluded.

"I've issued a challenge," he said, "or rather I am about to do so; you
can wire it to the 'Life' if you wish to."

"What is it, boxing?"

"No, something more exciting. I'll wager two thousand pounds no one can
produce a horse that will throw Glen Leigh in a quarter of an hour.
There are conditions of course; it must be a throw, no lying down, and
rolling over him, and so on."

"By Jove, that's plucky," said Tom. "He thinks a lot of your riding,
Leigh."

"I do. He's the best roughrider in Australia, and that's saying a lot,"
affirmed Nick.

"We'll draw up the conditions," said Tom, "and I'll forward them."

"Give 'em a month from date in which to find the animals," replied
Nick. "We must limit it to six horses, one to be ridden each night. It
will pack the place, bring grist to the mill, and it must come off in
Sydney. I mean to give Leigh half the stake if he wins, as I feel sure
he will."

"What do you say, Leigh?" asked Tom.

"I'll accept with pleasure; I'll ride anything they like to bring in,"
answered Glen.

"Good man," said Tom. "There'll be some sport. You'll have your work cut
out."

Glen smiled confidently.




CHAPTER XXIII

BEATEN


It was Saturday night, and Glen Leigh had sent no word to Bellshaw about
the sweep money.

Bellshaw waited impatiently in his private room at the hotel, fretting
and fuming.

"If he thinks I don't mean what I said he's mistaken," he muttered.
"I'll scratch him right enough. He can't have a very big chance. He
limped a bit this morning. He'll have to run in bandages if he starts;
that doesn't look very well for a Cup horse. I'm not going to give him
all the spoil--not me."

It was ten o'clock and still no word from Glen Leigh. Bellshaw thought
he would come round after the show, but he did not.

"I'll wait until Sunday night," thought Bellshaw. "I can go round on
Monday morning and scratch him."

Ivor Hadwin went to the show on Saturday night and saw Glen Leigh. He
was very anxious about what Bellshaw would do over Barellan, and tried
his utmost to persuade Glen to see him about it.

"He'll not scratch him," said Glen. "He dare not."

"You don't know him. He'd do it just to spite you."

"Then he's a fool to throw away a chance of winning the Melbourne Cup
out of sheer spite."

"Will you call on him to-morrow morning?" asked the trainer.

"What's the good? There'll only be a scene," replied Glen.

"Think of me, Leigh, the anxiety I've had over the horse for weeks, all
the trouble, and now the job of getting him to the post after his
lameness. It's heartbreaking," said Hadwin.

Glen relented. For the trainer's sake he would see Bellshaw and try and
persuade him not to scratch Barellan, but he was firmly resolved not to
yield any sweep money.

"Very well, I'll see him. I think I have a persuasive way, and I'll try
it on him," answered Glen.

The trainer brightened visibly.

"You're a good 'un. I'll not forget it," he said.

About eleven o'clock on Sunday morning Glen Leigh was announced.

Bellshaw smiled when he heard the name of his visitor.

"Show him up," he said, and added to himself, "I thought he'd never be
such an ass as to throw a chance away."

Glen entered the room. The only greeting he gave was a nod. He took a
chair without being asked, and threw his hat on the table, then leaned
back and looked at Bellshaw.

"So you've come to your senses," said Bellshaw. "It's lucky for you the
office was closed on Saturday night, or my orders to scratch Barellan
would have gone in. There's the letter," and he threw it across the
table to him.

Much to Bellshaw's surprise, which quickly changed to anger, Glen Leigh
tore it up and let the pieces flutter on the table.

"Damn your impertinence. What do you mean by that?" roared Bellshaw.

A tap at the door. A waiter put in his head.

"Did you call, sir?"

"No--get out," foamed the angry man.

Glen smiled exasperatingly.

"What do you mean by it?" asked Bellshaw again.

"It's a silly useless letter, because you will not scratch Barellan,"
answered Glen.

Bellshaw simmered down. Leigh had come to make terms; they must be
liberal.

"Useless because you are going to make a proposal," said Bellshaw.

"I have a proposal to make?"

"How much will you give me out of the sweep?"

"Nothing," was the unexpected answer.

Bellshaw flared up again, swore roundly, talked fast and furiously, all
to no purpose. Leigh sat immovable, lit a cigar and waited until he was
exhausted.

"Would you like to hear my proposition?" asked Glen calmly.

"Not if it doesn't refer to sweep money."

"You'd better, for your own sake. It's rather important to you," said
Glen.

"Nothing you have to say, outside the matter at issue, can interest me,"
returned Bellshaw.

Glen smiled at him. It was the most irritating thing he could do.

"I shall sit here until you listen to what I have to say," he said.

His manner was determined. He looked stubborn, and was more than a match
for Craig Bellshaw, as far as strength went. He got up and locked the
door, putting the key in his pocket.

"What I have to say you would not like anyone to hear. Besides I don't
want you to bolt out of the room."

"Get along with it then," growled Bellshaw, "but I assure you beforehand
you are wasting your time."

"Oh no, I am not. You'll say so when I've done. You'll consider it
rather a clever move on my part and that the time was very well
occupied. It's about a woman," blurted out Glen suddenly.

Craig Bellshaw felt as though an electric current had passed through
him. The remark was so unexpected, meant so many things, and he was
utterly in the dark. He stared at Glen, who still smiled as he said, "I
thought you'd be surprised. Do you know what became of the young woman
you took away from Mintaro and left in the open to die?"

"You're raving. There never was a young woman at Mintaro," said Bellshaw
hoarsely.

"Oh yes, there was. You drove her away in your buggy, emptied her out,
and left her insensible while you drove away. You told me about it the
night you walked in your sleep; at least all you knew. You acted well,
very well indeed. You illustrated in a remarkably clear way how you
attempted to throttle her. You also showed me how you were dragging her
to some water hole, but thought better of it, and left her to die of
hunger. I heard you speak to your horses so knew you must have taken
her there in a buggy. It's a bad plan to walk in your sleep when you've
a murder on your conscience," said Glen.

Bellshaw glared at him like a caged tiger.

"Murder," he hissed. "Be careful what you say."

Glen took no notice of his remark.

"Do you know what became of the woman?" he asked.

"There was no woman."

"Don't deny facts. It's a waste of breath. Doesn't Backham know there
was a woman at Mintaro? Don't all your hands know?"

Bellshaw was silent. Glen was rubbing it in strong.

"There's awful evidence against you to prove she was at your place.
We'll take that for granted; we'll also take it for granted you left her
in the wilderness to die--you brute," said Glen, who could hardly
restrain his feelings.

Bellshaw writhed, but did not speak. He waited to hear more.

"Do you know what became of the woman?"

"I tell you there was no woman."

"There's ample proof that you lie," answered Glen, "so I'll pass that. I
found her in my hut when I rode back from the fence."

He gave Bellshaw a graphic account of what happened and how Jim Benny
came to assist him.

Then he looked hard at Bellshaw as he placed his hands on the table and
stood up, leaning over until his face was within a few inches of the
squatter's.

"She died in my hut," said Glen. "You are her murderer; you can't get
away from that."

Bellshaw shivered. He believed what Glen Leigh said. It was not true,
but there was every justification for making the statement to punish
him.

"She confessed how she came there and everything you had done to her
before she died," went on Leigh. "Jim Benny knows it; Bill Bigs knows
it; they were there. The evidence is strong enough, if not to hang you,
to send you to penal servitude for life."

Bellshaw tried to laugh, but was thoroughly frightened. He had often
wondered what had become of the woman. The story sounded probable. She
might have wandered as far as Leigh's hut. During the few minutes'
respite Bellshaw thought of a way to retaliate.

"You shot Joe Calder," he said.

Glen being innocent, laughed. Bellshaw must have been dull if he did not
see his shot had not gone home.

"I did not. I shouldn't wonder if you had a hand in it," retorted Glen.

"He was a friend of mine."

"You'd as soon leave a shot in a friend as an enemy if he was in your
way," said Glen.

"Why have you told me this silly story?"

"In the first place because I want to bring home to you that if Jim
Benny, Bill Bigs and myself bring a charge against you of causing the
death of this woman, you'll be in the hands of the police instead of
witnessing the Melbourne Cup. In the second place if you scratch
Barellan you will have no mercy shown you. We shall act at once,"
replied Glen.

Bellshaw saw the drift of it all. He was cornered. It was a clever move.
He would have to run the horse. The evidence of three men who saw the
woman die, and heard her charge against him, would be serious--too
serious for him to face in public. Even if he escaped punishment he
would be branded with infamy for life.

"You'll not scratch Barellan?" said Glen.

"I shall if I get no sweep money from you."

"I say you will not scratch the horse," Glen repeated.

"Supposing I do."

"Then you will be taken into custody at once on the charge I mentioned."

"And if I run him?"

"You shall be free to do what you will. Your conscience will punish you;
it has done already. I saw that at Mintaro. You were afraid--a coward,"
said Glen.

"You will stand me a thousand out of the sweep?"

"Not a farthing."

Bellshaw would like to have shot him.

"What guarantee have I that you will be silent?" he asked.

"I give you my word," returned Glen.

"That is nothing to me."

"But it is to me, and you will have to accept it."

"I will not."

"You will run Barellan?"

"No."

"I have another witness," said Glen at a venture.

"Go on. I am amused," answered Bellshaw, fighting hard before he gave
in. He must save his face by making some show of resistance.

"Lin Soo," said Glen.

The effect of the mention of this name on Bellshaw was remarkable. He
gasped and seemed on the point of choking, sank back in the chair, his
hands hanging down.

Leigh opened the door and went downstairs for some brandy. This revived
Bellshaw and he looked round in a frightened way.

"You will run Barellan?" asked Glen.

Bellshaw murmured a faint "Yes." He was beaten.




CHAPTER XXIV

AT FLEMINGTON


There was tremendous excitement in Melbourne on the eve of the Cup. The
Victoria Club was thronged, a stream of people constantly passing up and
down the stairs on to Bourke Street. On the pavement the crowd was
dense, and it was difficult to push along. Many of the tobacconists'
shops were tenanted by bookmakers and heavy wagers were recorded in
them. Nick Gerard was busy at the Club; he had a heavy book on the race,
and had laid the favourite, Roland, the winner of the Caulfield Cup,
heavily. Barellan was one of his best horses; he had not laid much
against him. Ivor Hadwin gave him a glowing account of his candidate. On
Monday morning Glen relieved the trainer's mind by telling him he need
have no doubt about Bellshaw running the horse.

"Then you must have laid him a lump out of the sweep," said the trainer.

"Not a penny," answered Leigh.

"Then how did you work it?" asked the trainer amazed.

"I managed it after a tussle, but I can't tell you how," replied Glen.

Wagering was fast and furious at the Club. Barellan's lameness
disappeared as if by magic and there were many people who thought the
whole thing a fake, and of course blamed Bellshaw. He was unpopular, and
made no secret that he ran his horses as he liked, without consideration
for anyone. When he came into the Club he was not greeted heartily as a
popular owner would have been. Hardly anyone spoke to him until one or
two bookmakers asked him if he wished to back his horse.

Nick Gerard crossed over the room.

"I suppose you've persuaded Leigh to give you some of the sweep money?"
he said.

"Not a fraction. It's a mean, dirty action on his part, but as the horse
is so well backed I shall run him," replied Bellshaw.

"It's something out of the common for you to consider backers," said
Nick. "Have you got all your money on?"

"All I want. If he hadn't gone lame I'd have had more on; it's not worth
the risk now."

The street was crowded until midnight, when the bulk of the people
wended their way homewards.

Jerry Makeshift and Tom Roslyn walked down Collins Street together,
discussing the chances of the probable runners in the Cup.

"What have you sent on as your final?" asked Jerry.

"Barellan and Roland," answered Tom.

"Why Barellan?"

"I rather fancy him. I saw him this morning. Hadwin told me the horse
was all right again, and that the lameness disappeared as suddenly as it
came."

"Still it can't have improved his chance for the Cup," said Jerry. "I
wonder how Leigh induced him to run the horse. He says he hasn't laid
him anything out of the sweep."

"I'm glad of it. There's too much fleecing goes on. When a man is lucky
enough to draw a horse it's hard lines he should be robbed out of a lot
of it."

"It's been the practice for so long, owners appear to regard it as a
right," said Jerry.

"It's just as well they should find out it is not," replied Tom.

The two friends parted and Jerry went on to the Federal.

Next morning it was beautifully fine, and from an early hour huge crowds
wended their way to Flemington. Towards noon Spencer Street Station was
crammed. All the specials were full.

There is no finer racing picture in the world than Flemington on Cup
Day. Even Royal Ascot pales before it in many respects. It is the luxury
of racing in comfort that makes Flemington, and most Australian courses,
attractive. There is room for everybody; there is no jostling or
overcrowding, and the cost is moderate. Everything is done to enhance
the pleasure of the public, who are not treated with the scant courtesy
meted out to them grudgingly in England.

The lawn and stand were a grand sight before racing commenced. The hill
at the back, overlooking the stand, was a mass of people, yet there was
ample room to move about. The beds on the lawn were gay with
brilliant-hued flowers. The grass was splendidly green; there was no
dust or dirt, no fear of new and wondrously devised ladies' costumes
being damaged in an hour. Despite the heat, it was one of November's
hottest days, people looked cool. There was plenty of shade. Cosy tables
for luncheon parties were laid beneath arbours of vines, whose leaves
afforded a refreshing covering. Here scores of parties chatted and made
merry, talking over the prospects of the horses in the great race of the
year. Coaches, with fine teams, came driving in. There were no motor
cars, and the scene was far more picturesque without them. On the flat
the huge crowd assembled. It was evident there would be a record
attendance.

The Governor and his Lady arrived and were greeted with rousing cheers
as they stepped from their carriage and walked across the lawn to the
reserved box on the grand stand.

The bookmakers, located between the lawn and the paddock, were not
cooped up in an iron cage like animals in a zoological collection.
Wagering could be done in comfort. There was no fighting to get money,
no scrambling. Everything was decent and in order.

Nick Gerard stood with his back to the rails, against the stewards' and
official enclosure and his clerks were seldom still. The leviathan had a
big book, and could afford to lay any horse asked for, but a casual
observer might have noticed he was in no particular hurry to put
Barellan's name down. He laid against Roland whenever he got a chance,
but the horse was so heavily backed he came down to five to one before
the first race was decided.

A whole string of horses figured in the betting, and there were
thirty-one runners in the field, or would be if all started.

Isaac, the winner of the Derby on the previous Saturday, had plenty of
friends. He was ridden by Nicholl in that race, and the jockey
considered he had an excellent chance.

He had been asked to ride him in the Cup, but had to decline because he
was engaged for Barellan.

Luke Nicholl was conscientious. He liked the trainer of Barellan, and
since he had known Glen Leigh he had been on very friendly terms with
him. Barellan's temporary lameness came as a blow to the jockey, as he
might have had the mount on any horse in the race he could do the weight
for.

Ivor Hadwin, however, had somewhat relieved his mind when he told him
Barellan moved in his accustomed style, and he had but little fear about
his lasting out the race.

"You'll ride him carefully," he said. "No need to tell you that. Nurse
him until you are well in the straight; then let him come along as fast
as you like. I got a clever man to bind his hoof. It's a bit brittle,
and he'll run in bandages, but take my word for it, whatever beats him
will win. I fear nothing, Luke."

This was reassuring and Nicholl looked like not only riding the Derby
and Cup winners but also landing his first Melbourne Cup. For the
leading jockey he had had bad luck in the race, having been placed half
a dozen times. He could never quite get home. He hoped Barellan would
accomplish that for him.

As he went into the paddock he encountered Glen Leigh.

"I hope you'll win," said Glen. "It means a lot to me, as you know. If
Barellan gets home you shall have five hundred."

Luke thanked him, and said he'd do his best, telling him what Hadwin
said.

"That sounds all right," returned Glen smiling, "let's hope he's hit the
mark."

"You'd better have a bit on my mount in this race," said the jockey. It
was the Railway Handicap, six furlongs, fifteen runners.

"What are you on?" asked Glen.

"Pioneer," replied Luke. "There he is. I must hurry up."

Glen turned back into the ring, and walked to Gerard.

"What price Pioneer?" he asked.

Nick looked at him and smiled.

"Eight to one," he answered.

"Eight fivers," said Glen, handing him a note.

There was a few minutes' slackness and Gerard said, "What makes you
fancy Pioneer?"

"Nicholl's riding him. He told me to have a bit on."

"His luck's in," said Nick, who sent one of his clerks to put fifty on
Luke's mount.

Glen Leigh met Bill Bigs and induced him to back Pioneer, also Jim
Benny, and they went on the stand to see the race.

Many people knew Glen Leigh as the daring rider in the Buckjumping Show;
and he was a tall, athletic, handsome man. Many bright eyes were
levelled at him as he moved about.

"What's Pioneer's colours?" asked Bill.

Glen looked at his race book.

"White, black cap," he said.

He had no sooner spoken than the horses were off, racing up the straight
at top speed. It was a regular Newmarket Handicap on a small scale.

Soon after crossing the tan the white jacket came to the front.

"That's Pioneer!" exclaimed Bill.

"He's in front and he'll stop there," said a man behind him.

"I hope he does."

"So do I. He's a speedy horse, and good enough for a Newmarket."

Pioneer came sailing along past the stands and turned out an easy winner
by three lengths, at which there was much jubilation among the three
friends.

"I shall put my winnings on Barellan," said Bill.

"So shall I," said Jim.

"I'll keep mine in my pocket," said Glen.

"You've got a big stake going. By Jove, it will be a go if you win first
prize in the sweep; you'll be a cut above us poor beggars then," Bill
remarked.

"It won't make the slightest difference that way," replied Glen smiling.

"I know that, old man. I was only chaffing," laughed Bill. "I suppose if
anyone accepts Gerard's challenge you'll ride, even if Barellan wins?"

"Certainly. I promised him," Glen answered.

"Let us go into the paddock, and have a look at some of the Cup horses,"
said Jim, and they walked along the lawn in that direction.




CHAPTER XXV

HE LOOKED AT HIS TICKET


"That was a good tip; we all backed it," said Glen as Nicholl came up to
them.

"He won easily," said the jockey smiling.

"Your luck's in," remarked Bill.

"I hope it will continue in the Cup," answered the jockey.

Barellan was being put to rights in the corner of the paddock and they
went to see him.

Bellshaw was not there, so Hadwin had an opportunity of speaking to
them. He assured Glen the horse would win if he had a good run in the
race, which he was almost sure to have with such a jockey as Luke
Nicholl in the saddle.

Barellan looked fresh and well. His coat shone like satin. He was
trained to the hour, but the suspicious-looking bandages, and one hoof
bound up with copper wire, caused many people to pass him by in their
search for the winner.

Luke Nicholl, wearing Bellshaw's sky blue jacket and red cap, was ready
to mount when the time came. He felt confident. Hadwin had made an
impression on him, inspired him with some of his enthusiasm. Nicholl was
well off, Hadwin was not; the victory of Barellan meant the difference
between debt and independence. The trainer was not a gambler. He seldom
had more than five or ten pounds on, but he could not resist backing
Barellan, at the long prices offered, when he was lame. He had three
thousand to ninety about the horse, and backed him to win another
thousand that morning. Glen had laid him five hundred out of the sweep
money.

Perhaps Glen Leigh was one of the most anxious men on the course, but
there was no sign that he was unduly excited. He laughed and joked as
usual and appeared quite calm outwardly.

The chance of winning a fortune of nearly twenty-five thousand pounds
for the investment of a sovereign does not come to many men in a
lifetime. This was what Glen stood to win, and he conjured up his future
prospects if it came off. He thought of Mrs. Prevost and Clara; the
former he knew loved him; at least he was very much mistaken if she did
not, and he knew he loved her. If Barellan won he would go to her and
ask her to be his wife, and she would not refuse. He cared nothing about
her connection with Bellshaw. He would never ask her about it. He knew
the man, and pitied any woman who got into his clutches. As he stood
looking at Barellan he thought what the horse's victory meant to him,
and naturally he became more anxious as the time of the race drew near.
He saw Bellshaw coming and would have avoided him had it been possible.

The squatter scowled at him, then asked, "Have you changed your mind?
Will you give me a cent out of the sweep?"

"No," replied Glen as he walked away.

Bellshaw sent a curse after him, then turned to the jockey.

"If you can't win it doesn't matter about riding him out for a place,"
he said. "There's no sweep money attached to it."

Nicholl made no reply.

"Do you hear what I say?" snapped Bellshaw.

"I heard; I shall have to ride him out."

"You'll do as I tell you."

"I shall ride Barellan out," said Nicholl firmly.

"Against my orders?"

"If those are your orders, yes. I am not going to run any risks."

"What risk would you run?"

"I might be called up before the stewards to explain, and I'm not going
to risk that for you or anyone else."

"You hear what he says," Bellshaw said to the trainer.

"He'll have to ride him out. There's no help for it. Besides, there's
big money for the places," answered Hadwin.

"I don't want place money if he can't win. I want to keep that fellow
Leigh from winning if Barellan can't come in first," said Bellshaw.

"I thought so," said Nicholl.

Bellshaw did not stay to see his horse leave the paddock. He went back
into the ring. He was in a vile temper, which his trainer's confidence
in Barellan did not soothe. Leigh had got the better of him. He knew it
was no empty threat when Glen said he would be put on his trial for
manslaughter if evidence were given incriminating him. He hated Glen
Leigh. His animosity was so great he would have scratched Barellan had
he dared. He intended paying him out. The best way to wound him would be
through Mrs. Prevost. He cared nothing for her sufferings, even after
all she had been to him. He was a man without feelings.

He was not quite sure whether Leigh would keep his promise if Barellan
won. There was Lin Soo. What did Leigh know about him? The paper found
under his bedroom door at Mintaro had warned him, and Leigh mentioned it
again in the hotel. He must see Lin Soo on his return to Sydney, but
first of all he would go to Mrs. Prevost's again and inform her he had
enlightened Glen Leigh as to her past life, would gloat over her
distress, make fun of her, then offer to be on friendly terms with her
again. He had no doubt she would accept.

He stood alone in the ring listening to the calling of the odds. Roland
was a firm favourite. Isaac, Painter, Out Back, Adelaide, The Gong,
Rosehill, Canterbury, Crocker, Thane, The Rival, Jack, and Mackay, were
all well backed, some at long odds, and rank outsiders at a hundred to
one each.

The name of Barellan was seldom called by the bookmakers. Bellshaw
wondered why? Had they laid his horse heavily before he met with his
accident?

He went to Gerard and asked the price of his horse.

"Full against him," replied Nick.

"You mean you won't lay him," said Bellshaw.

"Take it as you like."

"Do you expect him to run well?" asked Bellshaw.

"I expect him to win," answered the bookmaker. "I hope he does for
Leigh's sake."

Bellshaw made some remark about Leigh being a bad lot.

"He's a straight goer. It's a pity there are not more like him," said
Nick.

"Perhaps it is. Even if he wins the sweep he'll soon lose it. Probably
you'll get most of it, or some of your fraternity," retorted Bellshaw.

"You don't know the man. If he wins he'll stick to it, take my word for
it," said Nick.

Barellan's price was a hundred to eight, and no longer odds were
obtainable about him. This was not tempting enough for Bellshaw, so he
made no further investment.

Jack was knocked out to a hundred to one for some reason or other. His
trainer did not understand it as he thought the horse had a fair outside
chance.

Glen Leigh was missing. Bill and Jim could not find him.

"He's best alone until after the race," said Bill. "He must feel a bit
queer about it; I should."

"So should I," agreed Jim. "Fancy standing to win all those thousands
for a sovereign; it makes a fellow's mouth water."

"He'll do something for you if he wins the first prize," said Bill.

"He's not mentioned it."

"No, it's not his way, but he will, depend upon it; I shouldn't wonder
if he gives you his share in the show."

Jim thought of Clara and what he would do if such a stroke of luck came
his way. Glen Leigh had gone on to the top of the stand close to the
press-box, where he would have a good view of the race. He wished to be
alone. His feelings almost overcame him. He saw Jerry and Tom Roslyn in
front of the press-box, and was glad they had not noticed him.

There was a dull roaring sound all over the course, the voices of
thousands of people talking before the race, mingled with the shouts of
the bookmakers. A sea of faces met Glen's gaze as he looked across the
course. Far away, on the other side of the canal, people were camped on
the slopes, waiting for the big field to come out. At the back of him,
on the hill, there was a dense crowd reaching down to the top of the
stand; he turned round and looked at the surging mass. To his right,
below, was the ring, and paddock; he saw a mass of heads on Tattersalls'
stand, and just caught a glimpse of a colour or two in the paddock. On
the lawn people were still strolling about in groups. The race, most of
it, could be seen from the terrace and the slopes. Presently, when the
horses came round the bend for home there would be a rush to get on the
rails. Still further to the left was another stand, on which there was
plenty of room. Late lunchers were still under the vines, but were now
making a move towards the terrace and stands. A long streak of bright
green, the course, stretched out between the crowds. A solitary horseman
cantered down. It was the starter going to the post; then the clerk of
the course came along, on an old chaser, and went after him. Already
there were one or two in the stewards' stand. Near the weighing room
diminutive men were going about; they were the jockeys weighed out for
the race. It was an animated glittering scene; many-hued costumes, the
brightest of colours, the daintiest of designs, artistic creations, the
labour of clever women and clever men, and hats and sunshades almost too
dazzling to feast the eyes upon, as the glorious sun poured his rays
down from the cloudless sky. It was an ideal day. A faint breeze, tinged
with sea air from the bay far away, cooled hot cheeks, and blew
delicately through thin blouses and skirts. Men moved about in all sorts
of headgear; but there were no regulation top-hats, although in the
Governor's Box "a bit of Ascot" was seen. It was Glen Leigh's first
Melbourne Cup, and the sight at Flemington entranced him, threw a
glamour over him, and he looked at it all and fancied himself alone,
even in the vast crowd. And he had drawn Barellan in the big sweep.
Would the horse win? Would No. 33444 be the successful ticket? He had
it in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it, thinking how
wonderful it was that if Barellan won he could cash it for nearly
twenty-five thousand pounds.




CHAPTER XXVI

BARELLAN FALLS BACK


Glen's thoughts wandered. The heat and excitement made him drowsy. For a
few minutes he dozed, and as he did so his mind went back to the days
when he was a keeper of the fence, on the border line between New South
Wales and Queensland. Surrounded by thousands on Flemington course he
slumbered peacefully, as men will when overcome with some powerful
feeling, that acts like a drug, and for a few minutes there is oblivion.

His thoughts wandered far away. He was back once more on the glittering
wire fence, with Ping, and Spotty, waiting there in the blazing heat for
his mate to meet him and compare notes. There had been no rain for
months; everything was parched, and dried up. He saw thousands of dead
rabbits, and sheep. The stench seemed to be in his nostrils. The scene
changed. He was looking in at his hut and saw the woman on the bed. In a
few seconds he went through the struggle for a life again, the ride to
Boonara, the tussle for brandy with Bill Bigs, Jim's arrival, and
keeping watch, Spotty's attack; then the convalescence and the journey
to Sydney. His meeting with Mrs. Prevost, Bellshaw at Mintaro, the
search and capture of buckjumpers, Lin Soo, The Savage, the show, were
all jumbled up together when he came out of his temporary swoon with a
start, rubbed his eyes, and stared round him at the bustling scene,
hardly daring to believe he was not back in reality on the fence. He
gave a sigh of relief, and was wide awake again. He could not have been
asleep for more than five minutes, and he had gone through the
experiences of half a lifetime. It was strange. He had not quite shaken
it off when the horses came out of the paddock on to the track, and the
sight caused the past to vanish.

All eyes were turned on them as they cantered down the course to the
starting post. There were thirty-one runners; it was a big field, and
half of them were considered to have chances.

Jack, knocked out to a hundred to one, was first out, his jockey wearing
a green jacket, yellow belt and cap; then came half a dozen more in a
cluster. Isaac, the Derby winner, passed, going in great style. A
tremendous cheer greeted Roland, the favourite. His owner's black
jacket, white sleeves, and red cap were popular; the colours were always
out to win. Painter, Plume, and Out Back followed, then Glen saw the
sky-blue jacket and red cap, and his heart beat rapidly. Barellan went
slowly at first, then burst into a gallop, pulling hard, reaching for
his head, but Nicholl would not let him go. Glen watched him through his
glasses, until he reached the post, thinking how much depended upon him.
Barellan was carrying his fortunes. If he won what a change there would
be in his life. If Jerry had not suggested his buying a ticket probably
the opportunity would have gone by. Certainly he must be remembered if
Barellan won. Had he not bought the ticket, and, with it, luck?

He looked round. All faces, thousands of them, were turned in one
direction, watching the horses at the post, waiting for the signal when
they would be dispatched on their journey. There was not much delay;
they were well-trained. The starter had the jockeys under control. He
was an autocrat, his powers great. It went ill with those who disobeyed
him.

They were off; a terrific shout proclaimed it. The race for the great
stake had commenced. What Glen Leigh felt at that moment he hardly knew.
He had a hazy idea something was going to happen that would dash all his
hopes. He shook off the feeling and determined to take a hopeful view of
the situation.

Jack was making the pace. He had a light weight. His jockey was told to
go ahead and wear the field down; the little fellow was nothing loth to
do so; for one thing, he would be out of harm's way, and be in no danger
of getting shut in. Jack was a dull grey horse, not a brilliant
performer by any means, although on one or two occasions he had shown a
turn of speed. There could be no doubt he was on his best behaviour,
for, as they passed the stand, he was half a dozen lengths ahead of his
field. Glen looked at each horse as they swept past; there was Barellan
in the middle division, on the rails, going at an even pace; Roland, the
favourite, was just in front of him. Close behind came Isaac, and
Mackay; he was in good company.

Round the bend they swept, a cheer greeting them from Tattersalls'
stand. Jack spread out, increasing his lead as they entered the back
stretch. Half-way along the field closed up. There was not a long tail.
It was a pretty sight, thirty-one bright colours showing up, glinting in
the sunlight. The sheds were reached when racing began in earnest, for
no laggards here had any chance of success.

Glen's glasses were levelled on the sky-blue jacket. He wondered when
Nicholl would make a forward move. He became anxious. Was he lying too
far back? Ought he not to be nearer the front? Why did he let Jack get
so far ahead? These and sundry other questions jostled each other in
Glen's mind.

Bill Bigs, and Jim, were standing together on the terrace. They had a
fair view of the race.

"Jack's got a lead on them," said Bill.

"He'll give way before long," replied Jim.

"Don't you be too sure, young man," said someone behind him. "I've seen
Jack do a good couple of miles several times lately."

"You don't think he'll win?" asked Bill.

"I won't go so far as that, but I reckon he'll put up a good fight,"
answered the stranger: then asked, "What have you backed?"

"Barellan," said Bill.

"A friend of mine's on him. He fancies him a lot. Knows his owner, I
believe."

"So do I. He's not much to know," remarked Bill.

The stranger laughed.

"He is rather unpopular," he said.

"Look!" cried Jim. "Barellan and the favourite are going up."

Glen Leigh saw the move on Nicholl's part. His heart was in his mouth.
The jockey had just squeezed Barellan through on the rails and the
favourite had to go on the outside. As they neared the home turn the
crowd shouted. The names of half a dozen horses rang out clearly over
the course.

Jack was first into the straight. He had made all the running and was
still going strong. Glen wondered if they would get on terms with him.

Isaac, finding an opening, dashed through. The Derby winner was bound to
be thereabouts. He had run well and was coming out at the right time;
his rider's pink jacket and white cap showed conspicuously.

Mackay's jockey pushed his mount and ran into third place, behind Jack
and Isaac. They were all in the straight now, thirty-one runners, and
the centre lot, numbering about a score, were all of a heap. The jackets
looked bunched together, a many-hued mass of colour.

Barellan lost his position on the rails as they rounded the bend. He was
not forced out but ran wide. Nicholl, taken by surprise at this move,
thought it must be his leg pained him, and he wanted more room. He grew
anxious. There was a slight faltering on Barellan's part. He must be
nursed carefully or he might break down, and nursing at this critical
point, when every horse with a chance was making a run, spelt defeat,
being left behind. As it was Barellan fell back when he ought to have
come into the front rank.

Glen Leigh's hand shook as he held his glasses. The sky-blue jacket was
right away at the end of the middle division. Barellan's chance looked
forlorn. His hopes were shattered; the thousands vanished into thin air;
it was what he might have expected. How could he win with only a
sovereign invested? It was absurd on the face of it. He was foolish to
buoy himself with false hopes. He had raised a mirage in which he saw
happiness and full content. Now it vanished and would never appear
again.

"It is all up," he muttered. "I was a fool to think I could win such a
sum."

"Hang it all, where's that beastly blue jacket got to?" said Bill.

"Right away back," returned Jim. "We're done. I'm sorry for Glen."

It was with mingled feelings Bellshaw saw Barellan fall back; he wanted
to win a Melbourne Cup, at the same time he wished Leigh to lose his
sweep money. He hardly knew which feeling was the stronger. If Barellan
were beaten he would have the satisfaction of knowing Leigh had been
done out of thousands and there was a chance that he, Bellshaw, might
win the Cup another time.

Ivor Hadwin guessed why Barellan ran wide and lost his place at the
bend. It was the strain on his bound foot which caused it; he ran out to
ease it. Would he regain his position? He doubted it, but knew the horse
was one of the gamest, and at the end of two miles he went as fast as
the average horse at the end of half the distance, so he hoped for the
best as he fixed his glasses on the sky-blue jacket.

Jack shot his bolt. He had done well, and was not disgraced, but the
pace and the distance proved too much for him. Isaac took his place, the
Derby winner coming along in great style. His numerous admirers and
supporters were on good terms with themselves. Roland came with a rattle
and ran into third place behind Isaac and Out Back, who made a terrific
run from the bend. A large field of horses in the straight, at the
finishing struggle for a Melbourne Cup, is one of the most exciting
scenes in the racing world; it rouses the lethargic to some sort of
enthusiasm, and a lover of the great game almost goes frantic over it.
From the moment the horses race in desperate earnest, when the bend is
cleared, the pent-up excitement continues until the winning post is
passed.

Glen Leigh, with a matter of twenty-five thousand at issue, looked on
wonderingly; even the melancholy fact that Barellan was so far back did
not obliterate from view the grand sight he witnessed. As he looked at
the various horses, one by one, from Isaac in the lead, his rider's pink
jacket and white cap standing out alone, he gave a gasp of surprise.
What caused it?

"Look at Barellan!" yelled a man standing near him.

Glen looked, his eyes glued on the sky-blue jacket. It was this which
had caused the gasp of surprise. Barellan was going great guns, and
passing horse after horse in a remarkable manner. His name was shouted
over the course, far and wide.

"Barellan, Barellan!"




CHAPTER XXVII

WHAT A FINISH!


What looked like a hopeless position was turned into a promising
situation as Barellan came up the course at a tremendous pace. It was a
thrilling sight, watching the sky-blue jacket forging ahead, and Glen
Leigh's pulses beat rapidly. His body quivered as it had never done
before as he watched Barellan galloping the field to a standstill. The
shouting was tremendous. The noise deafening. Barellan's name echoed
over the course. Smack, on Roland, cast a hasty glance back and caught
sight of the blue on the outside. Barellan had "dropped from the
clouds." It was now or never. If he caught Isaac he might win. He raised
his whip, shaking it at the favourite. The gallant Caulfield Cup winner
responded gamely and was soon at the Derby winner's quarters. In another
moment he crept up, drawing level, and there was a rare set-to for the
advantage.

Nicholl watched the leading pair. A smile flickered across his face.
They were playing into his hands, wearing each other down. The struggle
must tell, and there was still a furlong to go. Almost level with
Barellan were Rosehill and Out Back, the last named still going well.
When Barellan forged ahead and left them there was a terrific yell. Glen
Leigh dropped his glasses in his excitement. A man picked them up,
handing them to him, saying with a smile, "I expect you're on Barellan."

"I drew him in the sweep," said Glen.

The man stared at him, then said, "And you stand a good chance of
winning. Lucky fellow, you are."

The chase commenced. Three to four lengths in front were Isaac and
Roland. The form was coming out well. If Barellan beat the Derby and
Caulfield Cup winners he would indeed be a great horse. When he lost his
place, and fell back soon after rounding the bend, there were at least a
dozen lengths to make up. It seemed impossible it could be done.
Nicholl rode with splendid judgment, nursing his mount carefully, easing
him as far as he dare, but he could not afford to lose more ground. Then
came the sudden spurt on the horse's part, without being forced. It was
a spontaneous effort, without pressure, and Nicholl's hopes rose
rapidly. His winning prospects increased with every stride.

Pandemonium reigned on the course. This was to be a most exciting
finish. If Barellan kept up his run to the finish there was no telling
what might happen.

Isaac was on the rails, Roland level with him, the pair racing in grim
earnest, fighting as only the best thoroughbreds can; no giving way, no
acknowledging defeat, a battle of giants, stern, determined, the jockeys
helping their mounts with all the skill and experience at their command.

Barellan, and Out Back, were having a tussle behind the leading pair.
The spectators, roused to a boiling pitch of excitement, watched first
the leaders, then the others, and wondered if the latter pair would get
up.

It was a breathless scene, full of strange emotion, bringing out all the
pent-up enthusiasm that nothing can rouse like a great race. People
watched with bated breath; hands shook, hearts palpitated, eyes blinked,
faces twitched, nerves twinged, pulses beat rapidly. In all those
thousands no one appeared to stand quite still. There were movements
everywhere; it was impossible to restrain them.

Glen Leigh's mind was in a whirl.

Twenty-five thousand pounds at stake, a fortune on Barellan and the
horse was only a few lengths from the winning post. He guessed how many,
twenty, thirty, more, less, which was it? What did it matter, if only he
won at the finish!

"He'll win, he'll win, he'll win," seemed to be the refrain in Glen's
ears as he now and then caught a dull sound of hoofs when there were
brief lulls in the shouting.

"Go on, Luke," he yelled. "Go on. You'll catch 'em."

He could not restrain his feelings. He must shout or something would
happen. The strain was too great. There might be a snap, and then
collapse.

Glen Leigh was a strong man, hard and fit, but the perspiration stood on
his forehead like beads, then gradually trickled down his face. He did
not feel it. Even when the drops wet his eyes he took no notice. He
glared at the sky-blue jacket through a mist which soon passed, although
for the moment it dimmed his vision. He put down the glasses. He could
see without them. The horses were not far off. He bent forward, swayed a
little. The man who had spoken to him thought he was about to fall and
caught him by the arm. He remembered a policeman, who had drawn the
winner, falling down dead on the lawn as the horses passed the post.

Glen felt the friendly pressure, and said in a thick voice, "Thanks. I'm
all right."

       *       *       *       *       *

Roar after roar came from the surging crowd as Roland, the favourite,
got his head in front of Isaac.

The shouts of triumph rang in the air, heralding the victory of the
favourite, and when this happens in a Melbourne Cup the scene baffles
description. Who that saw it will ever forget the wonderful victory of
Carbine when he carried top weight, started favourite, and beat
Forester's Highborn, and Correze, both outsiders, easily? It was a sight
seen only once in a lifetime. It equalled Persimmon's Derby, if it did
not surpass it, and "Old Jack" took it all quietly, for, as he passed
the winning post, he stopped, turned round, and made for the weighing
enclosure without any assistance from Ramage, his pilot. This race was
more exciting than Carbine's Cup even, for there were four horses in it,
all with chances, and close on the winning post.

"Even hundred nobody names it," yelled a bookmaker in the ring. It was a
safe offer, for nobody could name it except by a lucky guess.

Roland was a neck in front of Isaac, Out Back and Barellan were on their
quarters.

An electric current seemed to shoot through the living mass of human
beings and galvanise them into life; such a shout rent the air as had
not been heard at Flemington before. There had been desperate finishes
between two horses, but here were four putting up one of the greatest
battles ever seen.

Glen Leigh shook with excitement. Small wonder at it, for the sky-blue
jacket had passed Out Back, and drawn almost level with Isaac.

"I'm sure of the place money," thought Glen with a sigh of relief.

Sure of the place money! In another second Barellan looked all over a
winner. Roland, hard ridden, held his own. Isaac was only half a length
off, the three together, with Out Back on the Derby winner's quarters.
What a fight, and what a great compliment to the handicapper, for behind
the leading four came a cluster of six, not two lengths away.

Bill Bigs and Jim were well nigh frantic. Their hats were off. They
yelled, "Barellan," until they were hoarse.

Ivor Hadwin turned pale. The strain was almost more than he could bear.
If, if only Barellan got his head in front as they passed the judge's
box.

"He will. He'll win," almost shouted the trainer, who had to give way
under the pressure. His shouts acted like a safety valve.

Barellan was head and head with Isaac, Roland half a length to the good,
and the winning post a few yards away.

Luke Nicholl, for the first time, raised his whip. He was on the outside
and his right arm was free.

One cut, another, a third, not too sharp, just sufficient to sting, to
give Barellan a reminder.

The effect was astounding. Barellan, acting under the unexpected, went
forward with a final rush. His speed was so great that he caught up to
the favourite in two strides; his head shot out, his nostrils red and
wide, his eyes glared, his nose, then half a head, was in front; a
fraction of a second's suspense, then he claimed a head advantage, then
half a neck, a neck, and when this was realised the stands seemed to
shake with the deafening noise. It was marvellous. Rounding the bend
Barellan had fallen back a dozen lengths. His case seemed hopeless. He
had made up all the lost ground in the straight, and now he had his
neck in front of all the runners.

Roland made a desperate effort, reducing the distance to half a neck
again. Isaac drew up, so did Out Back. The four horses were all
together.

Glen Leigh looked, and looked. He had a dim vision of blue, pink, black,
white, red, orange, mixed together. Was the blue in front? He thought
so. How he hoped no one else knew.

At last the struggle was at an end. The horses passed the post, four of
them with not a length between them. An anxious pause; thousands of
people could not tell which had won, the numbers were not up. The judge
seemed a long time hoisting them, but up they went at last. He placed
Barellan first, Roland second, a neck away, Isaac and Out Back, half a
length away, dead heat for third place.

What a finish!




CHAPTER XXVIII

A TERRIBLE SAVAGE


It was over. Barellan had won, and Glen Leigh was the fortunate holder
of his number in the sweep. He had come into a fortune at one stroke. He
elbowed his way through the crowd hardly knowing what he was doing, and
went in search of his friends. It was not easy to find them in the great
crowd streaming towards Tattersalls and the paddock. As he pushed
through the ring he saw people gathering round bookmakers. Barellan must
have been well backed; hundreds were drawing money. He saw nothing of
Bill and Jim. He would go into the paddock. They might be there,
thinking he had gone to look at the winner.

Nicholl had weighed in and was standing talking to the trainer as Glen
appeared on the scene. They greeted him heartily, shaking his hand,
congratulating him on his good fortune.

"There's five hundred each for you," said Glen.

They thanked him; it was a generous gift.

"I never felt so queer in my life as I did when Barellan fell back just
after rounding the bend," declared Glen. "What happened?"

"I thought he was going to crack up," answered the jockey. "It must have
been his foot. I fancy he wanted to ease it as he came round the bend;
it probably pinched him."

"That's it," said Hadwin. "There's no doubt about it. What a run he made
up the straight. I never saw anything like it."

While they were talking Bellshaw came up, scowling. He did not look like
the owner of the Cup winner.

"You see I was right," said Hadwin. "He won a great race."

"Which Nicholl nearly threw away," retorted Bellshaw.

"You're mistaken," said the jockey. "If Barellan hadn't been one of the
gamest horses that ever looked through a bridle he would never have got
up and won."

"You ran him out wide at the bend when you had a good position on the
rails," said Bellshaw.

Nicholl explained, but the squatter was in no mood to listen to reason.
He had won the Melbourne Cup, but Glen Leigh had won first prize in the
sweep, and this made him rage. By all the rights of ownership he ought
at least to have five thousand laid him if his horse won. When he
thought how Leigh threatened him with exposure, he could have killed him
without compunction. There was no more dissatisfied man on the course
than the owner of the Cup winner. He had no pleasure in the victory. The
cheering he knew was not for him but for the horse and jockey.

Glen Leigh walked away to avoid him. He saw the man was in no mood to be
crossed and was almost beside himself with ill-feeling and
disappointment. It was not, however, Bellshaw's intention that Glen
should escape him. He wished to quarrel with somebody, and Leigh scented
his purpose. He walked after him and said, loud enough for those
standing near to hear, "You've won the sweep money by the aid of my
horse. Are you man enough to give me something out of it?"

Glen guessed by the way he spoke he meant mischief. There was menace in
his voice. He stopped, faced him, and answered, "I'm man enough to
refuse to give you a penny out of it."

Bellshaw swore, then stepping up to him said savagely, "I suppose you'll
try and get Rosa Prevost--buy her with the money you've won? You'll not
succeed. I'll outbid you. She's fond of money, besides she's been my
woman for several years. Perhaps you don't know that. I never intended
marrying her. She knew it, and was quite contented with my terms. She
will be so again. You stand no chance. I can easily convince her she
will be better off with me."

His insulting words made Glen Leigh's blood boil.

"Be careful what you say or it will be the worse for you," he said.

Bellshaw laughed.

"Can't you find another woman? Are you tied down to marry my mistress?"

By way of reply Glen Leigh raised his right arm, clenched his fist,
struck Bellshaw full in the mouth and knocked him down.

Ivor Hadwin, Bill Bigs and Jim Benny saw what happened; they hurried
through the crowd and gathered round them. "Get out of this, Glen," said
Bill, "or there'll be ructions."

Hadwin pulled Bellshaw away as he struggled to his feet.

"You can't fight here. They'll hustle you on the course if you do. A
nice thing to happen to the owner of the Cup winner."

Bill caught Glen by the arm, dragging him along. Bellshaw seemed in no
hurry to return the blow. He let the trainer lead him away. His mouth
was bleeding, his lip cut. The blow was severe; Glen had hard hitting
powers.

Bellshaw turned his attention to his trainer, calling him names, abusing
him generally, then suddenly turned sullen and walked away. Soon after
he left the course and went to his hotel.

He sat down and wrote a letter to Nick Gerard saying he would accept his
wager of two thousand pounds to find a horse Glen Leigh could not ride
for a quarter of an hour. The match must take place in Sydney the
following week, the Saturday night, and there must be no other acceptors
of the offer. He returned to Sydney by the mail train that night, and on
arriving there journeyed to Mintaro.

Glen Leigh received his cheque for the sweep money by the end of the
week. It amounted to twenty-four thousand, six hundred pounds. He knew
now what it was to possess money. He paid Luke Nicholl and Ivor Hadwin
five hundred each, and gave handsome gifts to Bill and Jim and to Jerry
Makeshift.

Nick Gerard showed Glen Bellshaw's letter, accepting his challenge, and
asked him what he thought about it.

"I'll ride anything he cares to put into the ring," replied Glen. "He's
got some horses at Mintaro that are terrible savages, almost mad, but
I'll try and win your money, Nick. I'd like to beat him."

"Very well, then I'll accept his offer and withdraw the notice. He'll
find you enough to do, I expect," said Nick smiling.

"He will, you can depend upon that. He's pretty certain he can find
something that will throw me, or he'd not have accepted," answered Glen.

"And will Saturday next week suit you?"

"Yes, the show goes back to Sydney on Monday."

"Capital; there'll be an exciting struggle. I suppose there's no doubt
Bellshaw will play fair?"

"I don't see how he can help it. He'll pick out a nasty brute for me to
ride, but that's part of the game," said Glen.

On all sides Glen was congratulated on winning first prize in the sweep.
He was inundated with letters from all sorts of people, anxious to
negotiate loans for the most part, others who wished to recommend safe
investments. Land agents offered him ideal residences, owners of horses
placed prices on their animals for him; charities solicited him, women
wrote saying they were quite willing to consider him as a husband if he
wanted a wife.

Glen laughed at them all. He placed his money in the bank and went on
his way contented.

When Bellshaw arrived at Mintaro unexpectedly he explained what he
wanted--the worst horse that could be found, a savage, quite ready to
kill and tear a man to pieces.

His new overseer, Sam Wimpole, he had appointed when Garry Backham left;
he was a man of his master's stamp, cruel, unscrupulous. Already the
hands hated him; more than one had threatened to do for him.

Bellshaw explained what he wanted, then added, "If you can find me a
horse that will throw him I'll give you a hundred pounds. I want to win
the wager. I want to see him injured for life, or better still, killed
outright. Do you understand?"

Wimpole grinned. He understood. He knew the sort of horse. There was one
at Five Rocks, ten times worse than The Savage. It would be risky
catching him and taking him to Sydney, but once there he'd bet any money
Leigh couldn't sit on him five minutes. It was more than likely the
brute would kill him. It was a big powerful brown stallion, as big as
old Tear'em, and worse tempered. He should say he was seven or eight
years old and had never been handled.

"The beast chased me five or six miles," he said. "If he'd caught me I
shouldn't be here to tell you about him."

This news put Bellshaw in a better humour. The idea of maiming Glen
Leigh was just to his mind. He ordered Wimpole to yard the horse no
matter at what danger, or risk, and to take him to Bourke and from there
to Sydney.

Next day Wimpole, taking the bulk of the hands with him, managed, after
much trouble, to yard the horse, among others, lasso him, and throw him
down, keeping him bound until he was exhausted with his struggles. On
the way to Mintaro the horse savaged two men, lamed three horses, and
had a tussle with Wimpole which almost caused the overseer to wish he'd
not told Bellshaw anything about him.

When the owner of Mintaro saw the great powerful, unbroken, fiery
stallion, and heard of the damage he had already done, he was satisfied.
He had no doubt he would win the wager, and that Glen Leigh would
probably be seriously injured.

"It's worth a hundred to take him to Bourke," said Wimpole.

"You shall have it when he's trained," returned Bellshaw. "You must go
in the same train with me."

"I'd best take a couple more hands with me," said Wimpole. "He's more
than a match for me."

To this Bellshaw assented. All he thought about was injuring Leigh.

It was an awful experience taking the horse to Bourke, but after a lot
of cruel treatment, which cowed him for a time, they succeeded. He was
put in an ordinary cattle truck and securely lashed back and front; a
band was also thrown round him and fastened to each side. Twice he broke
the stout ropes, but finally he was tied securely.

Bellshaw watched the operation with evident pleasure. He was thinking
what was in store for Glen Leigh. It made him smile grimly.

The station master asked Bellshaw what he was going to do with the horse
if he got him safely to his destination.

Bellshaw explained about the wager, and who was to ride the horse.

The station master made an ordinary remark, but when the train started
he muttered, as he looked after it, "Leigh'll be killed if he attempts
to ride that brute."




CHAPTER XXIX

MAN AND HORSE LAY SIDE BY SIDE


There was some earnest conversation between Bellshaw and his overseer on
the way to Sydney.

"You'll do it," said Bellshaw. "Promise me you'll do it, and I'll give
you fifty pounds down."

"I'll manage it," said Wimpole.

"I shall be with the horse all the time, until he mounts, to see they
don't tamper with him," he added with a wink.

Bellshaw laughed. They had hatched a wicked plot against Glen Leigh, and
Wimpole was to carry it out.

"There'll be trouble if it's discovered," said Wimpole.

"You're not going to back down?"

"No, only if there's any danger of its being found out I shall bolt, and
it will take more money than you offer to get me out of the country in
comfort."

"How much do you want?" asked Bellshaw.

"I must have five hundred planked down before I do it," replied Wimpole.

"Too much," said Bellshaw, but after an angry altercation agreed to
Wimpole's terms.

"The risk's great. It will be a case of manslaughter right enough if
anything happens to Leigh, and it's discovered."

The announcement in huge placards and newspaper advertisements that Glen
Leigh was to ride an unbroken stallion from Mintaro for a quarter of an
hour, for a wager of two thousand a side, between Craig Bellshaw and
Nicholas Gerard, roused curiosity to its highest pitch, and there was a
prospect of an enormous attendance. Glen Leigh was confident Bellshaw
would be unable to find a horse that could unseat him. Bill Bigs did not
like the look of things; he thought of foul play. He did not trust
Bellshaw. He knew the squatter would give a good round sum to injure
Leigh.

Glen had been to Manley and seen Mrs. Prevost; he asked her to be his
wife, and she consented. When she alluded to the past he said it was
buried; he had no wish to unearth it. Clara Benny, as she was still
called, looked much better since she had been with Mrs. Prevost. There
was no doubt her health would be completely restored, but whether this
meant the recovery of her lost memory was uncertain. Mrs. Prevost tried
to persuade Glen not to ride in the match. She was sure he would be
injured, Bellshaw was such a vindictive man.

Glen laughed her fears away, and made her promise to come and see him
win the wager; he said Bellshaw would have no chance of using foul play
against him.

"You'll give up the show after this match?" she begged.

"I'll hand my share over to Jim Benny," he answered. "I'll only go into
the ring when you give me permission," he added smiling. He knew she
would consent when he asked her.

The excitement caused over the two thousand pound wager was intense, and
on Saturday night the building was crammed to suffocation.

Sam Wimpole had the horse in readiness, saddled and bridled, as it would
have been impossible to do this in the ring. The horse was in a savage
mood. Since morning he had gradually grown worse. Just before the
performance was to commence he was in a perfect fury, lashing out, and
biting at his tormentors.

Sam Wimpole watched him with a peculiar smile. When Craig Bellshaw came
to look at Lion, as they named him, Sam cautioned him not to go near.

"Have you done it?" asked Bellshaw in a whisper.

"Yes, gave him an injection an hour ago. He's had three. I'll give him
another before he goes into the ring; it will drive him almost mad. I
wouldn't mount him for a thousand pounds."

"I shouldn't like to try you," said Bellshaw.

"I wouldn't really. What's a thousand pounds against your life?"

"Is it as bad as that?"

"Quite."

Bellshaw's smile was ugly. In imagination he saw Glen Leigh stretched
out a crushed and battered mass.

The time drew nearer. A quarter of an hour before--the struggle was to
commence at nine--Sam Wimpole took out a small syringe from his
waistcoat pocket, crept up to the horse's side, and quickly made an
injection. Lion shivered, then gave a snort, and tried to grab Sam as he
nipped back into safety.

Sam wished to be rid of the syringe. It had done its work, but he dare
not throw it away, and he could not go outside; he placed it in his
trousers pocket for the time being.

Lion was led into the ring by two men who had long poles strapped on
each side of his bit. No one was to be in the ring when Leigh took the
bridle in his hand and the poles were loosened and taken away. There was
a breathless silence as the horse stood quivering; it was broken by a
deafening cheer as Glen Leigh came in. Lion reared and plunged at the
sound, but was held fast. Leigh came towards him, a heavy whip in his
hand. He walked straight up to the horse, looking him in the eyes; at
that moment he fancied there was something wrong with Lion, who seemed
frenzied. His eyes glowed like live coals, his breath was hot, steaming;
Glen felt it on his face. He undid the pole straps, made a signal to the
men, who hastily drew them away and ran out of the ring, and sprang into
the saddle before Lion was aware of his intention. Glen knew if he once
got safely seated half the battle would be won. Luck favoured him in
this respect.

The horse had never been mounted until this moment, and for a few
seconds he seemed paralysed with fright at the strange experience. This
did not last long. With a wicked bound he tried to get rid of his
strange burden. It was a vain hope. Glen stuck to the saddle like a
limpet to a rock. Lion was a far stronger horse than the Savage, and
Wimpole had given him a drug that would increase his strength and
endurance until the effect died away. Never had Glen Leigh been on such
a horse. He knew Lion possessed tremendous strength. The strain on his
arms was immense, also on the whole of his body.

Lion did not act like an ordinary buckjumper. He had his own plans of
getting rid of his burden; they were quite original because they had
been brought into play for the first time. He had a long reach, and
whenever he tried to bite Glen's thigh he had to pull his legs back
quickly. The horse showed no inclination to lie down, or to crush Glen
against the posts. Without the slightest warning he set off on a furious
gallop round and round the ring. After a dozen rounds he began bucking
as no horse ever bucked before. Up and down he went like a rocking
horse, then on all fours off the ground, his back arched to a point, all
the saddle gear strained to bursting.

Glen felt the perspiration pouring off him. It was the hardest struggle
of his life, but he intended winning. He would not be beaten.

Everybody in the vast audience watched the large clock as the fingers
crept slowly on, the large hand gradually drawing nearer to the
quarter-past. Bellshaw watched the struggle between man and horse with
absorbing interest. He knew what had been done, and that the horse
possessed demoniacal strength for the time being.

Mrs. Prevost, her face white, her hands clutching nervously, watched
every movement in the ring; how she prayed for his safety, and for the
clock to point to a quarter-past nine. Never had she undergone such an
ordeal. It would be in her memory for the rest of her life. Supposing he
were killed? The horse seemed like some evil beast possessed of devils.
She almost shrieked as a mad plunge nearly unseated Leigh for the first
time, but he was still there. By some marvellous power he stuck to the
saddle and the battle went on.

Glen Leigh knew the horse did not lose strength; rather had he gained it
during the last few minutes. It surprised him, but he had no time to
think.

Lion stood on his forelegs, his head almost touching the ground, his
hind quarters straight up in the air. In this horizontal position he
twisted like an eel, trying to wriggle Glen on to his neck. He leaned
right back until his body was level with the horse's, then changing his
whip quickly, he hit backwards, bringing the heavy knob hard on the root
of the tail. This was too much for Lion. He came down on all fours and
Glen shot bolt upright. There was a tremendous cheer. It was a wonderful
piece of riding.

"I've never seen such a devil of a horse," said Nick. "It seems to me
he's mad. I hope no harm will come to Glen."

Bill was nervous. It was the first time he had felt such a sensation. He
turned to the bookmaker and said in a low voice, "It's my belief
somebody's doped that horse--given him a drug. He'd never go on like
that if he hadn't had something."

"They'd hardly dare do that," answered Nick.

"You don't know Bellshaw. He's capable of doing anything," returned
Bill.

There was no time for more. Lion was at it again, fighting more
furiously during the last five minutes than he had done before. It was a
question of endurance. Would Glen Leigh last out? Once, twice, a third
time, he swayed in the saddle. A woman's cry echoed through the
building. It was Mrs. Prevost. She had to be held up in her seat. It was
only by exercising her will power to the uttermost that she recovered.

Bellshaw stared at the strugglers with his eyes bulging. He looked at
the clock--four minutes, and Glen Leigh was well nigh dead-beat. Not one
person in that vast crowd thought the horse would throw him, but they
dreaded lest he should fall off exhausted.

Three minutes and he still stuck on, but his grasp on the reins
loosened, and Lion, feeling this, redoubled his efforts. The fight was
terrific, too thrilling almost to witness. The horse possessed almost
miraculous strength.

Two minutes, and for the next sixty seconds Lion bucked like a clockwork
machine until every bone in Glen's body felt like cracking. Only one
minute to the quarter and still Glen kept his seat. Half a minute more;
a great gasp came from the crowd as Glen sank forward, clasping the
savage brute with both arms round the neck, but he was still in the
saddle. He was not thrown. The position was one of grave danger for Lion
could reach his arms with his mouth. The horse stopped, panting, his
nostrils blood red, his eyes shooting fire; they gleamed angrily.

"Get off," yelled Nick.

"Get off," yelled Bill, and hundreds of voices took up the cry. A
shudder of horror passed through the huge crowd. Women fainted. Strong
men shook. Hundreds hid their faces.

Lion, with a sudden swerve of his neck, got his teeth in Glen Leigh's
arm. The pain was terrible. The muscles burned like fire. He caught
sight of the clock. Only a second or two and he would win. Could he
stand it? Lion tore his arm, then tried to seize his leg, but Glen was
too quick for him.

"Time!"

A terrific shout.

"Time!" shouted the frantic crowd, and as Glen Leigh heard it he rolled
out of the saddle in a dead faint; before anyone could rush up Lion
planted his fore feet on his chest and bent his head towards his face.

"Shoot him! He'll tear his face," shouted Nick.

"You can't. He's my horse," yelled Bellshaw.

Bill rushed forward, an iron bar in his hand, and in the nick of time
brought it down on Lion's head with a mighty sweep. He dropped like a
log. Man and horse lay side by side in the ring.




CHAPTER XXX

THE SWEEP WINNER'S HOME


Glen Leigh was taken to the Kangaroo and nursed by Mrs. Prevost. His
chest was crushed, his arm lacerated, but he made a wonderful recovery,
and in a week was removed to Sea View, Manley, where, needless to say,
he received every attention.

The terrible fight between Glen and Lion was the topic of conversation
for several days. Many trainers who were present were firmly convinced
the horse had been drugged, or he would never have been so savage, or
possessed such strength and staying powers. Nothing however, was
discovered, and Sam Wimpole, in order to extract his money from
Bellshaw, had to threaten him with exposure.

Glen was of this opinion. He, too, thought Lion had been dosed, but as
he won the wager he thought it best to make no enquiries.

Craig Bellshaw was beaten. His temper was not improved. He heard Leigh
was at Manley, and decided to go and visit Mrs. Prevost. Some years ago,
when he was infatuated with her, he had made a will in her favour,
leaving her Mintaro and all the stock on it; this he decided to alter as
soon as possible. He would tell her when he reached the house.

He landed from the boat, walking along the street to the sea-front. As
he turned in at the gate he looked up at the bedroom window. What he saw
caused a shock which almost deprived him of reason. He stood staring at
what he thought was the ghost of the woman he had left to die of hunger
and thirst. It was Clara looking out. She saw him enter. Her face
changed rapidly. The seat of memory was no longer vacant. She recognised
him, and with the recognition returned a flood of recollections. The
horror on her face made it look unearthly. She fixed her eyes on
Bellshaw with a glassy stare which he returned; he dare not move. Leigh
told him the woman was dead and this must be an apparition.

What did it mean?

Of one thing, in his confused state of mind, he was certain; he must fly
from the spot. But his feet were rooted to the ground, and he could not
take his eyes off.

The woman swayed to and fro, pointed at him with her hand. Then suddenly
the thing vanished. She had fallen on to the floor in a dead faint.

Bellshaw knew nothing of this--he was horrified. His mind gradually
became unhinged. He imagined the ghost disappeared suddenly in order to
come out to him, perhaps seize him. In his frenzy he attributed
supernatural strength to the apparition. It might carry him off, take
him away to some dreadful place.

Bellshaw turned and fled, running along the sea-front like a madman,
then turning towards the landing stage; reaching it, as the steamer was
moving away, he ran on, and despite all the warning cries made a
desperate leap. His head struck the paddle box; the wheel spun him round
as he fell into the water. The boat stopped, assistance was at once
rendered, but Bellshaw had disappeared. After waiting a quarter of an
hour the captain left one of his men behind to report to the police, and
proceeded on his journey to Circular Quay.

Craig Bellshaw's body was recovered later on in the day. His head having
struck the paddle box, he was rendered unconscious and he sank like a
stone.

When Clara fell with a thud on the floor of the bedroom, Mrs. Prevost
rushed upstairs and found her insensible. A severe illness of some weeks
followed. When she recovered she remembered everything in her life at
Mintaro, and how she came to Glen Leigh's hut. It was a pitiful story,
and Glen Leigh, Mrs. Prevost, Bigs and Jim listened to it in sadness. As
a young girl she recollected being with Lin Soo. How he obtained
possession of her she had no idea. There were other girls about her own
age, and they were kindly treated for several years.

Then one day she recollected Bellshaw coming to Lin Soo's. She did not
like him; she shrank from him when he touched her. She only had a hazy
idea of how she was taken to Mintaro. She must have been drugged in
some way. At first Bellshaw treated her kindly, doing all in his power
to ingratiate himself with her. She refused all his advances, and this
changed his whole actions towards her. He attempted to force her to his
will and failed. Garry Backham assisted her as far as he dare. He
smuggled a revolver into her room, and with this she felt safe. For a
long time her life was one constant, unceasing watchfulness. She dare
not sleep. When she dozed she awoke in a fright fearing Bellshaw was
near her. She shot at him once, wounding him in the arm. It was soon
after this he said he was tired of her and offered to drive her to
Bourke and send her to Sydney.

She related what happened when they reached the water hole; how he
thrust her out of the buggy, sprang after her, and tried to push her
into the muddy water. She struggled, then fainted. When she came to
herself she was alone, lost in the great spaces surrounding her. She
struggled on for several days, until at last she staggered into Glen's
hut, and fell on his rough bed.

In answer to questions she said she had no idea who her parents were,
nor did she seem to remember any home other than Lin Soo's. It could do
no good questioning her further, so the subject dropped. She explained
how she saw Bellshaw looking up at the window and he recognised her.
Glen expressed the opinion that Bellshaw must have thought he had seen a
ghost and the sight turned his brain.

At the inquest held on him, death was stated to be caused by drowning,
and that this was brought about in the manner already described. Craig
Bellshaw's lawyer had his will. He came to Sea View. Great was Rosa
Prevost's surprise when she discovered that Mintaro and all the stock on
the station was her absolute property. Looking at the date of the will
she knew he must have forgotten to alter it until too late. She
consulted Glen Leigh as to whether she should take advantage of it, and
he left it entirely in her hands. The lawyer strongly advised her to
take over Mintaro as there were no direct heirs to it. This she decided
to do, more for Glen's sake than for her own.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ten years had gone by since Bellshaw's death and other happenings. Glen
Leigh and his wife, Rosa Prevost, lived at Mintaro, where everything
prospered with them. They had five children, three boys and two girls,
all well grown and strong.

The hands at Mintaro found Leigh a very different "boss" from Bellshaw.

Garry Backham sold out at Boonara and came back to Mintaro as overseer,
and very glad he was to be there under such a master. Glen mustered all
the stock on the station and found thousands more cattle and sheep than
he anticipated. Many of the wild horses were shot, others tamed and used
on the station. He bought a small stud-farm near Albury, and sent horses
to be trained by Ivor Hadwin. There was a prospect of a successful year
before the stable at the end of five seasons when Glen had a score of
horses, most of them bred by himself, in training. The sweep money came
in very handy to run the station and tide over one or two bad seasons;
when rain and the good times came Mintaro cleared a fortune for them
every year.

Jim Benny and his wife, the woman who suffered so much at Bellshaw's
hands, and whom Jim helped Glen Leigh to save, came to Mintaro, where
Clara acted as nurse and governess to all the children until such time
as the two elder boys went to school in Sydney; she then took charge of
the three at home, and Mrs. Leigh found her a great help and a genial
companion.

It took a lot of persuasion to get her to come to Mintaro, of which she
had so many unpleasant memories, but eventually they prevailed when it
was pointed out how advantageous it would be for her husband.

The show was sold as a going concern; Lion had to be shot; he never
recovered from the blow Bill gave him. A post-mortem was made at
Gerard's request and the veterinary surgeon said the horse had been
heavily dosed with a powerful drug, which undoubtedly caused him to be
in a frenzy in the ring when Glen rode him.

Lin Soo was tackled by Glen and Bill Bigs, and compelled to pay a large
sum of money to Mrs. Benny in order to avoid criminal prosecution.
Moreover, he was forced by them to leave Sydney and return to his own
country. Chun Shan was installed as head cook at Mintaro, a position he
worthily filled.

Sea View, Manley, was not sold; the Leighs used it as their residence on
visits to Sydney.

It was a great day for Ivor Hadwin when he won the Sydney Cup for Glen
Leigh, whose white jacket, black belt and cap, were immensely popular.
Horatio was the horse, and, as he started at two to one, the enthusiasm
was immense. Later both the V.R.C., and A.J.C. Derbies fell to Glen's
share, and he had hopes of landing a Melbourne Cup with a son of
Barellan's, who was at the Albury Stud, and a most successful sire.

Glen never forgot the keepers of the fence, and when he came to Mintaro
they soon discovered they had a friend in the man who had once been one
of themselves. Glen sometimes rode there and chatted with them,
rendering their lives less lonely.

One day he drove his wife to the glittering wire and showed her where he
had stood for long hours in the terrible heat and drought.

"What an awful life, Glen," she said, with a shudder.

"I stood it all right," he replied, "but I was glad when it ended."

When Barellan's son won the Melbourne Cup, Bill Bigs, pointing Glen
Leigh out to a friend, said, "He drew Barellan in the big sweep, and now
he's won it with his son."

"That isn't likely to happen again," was the reply.

"No, I don't suppose it is," said Bigs.

Luke Nicholl came to Mintaro for a change, which he thoroughly enjoyed.
Jerry Makeshift came with him; both were heartily welcomed.

"I shall never forget it was owing to you, Jerry, I bought the ticket in
the sweep, and drew the winner," said Glen.

"You've made good use of the money, anyway," was Jerry's reply.


                         THE END

     JOHN LONG, LIMITED, PUBLISHERS, LONDON, 1920 BRISTOL BURLEIGH
     LTD., AT THE BURLEIGH PRESS

             *       *       *       *       *






                  The Novels of CURTIS YORKE

    _Morning Post_: "Whether grave or gay, the author is a
    _raconteur_ whose imagination and vivacity are
    unfailing. Few, moreover, have in the same degree the
    versatility which enables her to provoke peals of
    laughter and move almost to tears. The writer is
    natural, realistic, and entertaining."

                   DELPHINE
                   ENCHANTED
                   ONLY BETTY
                   MISS DAFFODIL
                   OLIVE KINSELLA
                   WAYWARD ANNE
                   THEIR MARRIAGE
                   THE OTHER SARA
                   MOLLIE DEVERILL
                   THE GIRL IN GREY
                   THE WOMAN RUTH
                   ALIX OF THE GLEN
                   QUEER LITTLE JANE
                   IRRESPONSIBLE KITTY
                   DANGEROUS DOROTHY
                   THE WORLD AND DELIA
                   PATRICIA OF PALL MALL
                   THE GIRL AND THE MAN
                   THE VISION OF THE YEARS
                   A FLIRTATION WITH TRUTH

       _These Novels are published in various editions._
          _Prices from the Booksellers and Libraries._

       London:
       John Long, Ltd., 12, 13, 14 Norris Street, Haymarket




                    THE NOVELS OF NAT GOULD
        THE AUTHOR WHOSE SALES EXCEED 20,000,000 COPIES

                           Odds On
                           The Flyer
                          A Cast Off
                          The Roarer
                          The Smasher
                        Racing Rivals
                       [1]A Great Coup
                         One of a Mob
                         Lost and Won
                         The Head Lad
                        The Silver Star
                        Never in Doubt
                        A Straight Goer
                        A Bird in Hand
                        The Top Weight
                        The White Arab
                        The Buckjumper
                       The Lottery Colt
                        The Lucky Shoe
                       The Dapple Grey
                       Whirlwind's Year
                        Won on the Post
                       Fast as the Wind
                       At Starting Price
                       The Stolen Racer
                       The Steeplechaser
                       The Lady Trainer
                       A Stroke of Luck
                       A Northern Crack
                       A Bit of a Rogue
                       Left in the Lurch
                       Queen of the Turf
                       The Little Wonder
                       The Sweep Winner
                       Good at the Game
                      The Selling Plater
                       A Race for a Wife
                       A Reckless Owner
                     [1]A Turf Conspiracy
                      Charger and Chaser
                     A Sporting Squatter
                    [1]A Gamble for Love
                    [1]A Fortune at Stake
                      The Phantom Horse
                      A Member of Tatt's
                      The Rider in Khaki
                     Breaking the Record
                     The King's Favourite
                     A Chestnut Champion
                     The Jockey's Revenge
                    The Trainer's Treasure
                     The Pet of the Public
                    The Pick of the Stable
                    The Best of the Season
                    The Wizard of the Turf
                    A Hundred to One Chance
                [1][2]The Chance of a Lifetime
               [1] _FILMED_   [2] _DRAMATISED_

        These Novels are published in various editions
           Prices from the Booksellers and Libraries

                  JOHN LONG, LIMITED, LONDON
    Exclusive Publishers of all Mr. Nat Gould's New Novels




SOME APPRECIATIONS OF MR. NAT GOULD

Among all lovers of sport the name of Nat Gould has become a household
word. As sportsman, journalist, and globe-trotter, few men have gone
through more varied experiences, and still fewer have used their
experience to such excellent purpose. Since Whyte Melville and the
immortal "Jorrocks" no writer has depicted with so spirited a pen the
romance of a racecourse, the surprises of the cricket-pitch, or the
hairbreadth escapes of the hunting-field. Writing in _Longman's
Magazine_, Mr. Andrew Lang said: "A Sixpenny Academy would be a lively
Academy. For President, I would, if consulted, select Mr. NAT GOULD, who
shines by a candid simplicity of style, and a direct and unaffected
appeal to the primitive emotions, and our love for that noble animal the
horse."

_Nation_, 9th August, 1919:--"In the way of sale, his wares surpassed
all others. To millions they were the breath of mental life. We have
heard that a newspaper purchasing the serial rights of one of his
stories could promise itself an increased circulation of 100,000 a day,
no matter what its politics or its principles."

_The Times_, 26th July, 1917:--"Of Mr. Nat Gould's novels more than Ten
Million[3] copies have been sold; and when this can be said of an author
there must be qualities in his work which appeal to human
nature--qualities, therefore, which even the most superior person would
do well to recognise. 'A Northern Crack' is one of those tales which set
you down in an arm-chair and keep you there till it is pleased to stop."

_The Times_, 26th July, 1919:--"If art in any sphere in life finds a
basis in the pleasing of a multitude, then Nat Gould was an artist with
few above his shoulders."

_Morning Post_, 26th July, 1919:--"He was the most widely read of all
modern story-tellers, and a genius in his downright way."

_Athenæum_, June 10th, 1911:--"All living writers are headed by Mr. NAT
GOULD, and of the great of the past, Dumas only surpasses his
popularity."

_Truth_, January 22nd, 1913:--"Who is the most popular of living
novelists? Mr. NAT GOULD easily and indisputably takes the first place."

Miss BEATRICE HARRADEN, one of the Honorary Librarians to the Military
Hospital, Endell Street, London, writing in the November, 1916, issue of
the _Cornhill Magazine_, states: "We had to invest in any amount of NAT
GOULD's sporting stories. In fact, a certain type of man would read
nothing except NAT GOULD. However ill he was, however suffering and
broken, the name of NAT GOULD would always bring a smile to his face.
Often and often I've heard the whispered words: '_A Nat Gould--ready for
when I'm better_.'"

[3] Since this was written ten million more copies have been sold to
December, 1919, totalling over Twenty Millions.

       *       *       *       *       *
Transcriber's Notes:

    Punctuation has been normalized.
    Page 10: "more more than" replaced with "more than."
    Page 71: "We'll make things gee" retained as printed.
    Page 136: "too and fro" replaced with "to and fro."
    Page 215: "No doubt it was Leigh who called" retained as printed.
    Page 227: "suprised" replaced with "surprised."
    Page 269: "convalesence" replaced with "convalescence."








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